Part 15 (2/2)

”I do not believe in fairies any more,” said Hermione, with a little sigh. ”I believed in them once,--it was so nice. I want stories of real life now,--sad ones, that end happily.”

”A great many happy stories end sadly,” I replied, ”but few sad ones end happily. Why do you want a sad story? You ought to be gay.”

”Ought I? I am not, I am sure. I cannot take everything with a laugh, as some people can; and I cannot be always resigned and religious, as mamma is.”

”The pleasantest people are the ones who are always good, but not always alike,” I remarked. ”It is variety that makes life charming, and goodness that makes it worth living.”

Hermione laughed a little.

”That sounds very good,--a little goody, as we used to say when we were small. I wonder whether it is true. I suppose I have not enough variety, or not enough goodness, just at present.”

”Why?” I asked. ”I should think you had both.”

”I do not see the great variety,” she answered.

”Have you not found a new relation to-day? An interesting cousin who has seen the whole world ought to go far towards making a variety in life.”

”What should you think of a man, Mr. Griggs, whose brother has not been dead eighteen months, and whose mother is dangerously ill, perhaps dying, and who shows no more feeling than a stone?”

The question came sharply and distinctly; Hermione's short lip curled in scorn, and the words were spoken through her closed teeth. Of course she was speaking of Paul Patoff. She turned to me for an answer, and there was an angry light in her eyes.

”Is your cousin's mother very ill?” I asked.

”She is not really dying, but she can never get well. Oh, Mr. Griggs,”

she cried, clasping her hands together on her knees, and leaning back in her seat, ”I wish I could tell you all about it! I am sure you might do some good, but they would be very angry if I told you. I wonder whether he is really so hard-hearted as he looks!”

”Oh, no,” I answered. ”Men who have lived so much in the world learn to conceal their feelings.”

”It is not thought good manners to have any feeling, is it?”

”Most people try to hide what they feel. What is good of showing every one that you are hurt, when n.o.body can do anything to help you? It is undignified to make an exhibition of sorrow for the benefit of one's neighbors.”

”Perhaps. But I almost think aunt Chrysophrasia is right: the world was a nicer place, and life was more interesting, when everybody showed what they felt, and fought for what they wanted, and ran away with people they loved, and killed people they hated.”

”I think you would get very tired of it,” I said, laughing. ”It is uncomfortable to live in constant danger of one's life. You used not to talk so, Miss Carvel; what has happened to you?”

”Oh, I do not know; everything is happening that ought not. I should think you might see that we are all very anxious. But I do not half understand it myself. Will you not tell me a story, and help me to forget all about it? Here comes papa with Professor Cutter, looking graver than ever; they have been to see--I mean they have been talking about it again.”

”Once upon a time there was a”---- I stopped. John Carvel came straight across the room to where we were sitting.

”Griggs,” he said, in a low voice, ”will you come with me for a moment?”

I sprang to my feet. John laid his hand upon my arm; he was very pale.

”Don't look as though anything were the matter,” he added.

Accordingly I sauntered across the room, and made a show of stopping a moment before the fire to warm my hands and listen to the general conversation that was going on there. Presently I walked away, and John followed me. As I pa.s.sed, I looked at the professor, who seemed already absorbed in listening to one of Chrysophrasia's speeches. He did not return my glance, and I left the room with my friend. A moment later we were in his study. A student's lamp with a green shade burned steadily upon the table, and there was a bright fire on the hearth. A huge writing-table filled the centre of the room, covered with papers and pamphlets. John did not sit down, but stood leaning back against a heavy bookcase, with one hand behind him.

”Griggs,” he said, and his voice trembled with excitement, ”I am going to ask you a favor, and in order to ask it I am obliged to take you into my confidence.”

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