There were whole days when she would
not speak to me at all, while I, on my side, was equally
obstinate, and all this, if you please, about some miserable
tapestry or a Louise Seize chair or the right light for a picture
of Will Low's. But she was such a sweet girl and so pretty that
one could not be angry with her long, and what with our fights and
our makings up I dare say we made it more interesting to each
other than if we had always agreed. It was only once that our
friendship was put in real jeopardy, and that was when her parents
decided they could not die happy unless we made a match of it.
This was embarrassing for both of us, and for a while she treated
me very coldly. But we had it out together one evening in the
library and decided to let the matter make no difference to us,
going on as before the best of friends. I was the last person to
expect a girl of eighteen to care for a man of forty, particularly
one like myself, ugly and grey-haired, who had long before outworn
the love of women. In fact I had to laugh, one of those sad laughs
that come to us with the years, at the thought of anything so
absurd; and I soon got her to give up her tragic pose and see the
humour of it all as I did. So we treated it as a joke, rallied the
old folks on their sentimental folly, and let it pass.
It set me thinking, however, a great deal about the girl and her
future, and I managed to make interest with several of my friends
and get her invited to some good houses.
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