Down dropped my love, My love dropped dead!
Blow out your candle, Eugenio, and the sudden extinction of the flame shall illustrate the awful abruptness with which _my_ flame perished. From that night, from that hour of pride made wretched by contempt, Conny was no more to me than the scarecrow that nods its blind head at the birds and flaps its idle rags along the breeze. I was in her power once. My heart had palpitated in the golden meshes of her hair like a robin in a fowler’s net. I was hers--she might have married me. But she had preferred a cashier. She had chosen for her partner a banker’s clerk with frizzy hair; for a breast to lean on, a bosom shaped like a pigeon-pie. Was I going to gnash my teeth and hurl ghastly looks at the moon? Does Abraham Levi burst into tears when a customer finds something more striking and splendid in a piece of paste than in a fine stone? I was a diamond, she might have worn me: she had chosen a Brummagem article instead, and by heavens, Eugenio! no liquid gem distilled from my eyes should add one grain of worth to her outrageous choice!
I was at Grove End early next morning, and was met by my uncle, who, without a word, put the letter he had just received from Conny into my hands.
“I prophesied you would hear from her,” said he, and began to read.
What a queer letter it was! how tender, sorrowful, triumphant, and pert! Not a hint of regret. Curling and she were married, and there was only one thing wanting to complete her happiness--her papa’s and mamma’s forgiveness. Her dearest papa might be angry with her at first; but when he should grow calm, he would see how much better it was for her to marry the man she loved, and live happily all her life, than be forced into a union with _one_ for whom, though she liked and respected him for some things, she could never have the least affection. (Oh, you deceiver! oh, you little humbug!) Her dear Theodore hadn’t much money; indeed, he had none at all; and would her dear papa (how they _dear_ you, these little women!) mind sending her a cheque, _uncrossed_? She looked forward eagerly to his reply, in which she was quite sure he would tell her that she and dear Theodore were forgiven, and then her happiness would be to return to dear old Updown, and settle down in some little cottage, which Theodore would be able to maintain by his salary at the bank. Her dear papa and mamma might be sure that dear Theodore wanted nothing from them but his rights; that he was willing to work for what he should get; and that he _looked_ to receive nothing with his darling Conny, whom he had married because it would have broken his heart to see her Charlie’s wife, and because he worshipped the ground she trod on.