The Green Mouse
"But I don't want to come back!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Why should I
wish to come back? Have I said--acted--done--looked--_Why_ should you
imagine that I have the slightest interest in anything or in--in--anybody
in this house?"
"Haven't you?"
"No!... And I cannot ignore your--your amazing--and intensely
f-flattering fear that I have d-designs--that I desire--in other words,
that I--er--have dared to cherish impossible aspirations in connection
with a futile and absurd hope that one day you might possibly be induced
to listen to any tentative suggestion of mine concerning a matrimonial
alliance----"
He choked and turned a dull red.
She reddened, too, but said calmly:
"Thank you for putting it so nicely. But it is no use. Sooner or later
you and I will be obliged to consider a situation too hopeless to admit
of discussion."
"What situation?"
"Ours."
"I can't see any situation--except your being glued--I _beg_ your
pardon!--but I must speak truthfully."
"So must I. Our case is too desperate for anything but plain and terrible
truths. And the truths are these: _I_ touched the forbidden machine and
got a spark; your name is George; _I'm_ glued here, unable to escape;
_you_ are not rude enough to go when I ask you not to.... And now--here--
in this room, you and I must face these facts and make up our minds....
For I simply _must_ know what I am to expect; I can't endure--I couldn't
live with this hanging over me----"
"_What_ hanging over you?"
He sprang to his feet, waving his dinner pail around in frantic circles:
"What is it, in Heaven's name, that is hanging over you?"
"Over _you_, too!"
"Over me?"
"Certainly. Over us both. We are headed straight for m-marriage."
"T-to _each other?_"
"Of course," she said faintly. "Do you think I'd care whom you are going
to marry if it wasn't I? Do you think I'd discuss my own marital
intentions with you if you did not happen to be vitally concerned?"
"Do _you_ expect to marry _me?_" he gasped.
"I--I don't _want_ to: but I've got to."
He stood petrified for an instant, then with a wild look began to gather
up his tools.
She watched him with the sickening certainty that if he got away she
could never survive the years of suspense until his inevitable return. A
mad longing to get the worst over seized her. She knew the worst, knew
what Fate held for her. And she desired to get it over--have the worst
happen--and be left to live out the shattered remains of her life in
solitude and peace.
"If--if we've got to marry," she began unsteadily, "why not g-get it over
quickly--and then I don't mind if you go away."
She was quite mad: that was certain. He hastily flung some brushes into
his tool kit, then straightened up and gazed at her with deep compassion.
"Would you mind," she asked timidly, "getting somebody to come in and
marry us, and then the worst will be over, you see, and we need never,
never see each other again."
He muttered something soothing and began tying up some rolls of wall
paper.
"Won't you do what I ask?" she said pitifully. "I-I am almost afraid
that--if you go away without marrying me I could not live and endure
the--the certainty of your return."
He raised his head and surveyed her with deepest pity. Mad--quite mad!
And so young--so exquisite... so perfectly charming in body! And the mind
darkened forever.... How terrible! How strange, too; for in the pure-
lidded eyes he seemed to see the soft light of reason not entirely
quenched.
Their eyes encountered, lingered; and the beauty of her gaze seemed to
stir him to the very wellspring of compassion.
"Would it make you any happier to believe--to know," he added hastily,
"that you and I were married?"
"Y-yes, I think so."
"Would you be quite happy to believe it?"
"Yes--if you call that happiness."
"And you would not be unhappy if I never returned?"
"Oh, no, no! I--that would make me--comparatively--happy!"
"To be married to me, and to know you would never again see me?"
"Yes. Will you?"
"Yes," he said soothingly. And yet a curious little throb of pain
flickered in his heart for a moment, that, mad as she undoubtedly was,
she should be so happy to be rid of him forever.
He came slowly across the room to the table on which she was sitting. She
drew back instinctively, but an ominous ripping held her.
"Are you going for a license and a--a clergyman?" she asked.
"Oh, no," he said gently, "that is not necessary. All we have to do is to
take each other's hands--so----"
She shrank back.
"You will have to let me take your hand," he explained.
She hesitated, looked at him fearfully, then, crimson, laid her slim
fingers in his.
The contact sent a quiver straight through him; he squared his shoulders
and looked at her.... Very, very far away it seemed as though he heard
his heart awaking heavily.
What an uncanny situation! Strange--strange--his standing here to humor
the mad whim of this stricken maid--this wonderfully sweet young
stranger, looking out of eyes so lovely that he almost believed the dead
intelligence behind them was quickening into life again.
"What must we do to be married?" she whispered.
"Say so; that is all," he answered gently. "Do you take me for your
husband?"
"Yes.... Do you t-take me for your--wife?"
"Yes, dear----"
"Don't say _that_!... Is it--over?"
"All over," he said, forcing a gayety that rang hollow in the pathos of
the mockery and farce.... But he smiled to be kind to her; and, to make
the poor, clouded mind a little happier still, he took her hand again and
said very gently:
"Will it surprise you to know that you are now a princess?"
"A--_what?_" she asked sharply.
"A princess." He smiled benignly on her, and, still beaming, struck a not
ungraceful attitude.
"I," he said, "am the Crown Prince of Rumtifoo."
