Big Game - A Story for Girls

"What a wonderful thing love is!"

The Chieftain's light eyebrows were elevated in interrogation.

"In connection with the `dear darling' previously mentioned, if one may

ask?"

"That was my father. I love him dearly, but just now I was thinking of

the other sort of love. This letter is from my eldest sister. She was

a beautiful girl, and could have married half a dozen rich men if she

had wished, but she chose the poorest of them all, a dear, good,

splendid man, who has been persistently unsuccessful all the way

through. Everything--financially speaking, I mean,--has been against

him. They have had continual anxiety and curtailment, until at last

they have had to let their pretty house and go into dingy lodgings. My

father is very down on Jack. He is a successful man himself, and don't

you think it needs a very fine nature to keep up faith in a person who

seems persistently to fail? But my sister never doubts. She loves her

husband more, and idealises him more, than on the day they were

married."

"And you call that man unsuccessful?"

Margot hardly recognised the low, earnest tones: her quick glance

downward surprised a spasm of pain on the chubby face, which she had

always associated with unruffled complacency. It appeared that here

also lay a hidden trouble, a secret grief carefully concealed from the

world.

"Isn't that rather a misuse of the word? A man who has gained and kept

such a love can never be called a failure by any one who understands the

true proportions of life. With all his monetary losses he is rich...

And she is rich also... Richer than she knows."

Margot's hand closed impulsively on Edith's letter and held it towards

him.

"Yes, you are right. Read that, and you will see how right you are.

There are no secrets in it--its just a word-photograph of Edith herself,

and I'd like you to see her, as you understand so well. She's my

dearest sister, whom I admire more than anybody in the world."

Mr Elgood took the letter without a word, and read over its contents

slowly once, and then, even more slowly, a second time. When at last he

had finished he still held the sheet in his hands, smoothing it out with

gentle, reverent fingers.

"Yes!" he said slowly. "I can see her. She is a beautiful creature. I

should like to know her in the flesh. You must introduce us to one

another some day. I haven't come across too many women like that in my

life. It would be an honour to know her, to help her, if that were

possible." He sighed, and stretching out his hand laid the letter on

Margot's knee. "You are right, Miss Bright Eyes, love is a wonderful

thing!"