The Gilded Age - Mark Twain [156]
“I have come,” said Philip in his direct manner, “from my friend Mr. Brierly. You are not ignorant of his feeling towards you?”
“Perhaps not.”
“But perhaps you do not know, you who have so much admiration, how sincere and overmastering his love is for you?” Philip would not have spoken so plainly, if he had in mind anything except to draw from Laura something that would end Harry’s passion.
“And is sincere love so rare, Mr. Sterling?” asked Laura, moving her foot a little, and speaking with a shade of sarcasm.
“Perhaps not in Washington,” replied Philip, tempted into a similar tone. “Excuse my bluntness,” he continued, “but would the knowledge of his love, would his devotion, make any difference to you in your Washington life?”
“In respect to what?” asked Laura quickly.
“Well, to others. I won’t equivocate—to Col. Selby?”
Laura’s face flushed with anger, or shame; she looked steadily at Philip and began,
“By what right, sir,—”
“By the right of friendship,” interrupted Philip stoutly. “It may matter little to you. It is everything to him. He has a Quixotic notion that you would turn back from what is before you for his sake. You cannot be ignorant of what all the city is talking of.” Philip said this determinedly and with some bitterness.
It was a full minute before Laura spoke. Both had risen, Philip as if to go, and Laura in suppressed excitement. When she spoke her voice was very unsteady, and she looked down.
“Yes, I know. I perfectly understand what you mean. Mr. Brierly is nothing—simply nothing. He is a moth singed, that is all—the trifler with women thought he was a wasp. I have no pity for him, not the least. You may tell him not to make a fool of himself, and to keep away. I say this on your account, not his. You are not like him. It is enough for me that you want it so. Mr. Sterling,” she continued, looking up, and there were tears in her eyes that contradicted the hardness of her language, “you might not pity him if you knew my history; perhaps you would not wonder at some things you hear. No; it is useless to ask me why it must be so. You can’t make a life over—society wouldn’t let you if you would—and mine must be lived as it is. There, sir, I’m not offended; but it is useless for you to say anything more.”
Philip went away with his heart lightened about Harry, but profoundly saddened by the glimpse of what this woman might have been. He told Harry all that was necessary of the conversation—she was bent on going her own way, he had not the ghost of a chance—he was a fool, she had said, for thinking he had.
And Harry accepted it meekly, and made up his own mind that Philip didn’t know much about women.
CHAPTER 45
—Nakila cu ch’y cu yao chike, chi ka togobah cu y vach, x-e u chaxcut?—Utz, chi ka ya puvak chyve, x-e cha-cu ri amag.
POPUL VUH.
The galleries of the House were packed, on the momentous day, not because the reporting of an important bill back by a committee was a thing to be excited about, if the bill were going to take the ordinary course afterward; it would be like getting excited over the empaneling of a coroner’s jury in a murder case, instead of saving up one’s emotions for the grander occasion of the hanging of the accused, two years later, after all the tedious forms of law had been gone through with.
But suppose you understand that this coroner’s jury is going to turn out to be a vigilance committee in disguise, who will hear testimony for an hour and then hang the murderer on the spot? That puts a different aspect upon the matter. Now it was whispered that the legitimate forms of procedure usual in the House, and which keep a bill hanging along for days and even weeks, before