After the Storm

It was more than a week before Mr. Emerson called again upon the

lady friend who had shown so strong a desire to procure him a wife.

He expected her to introduce the name of Mrs. Eager, and came

prepared to talk in a way that would for ever close the subject of

marriage between them. The lady expressed surprise at not having

seen him for so long a time, and then introduced the subject nearest

her thought.

"What was the matter with you and Mrs. Eager?" she asked, her face

growing serious.

Mr. Emerson shook his head, and said, "Nothing," with not a shadow

of concern in his voice.

"Nothing? Think again. I could hardly have been deceived."

"Why do you ask? Did the lady charge anything ungallant against me?"

Mr. Emerson was unmoved.

"Oh no, no! She scarcely mentioned your name after her return from

viewing the pictures. But she was not in so bright a humor as when

she went out, and was dull up to the hour of her departure for

Boston. I'm afraid you offended her in some way--unconsciously on

your part, of course."

"No, I think not," said Mr. Emerson. "She would be sensitive in the

extreme if offended by any word or act of mine."

"Well, letting that all pass, Mr. Emerson, what do you think of Mrs.

Eager?"

"That she is an attractive and highly accomplished woman."

"And the one who reaches your ideal of a wife?"

"No, ma'am," was the unhesitating answer, and made in so emphatic a

tone that there was no mistaking his sincerity. There was a change

in his countenance and manner. He looked unusually serious.

The lady tried to rally him, but he had come in too sober a state of

mind for pleasant trifling on this subject, of all others.

"My kind, good friend," he said, "I owe you many thanks for the

interest you have taken in me, and for your efforts to get me a

companion. But I do not intend to marry."

"So you have said--"

"Pardon me for interrupting you." Mr. Emerson checked the light

speech that was on her tongue. "I am going to say to you some things

that have never passed my lips before. You will understand me; this

I know, or I would not let a sentence come into utterance. And I

know more, that you will not make light of what to me is sacred."