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Page 55
_Susan._ Lor, sir, do pray be a little quiet, I am sure if any young
woman was to see you in this state she must be uncommonly courageous to
take charge of such a husband. Do, pray, tell me what has happened.
_Nokes._ Nothing has happened. That's what I complain of. Just as I
drove up to the Legation this letter was handed to me. It is from the
brother of the Montmorenci, and is supposed to be written in the English
tongue. He regrets that matters between Mademoiselle his sister and
myself have been advanced with such precipitation.
_Susan._ Well, sir, you _were_ rather in a hurry about it, I must say.
_Nokes._ Hurry! I was in nothing of the sort. We were in the same boat
together for hours. We suffered agonies in company. And, besides, I had
only three weeks at farthest to waste in making love to anybody. And now
I've only one week,--all because this woman did not know her own mind.
_Susan._ How so, sir?
_Nokes._ Why, it seems she loves somebody else better. Her brother tells
me--confound his impudence!--that this is only natural. At the same
time, he allows I have some cause to complain, and therefore offers me
the opportunity of a personal combat with what he is pleased to call the
peculiar weapon of my countrymen, the pistol. Now, I should have said
the peculiar weapon of my country was the umbrella. That is certainly
the instrument I should choose if I were compelled to engage in mortal
strife. But the idea of being shot in the liver in reparation for one's
matrimonial injuries! To be laid up in that way when there is only a
week left in which to woo and win another Mrs. Nokes! But what am I to
do now? How am I to find a respectable young woman to take me at so
short a notice?
_Susan._ There isn't many of that sort in Paris, sir, even if you gave
'em longer.
_Nokes._ Just so. Come, you're a sensible, good girl, and have helped me
out of several difficulties; now, do you think you can help me out of
this one?
_Susan [demurely]._ Have you got an almanac about you, sir?
_Nokes._ An almanac? Of course I have. I have given up the wine-trade,
but I have not given up the habit so essential to business-men of
carrying an almanac in my breast-pocket. Here it is.
_Susan [takes almanac and looks through it attentively]._ No, sir
[_sighs_], it won't do.
_Nokes._ What won't do? What did you expect to find that _would_ do--in
an almanac--in such a crisis as this?
_Susan._ Well, sir [_casting down her eyes_], I was looking to see if it
was leap-year; but it isn't.
_Nokes._ What! You were going to offer to fill the place of the
Montmorenci. You impudent little hussy! [_Aside_] Gad, she's uncommonly
pretty, though. Prettier than the other. I noticed that when she was
sewing on my shirt-button; only I didn't think it right, under the
circumstances, to dwell upon the idea. But there can't be any harm in it
_now_.
_Susan [sobbing]._ I am afraid I have made you angry with me, Mr. Nokes.
I was only in fun, but I see now that it was taking a liberty.
_Nokes [very tenderly and chucking her under the chin]._ We should never
take liberties, Susan. [_Kisses her._] Never. But don't cry, or you'll
make your eyes red; and I rather like your eyes. [_Aside_] I didn't like
to dwell upon the idea before, but she has got remarkably pretty eyes.
It's a dreadful come-down from the Montmorenci, to be sure: still, one
must marry _somebody_--within seven days. But then, again, I've written
such flaming accounts of the other one to all my friends. I've asked
Sponge and Rasper and Robinson to come down, and see us after the
honeymoon at "the Tamarisks," my little place near Dover. And they are
all eager to hear her sing and play, and to see her beautiful sketches
in oil--Can _you_ sing, and play, and sketch in oil, Susan?
_Susan [gravely]._ I don't know, sir; I never tried.
_Nokes [aside]._ Then there's her hands. The Montmorenci's, as I wrote
to Rasper, were like the driven snow; and Susan's--though I didn't like
to dwell upon the idea--are more like snow on the second day, in London.
To be sure she will have nothing to do as Mrs. Nokes except to wash 'em.
Then she can speak French like a native, or at least what will seem to
Robinson and the others like a native. Upon my life, I think I might do
worse. But then, again, she'll have relatives,--awful relatives, whom I
shall have to buy off, or, worse, who will _not_ be bought off. It's
certainly a dreadful come-down. Susan [_hesitatingly_], Susan dear, what
is your name?
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