XL.
It cannot be pretended that Alice was quite pleased with the way herfriends took her engagement, or rather the way in which they spoke ofDan. It seemed to her that she alone, or she chiefly, ought to feel thatsweetness and loveliness of which every one told her, as if she couldnot have known it. If he was sweet and lovely to every one, how was hedifferent to her except in degree? Ought he not to be different in kind?She put the case to Miss Cotton, whom it puzzled, while she assuredAlice that he was different in kind to her, though he might not seemso; the very fact that he was different in degree proved that he wasdifferent in kind. This logic sufficed for the moment of its expression,but it did not prevent Alice from putting the case to Dan himself. Atone of those little times when she sat beside him alone and rearrangedhis necktie, or played with his watch chain, or passed a critical handover his cowlick, she asked him if he did not think they ought to havean ideal in their engagement. "What ideal?" he asked. He thought it wasall solid ideal through and through. "Oh," she said, "be more and moreto each other." He said he did not see how that could be; if there wasanything more of him, she was welcome to it, but he rather thought shehad it all. She explained that she meant being less to others; and heasked her to explain that.
"Well, when we're anywhere together, don't you think we ought to showhow different we are to each other from what we are to any one else."
Dan laughed. "I'm afraid we do, Alice; I always supposed one ought tohide that little preference as much as possible. You don't want me to bedangling after you every moment?"
"No-o-o. But not--dangle after others."
Dan sighed a little--a little impatiently. "Do I dangle after others?"
"Of course not. But show that we're thoroughly united in all our tastesand feelings, and--like and dislike the same persons."
"I don't think that will be difficult," said Dan.
She was silent a moment, and then she said; "You don't like to have mebring up such things?"
"Oh yes, I do. I wish to be and do just what you wish."
"But I can see, I can understand, that you would sooner pass the timewithout talking of them. You like to be perfectly happy, and not to haveany cares when--when you're with me this way?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I do," said Dan, laughing again. "I suppose Irather do like to keep pleasure and duty apart. But there's nothing youcan wish, Alice, that isn't a pleasure to me."
"I'm very different," said the girl. "I can't be at peace unless I knowthat I have a right to be so. But now, after this, I'm going to doyour way. If it's your way, it'll be the right way--for me." She lookedsublimely resolved, with a grand lift of the eyes, and Dan caught her tohim in a rapture, breaking into laughter.
"Oh, don't! Mine's a bad way--the worst kind of a way," he cried.
"It makes everybody like you, and mine makes nobody like me."
"It makes me like you, and that's quite enough. I don't want otherpeople to like you!"
"Yes, that's what I mean!" cried Alice; and now she flung herself onhis neck, and the tears came. "Do you suppose it can be very pleasant tohave everybody talking of you as if everybody loved you as much--as muchas I do?" She clutched him tighter and sobbed.
"O Alice! Alice! Alice! Nobody could ever be what you are to me!" Hesoothed and comforted her with endearing words and touches; but beforehe could have believed her half consoled she pulled away from him, andasked, with shining eyes, "Do you think Mr. Boardman is a good influencein your life?"
"Boardman!" cried Mavering, in astonishment. "Why, I thought you likedBoardman?"
"I do; and I respect him very much. But that isn't the question. Don'tyou think we ought to ask ourselves how others influence us?"
"Well, I don't see much of Boardy nowadays; but I like to drop down andtouch earth in Boardy once in a while--I'm in the air so much. Board hasmore common-sense, more solid chunk-wisdom, than anybody I know. He'skept me from making a fool of myself more times--"
"Wasn't he with you that day with--with those women in Portland?"
Dan winced a little, and then laughed. "No, he wasn't. That was thetrouble. Boardman was off on the press boat. I thought I told you. Butif you object to Boardman--"
"I don't. You mustn't think I object to people when I ask you aboutthem. All that I wished was that you should think yourself what sort ofinfluence he was. I think he's a very good influence."