She stared at him without a word; gradually he lost countenance; a vague
misgiving stirred within him that he had rather overdone the thing.
"Of course," he began cheerfully, "I am an exile in disguise--er--
disinherited and all that, you know."
She continued to stare at him.
"Matters of state--er--revolution--and that sort of thing," he mumbled,
eying her; "but I thought it might gratify you to know that I am Prince
George of Rumtifoo----"
"_What!_"
The silence was deadly.
"Do you know," she said deliberately, "that I believe you think I am
mentally unsound. _Do_ you?"
"I--you--" he began to stutter fearfully.
"_Do_ you?"
"W-well, either you or I----"
"Nonsense! I _thought_ that marriage ceremony was a miserably inadequate
affair!... And I am hurt--grieved--amazed that you should do such a--a
cowardly----"
"What!" he exclaimed, stung to the quick.
"Yes, it is cowardly to deceive a woman."
"I meant it kindly--supposing----"
"That I am mentally unsound? Why do you suppose that?"
"Because--Good Heavens--because in this century, and in this city, people
who never before saw one another don't begin to talk of marrying----"
"I explained to you"--she was half crying now, and her voice broke
deliciously--"I told you what I'd done, didn't I?"
"You said you had got a spark," he admitted, utterly bewildered by her
tears. "Don't cry--please don't. Something is all wrong here--there is
some terrible misunderstanding. If you will only explain it to me----"
She dried her eyes mechanically: "Come here," she said. "I don't believe
I did explain it clearly."
And, very carefully, very minutely, she began to tell him about the
psychic waves, and the instrument, and the new company formed to exploit
it on a commercial basis.
She told him what had happened that morning to her; how her disobedience
had cost her so much misery. She informed him about her father, and that
florid and rotund gentleman's choleric character.
"If you are here when I tell him I'm married," she said, "he will
probably frighten you to death; and that's one of the reasons why I wish
to get it over and get you safely away before he returns. As for me, now
that I know the worst, I want to get the worst over and--and live out my
life quietly somewhere.... So now you see why I am in such a hurry, don't
you?"
He nodded as though stunned, leaning there on the table, hands folded,
head bent.
"I am so very sorry--for you," she said. "I know how you must feel about
it. But if we are obliged to marry some time had we not better get it
over and then--never--see--one another----"
He lifted his head, then stood upright.
Her soft lips were mute, but the question still remained in her eyes.
So, for a long while, they looked at each other; and the color under his
cheekbones deepened, and the pink in her cheeks slowly became pinker.
"Suppose," he said, under his breath, "that I--wish--to return--to you?"
"_I_ do not wish it----"
"Try."
"Try to--to wish for----"
"For my return. Try to wish that you also desire it. Will you?"
"If you are going to--to talk that way--" she stammered.
"Yes, I am."
"Then--then----"
"Is there any reason why I should not, if we are engaged?" he asked. "We
_are_--engaged, are we not?"
"Engaged?"
"Yes. Are we?"
"I--yes--if you call it----"
"I do.... And we are to be--married?" He could scarcely now speak the
word which but a few moments since he pronounced so easily; for a totally
new significance attached itself to every word he uttered.
"Are we?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Then--if I--if I find that I----"
"Don't say it," she whispered. She had turned quite white.
"Will you listen----"
"No. It--it isn't true--it cannot be."
"It is coming truer every moment.... It is very, very true--even now....
It is almost true.... And now it has come true. Sybilla!"
White, dismayed, she gazed at him, her hands instinctively closing her
ears. But she dropped them as he stepped forward.
"I love you, Sybilla. I wish to marry you.... Will you try to care for
me--a little----"
"I couldn't--I can't even try----"
"Dear----"
He had her hands now; she twisted them free; he caught them again. Over
their interlocked hands she bowed her head, breathless, cheeks aflame,
seeking to cover her eyes.
"Will you love me, Sybilla?"
She struggled silently, desperately.
"_Will_ you?"
"No.... Let me go----"
"Don't cry--please, dear--" His head, bowed beside hers over their
clasped hands, was more than she could endure; but her upflung face,
seeking escape, encountered his. There was a deep, indrawn breath, a sob,
and she lay, crying her heart out, in his arms.
* * * * *
"Darling!"
"W-what?"
It is curious how quickly one recognizes unfamiliar forms of address.
"You won't cry any more, will you?" he whispered.
"N-n-o," sighed Sybilla.
"Because we _do_ love each other, don't we?"
"Y-yes, George." Then, radiant, yet sweetly shamed, confident, yet
fearful, she lifted her adorable head from his shoulder.
"George," she said, "I am beginning to think that I'd like to get off
this table."
"You poor darling!"
"And," she continued, "if you will go home and change your overalls for
something more conventional, you shall come and dine with us this
evening, and I will be waiting for you in the drawing-room.... And,
George, although some of your troubles are now over----"
"All of them, dearest!" he cried with enthusiasm.
"No," she said tenderly, "you are yet to meet Pa-_pah_."
XIV
GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS
_A Chapter Concerning Drusilla, Pa-pah and a Minion_
Capital had now been furnished for The Green Mouse, Limited; a great
central station of white marble was being built, facing Madison Avenue
and occupying the entire block front between Eighty-second and Eighty-
third streets.