There you go again ! I deserve them—[Laughs harshly ]. It is my fault, I suppose, that it is the season ; it is my fault that people give dinner-parties and balls ; it is my fault, I suppose, that you don't go out as much as I do ?

Certainly not ; although, as a matter of fact, I haven't been out one single evening for the last three—nearly four— months.

That's right ; draw comparisons ; say I'm a selfish brute. You'll tell me next that I am tired of you, and——

Harold ! don't, don't you you hurt me! Of course I never thought of such a—[she rises]—You are not, are you ? I—I couldn't bear it !

Of course I am not. Don't be so silly. [He sits.]

It was silly of me, I confess it. I know you better than that. Why, it's rank high treason, I deserve to lose my head ; and my only excuse is that thinking such a thing proves I must have lost it already. Will your majesty deign to pardon ?

[Testify.] Yes, yes, that's all right ! There, look out, you'll crumple my tie.

I am so sorry ! And now tell me all about your grand friends and——

They are not grand to me. Simply because a person is rich or has a title, I don't consider them any "grander" than I —by jove, no ! These people are useful to me, or else I should't stand it. They "patronise" me, put their hand on my shoulder and say, "My dear young friend, we predict great things for you." The fools, as though a single one of them was capable even of forming an opinion, much less of prophesying. They make remarks about me before my face ; they talk of, and pet, me as though I were a poodle. I go through my tricks and they applaud ; and they lean over with an idiotic simper to the dear friend next to them By Fred M. Simpson 171 them and say, "Isn't he clever ? " as though they had taught me themselves. Bah ! They invite me to their houses, I dine with them once a week ; but if I were to tell them to-morrow that I wanted to marry one of their daughters, they would kick me out of the room, and consider it a greater insult than if the proposal had come from their own footman.

But that doesn't matter, because you don't want to marry one of them, do you ? Was that Miss Mockton with you in the Park last Sunday ?

How do you know I was in the Park at all ?

Because I saw you there.

You were spying, I suppose.

Spying ? I don't know what you mean. I went there for a walk after Lucy Rimmerton.

Alone ?

Of course not, I was with Mrs. Glover

Your landlady ?

Why not ?—Oh ! you need not be afraid. I shouldn't have brought disgrace upon you by obliging you to acknowledge me before your grand friends. I took good care to keep in the background.

Do you mean to insinuate that I am a snob ?

Be a little kind.

Well, it is your own fault, you insinuate that——

I was wrong. I apologise, but—but— [begins to cry],

There, don't make a scene don't, there's a good girl. There, rest your head here, I suppose I am nasty. I didn't mean it, really. You must make allowances for me. I am worried and bothered. I can't work—at least I can't do work that satisfies me—and altogether I am not quite myself. Late hours are playing the very deuce with my nerves. There, let me kiss away 172 The Dedication away the tears now give me your promise that you will never be so foolish again.

I—I promise. It is silly of me—now I am all right.

Giboulées d'Avril ! The sun conies out once more, the shower is quite over.

Yes, quite over ; you always are so kind. It is my fault entirely. I—I think my nerves must be a little upset, too.

We shall make a nice couple, sha'n't we ? if we are often going to behave like this ! Now, are you quite calm ?

Yes, quite.

That s right, because I want you to listen patiently for a few minutes to what I am going to say ; it is something I want to talk to you about very seriously. You won't interrupt me until I have quite finished, will you ?

What is it ? not that—no, I won't.

You know we talked about—I mean it was arranged we should be married the beginning of July—wasn't it ?

Yes.

Well, I want to know if you would mind very much putting it off a little—quite a little only till—the autumn ? I'll tell you why. Of course if you do mind very much, I sha'n't press it, but—it's like this : the scene of my new book is, as you know, laid abroad. I have been trying to write it, but can't get on with it one little bit. I want some local colour. I thought I should be able to invent it, I find I can't. It is hampering and keeping me back terribly. And so—and so I thought if you didn't mind very much that that if I were to go to France for—for six months or so—alone, that in fact it would be the making of me. I have never had an opportunity before ; it has always been grind, grind, grind, and if I am prevented from going By Fred M. Simpson 173 going now, I may never have a chance again. What do you say ?

But why shouldn't we be married as arranged, and spend our honeymoon over there ?

Because I want to work.

And would my being there prevent you ? You used to say you always worked so much better when I was——

But you don't understand. This is different. I want to work hard and no man could do that on his honeymoon—at least I know I couldn't.

No, but—And and till when did you want to put off our—our marriage ? Until your return ?

Well, that would depend on circumstances. You don't suppose I would postpone it for a second, if I could help it ; but Until my return ? I hope sincerely that it can be managed then, but, you see, over there I shall be spending money all the time, and not earning a sou, and—and so we might have to wait a little bit longer, just until I could replenish the locker, until I had published and been paid for my new book.

But I have given notice to leave at midsummer.

Has Mrs. Duncan got another governess !

No, but——

Then you can stop on, can't you ! They will surely be only too delighted to keep you.

Yes—I can stop on. [He tries to kiss her.] No, don't ; not now.

And you don't really mind the postponement very much, do you ?

Not if it will assist you.

I thought you would say that, I knew you would. It will assist me very much. I shouldn't otherwise suggest it. It does 174 The Dedication does seem too bad though, doesn't it ? To have to postpone it after waiting all these years, and just as it was so near, too. I have a good mind not to go, after all—only, if I let this chance slip, I may never have another. Besides, six months is not so very long, is it ? And when they are over, then we won't wait any longer. You will come and see me off, won't you ? It would never do for an engaged man to go away for even six months, without his lady love coming to see him start.

Yes, I will come. When do you go ?

The end of next week, I expect ; perhaps earlier if I can manage it. But I shall see you before then. We'll go and have dinner together at our favourite little restaurant. When shall it be ! Let me see, I am engaged on—I can't quite remember what my engagements are,

I have none.

Then that's settled. Good-bye, Luce; you don't mind very much, do you ? The time will soon pass. You are a little brick to behave as you have done. [Going.] It will be Monday or Tuesday next for our dinner, but I will let you know. Good bye.

Good-bye.