"He's a splendid fellow, Boardman is, Alice!" cried Dan. "You ought tohave seen how he fought his way through college on such a little money,and never skulked or felt mean. He wasn't appreciated for it; the mendon't notice these things much; but he didn't want to have it noticed;always acted as if it was neither here nor there; and now I guess hesends out home whatever he has left after keeping soul and body togetherevery week."
He spoke, perhaps, with too great an effect of relief. Alice listened,as it seemed, to his tone rather than his words, and said absently--
"Yes, that's grand. But I don't want you to act as if you were afraid ofme in such things."
"Afraid?" Dan echoed.
"I don't mean actually afraid, but as if you thought I couldn't bereasonable; as if you supposed I didn't expect you to make mistakes orto be imperfect."
"Yes, I know you're very reasonable, and you're more patient with methan I deserve; I know all that, and it's only my wish to come up toyour standard, I suppose, that gives me that apprehensive appearance."
"That was what vexed me with you there at Campobello, when you--askedme--"
"Yes, I know."
"You ought to have understood me better. You ought to know now that Idon't wish you to do anything on my account, but because it's somethingwe owe to others."
"Oh, excuse me! I'd much rather do it for you," cried Dan; but Alicelooked so grave, so hurt, that he hastened on: "How in the world does itconcern others whether we are devoted or not, whether we're harmoniousand two-souls-with-but-a-single-thought, and all that?" He could nothelp being light about it.
"How?" Alice repeated. "Won't it give them an idea of what--what--of howmuch--how truly--if we care for each other--how people ought to care? Wedon't do it for ourselves. That would be selfish and disgusting. We doit because it's something that we owe to the idea of being engaged--ofhaving devoted our lives to each other, and would show--would teach--"
"Oh yes! I know what you mean," said Dan, and he gave way in asputtering laugh. "But they wouldn't understand. They'd only think wewere spoons on each other; and if they noticed that I cooled off towardpeople I'd liked, and warmed up toward those you liked, they'd say youmade me."
"Should you care?" asked Alice sublimely, withdrawing a little from hisarm.
"Oh no! only on your account," he answered, checking his laugh.
"You needn't on my account," she returned. "If we sacrifice somelittle preferences to each other, isn't that right? I shall be glad tosacrifice all of mine to you. Isn't our--marriage to be full of suchsacrifices? I expect to give up everything to you." She looked at himwith a sad severity.
He began to laugh again. "Oh no, Alice! Don't do that! I couldn't standit. I want some little chance at the renunciations myself."
She withdrew still further from his side, and said, with a cold anger,"It's that detestable Mrs. Brinkley."
"Mrs. Brinkley!" shouted Dan.
"Yes; with her pessimism. I have heard her talk. She influences you.Nothing is sacred to her. It was she who took up with those army womenthat night."
"Well, Alice, I must say you can give things as ugly names as the nextone. I haven't seen Mrs. Brinkley the whole winter, except in yourcompany. But she has more sense than all the other women I know."
"Oh, thank you!"
"You know I don't mean you," he pushed on. "And she isn't a pessimist.She's very kindhearted, and that night she was very polite and good tothose army women, as you call them, when you had refused to say a wordor do anything for them."
"I knew it had been rankling in your mind all along," said the girl"I expected it to coma o
ut sooner or later. And you talk aboutrenunciation! You never forget nor forgive the slightest thing. But Idon't ask your forgiveness."
"Alice!"
"No. You are as hard as iron. You have that pleasant outside manner thatmakes people think you're very gentle and yielding, but all the timeyou're like adamant. I would rather die than ask your forgiveness foranything, and you'd rather let me than give it."
"Well, then, I ask your forgiveness, Alice, and I'm sure you won't letme die without it."
They regarded each other a moment. Then the tenderness gushed up intheir hearts, a passionate tide, and swept them into each other's arms.
"O Dan," she cried, "how sweet you are! how good! how lovely! Oh, howwonderful it is! I wanted to hate you, but I couldn't. I couldn't doanything but love you. Yes, now I understand what love is, and how itcan do everything, and last for ever."