Consoled

It was the winter before Will and I were married that Richard Deering became engaged to Miss Rhoades. Will and Richard had been almost inseparable from childhood, and the latter was an old friend of mine also.

We did not know Miss Rhoades, but Richard assured us we could not fail to like her, and Will said his opinion was to be considered, for of course it was quite impartial.

To tell the truth, on meeting Miss Rhoades we did not share Richard's enthusiasm. She had a reserved manner and was not particularly pleasing in any way. And she did not seem sufficiently in love with Richard to suit me. Indeed I went so far as to say that I did not believe she cared for him at all. I had to admit that she was fine looking, though not handsome, and she was older than Richard. He confided to Will that he was past the age to be attracted simply by a pretty face, and he had no fancy for girls in their teens. Richard was 28.

Our worst fears were soon realized. One night my betrothed did not come to see me, which surprised me much, for it was important I should consult with him about the new house.

The next morning I received a telegram from Will:

Could not come last night. Richard in trouble. Engagement broken.

It was two or three days before I saw Will, and then he came in at noon for a hurried call. He looked worn and harassed, but patiently replied to the countless questions I asked in regard to Richard's affair. It seemed that Miss Rhoades had been mistaken in the nature of her regard for him, as she expressed it. In other words, she had not really cared for him, but tried to do so, urged by her family and tempted by his wealth. Will thought there was another lover in the background, but Richard did not suspect it. The poor fellow was a complete wreck, and for the next few days Will was constantly with his distracted friend and had no time to give to me. When he did come, it was to say that he had prevailed upon Richard to go away for awhile, the latter consenting on condition that Will would accompany him.

My lover could ill afford to leave at this time, and his absence would be most trying to me, as I wanted his advice concerning the house. However, neither of us felt that we could urge any claims of our own in the face of Richard's dire need. So we reluctantly bade each other goodby. The trip benefited the heartbroken lover, and on his return he consented to take up his residence at home, and after a time resumed his customary visits to our house, though he scarcely spoke and looked the picture of despair. It was a little wearing for Will and me, for out of courtesy to poor Richard we did not like to speak of the wedding or any of the arrangements when he was present, and as our minds were naturally occupied with the topic in question our conversation was sometimes rather forced.

We had expected him to act as best man at our wedding, but it seemed more than doubtful that he would feel equal to the position in his present state of mind. We were anxious to know how he felt about the matter, and at last Will touched upon the subject. "It is evident that you know nothing of my feelings, " said Richard in an injured tone. "I shall probably never attend a wedding again as long as I live. It would be torture, agony, simply unbearable. I would do a great deal for you, but don't ask me anything so utterly impossible."

Will humbly apologized and hastened to ask his cousin to act as best man. He accepted with alacrity.

Will's sister Dorothy, a girl of 18, was to be my maid of honor. She had been abroad for the last three years, finishing her education. When she went away, she was a schoolgirl, and not realizing the change that a year or two can make at her age we were surprised to receive a photograph showing her to but a pretty and prepossessing young lady, with quite the air, as we imagined from her pose, of a society woman.

It was two or three weeks after Will's conversation with Richard in regard to the matter of best man that one evening our afflicted friend seemed a little less morose than usual. He picked up Dorothy's picture, which was lying on the table.

"What a pretty girl!" he exclaimed, "Who is she?"

"You ought to know her," replied Will. " You and she were fast friends once. She's no other than my sister Dorothy."

"That handsome girl my little friend Dorothy! Why, I thought of her as still a child. By Jove, but she's a beauty!" said Richard, with more animation than he had displayed since his engagement was broken.

It was a relief to see him something like his old self, if only for a moment, but he surprised us by conversing quite cheerfully the rest of the evening.

A few days later Will appeared in a most excited frame of mind. Richard was at the house at the time, but Will did not notice him as he rushed in exclaiming:

"Such ill luck! Cousin Henry is down with the mumps. Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous, and the wedding next week?"

"What is to be done?" I asked blankly.

"That is more than I know, " replied Will. "I dashed over to see Sylvester, but he's off to Florida next week, and then I asked Tom Flanders. He thanked me politely for my courtesy and said he hardly cared to act as a stop gap. Agreeable chap, Torn, but that was always his way - must be first or nowhere. I think I will telegraph my cousin Herbert in Philadelphia. I never fancied him much, but I must have some one, I suppose. "

At this juncture Richard, who had been looking at Dorothy's picture, spoke rather hesitatingly:

"Well, old fellow, since you are in such a tight place, I’ll help you out. I will act as best man."

Will stared with amazement at this unexpected offer, but slapped Richard heartily on the back.

"Will you really, though? You're an old brick!"

I wonder why men always use the word "old" as a term of endearment with each other? I suppose it is a substitute for "dear" and "darling" and all the tender terms of a woman 's vocabulary.

Richard seemed embarrassed at Will 's gratitude, and added somewhat apologetically:

"If I can accommodate a friend, I want to. That's about the only thing in the way of pleasure I can ever hope to have."

Dorothy arrived a day or two before the wedding. We found her even more charming than her picture, and we were all delighted with her.

I was almost too busy to breathe in these last few days, but everything was over at last. The rehearsal passed off satisfactorily, and so, my friends assured me, did the wedding. I am not authority on that subject, but at any rate everything went off according to programme. Then Will and I started away for a six weeks' trip.

After traveling about for a fortnight we settled down in a spot which was most restful and delightful. There was nothing in the way of excitement, but we thoroughly enjoyed the primitive and idyllic life of the little town.

Toward the close of our month there, however, we were glad to receive letters from our home friends. We had not encouraged them to write us earlier in our stay, and we had heard almost nothing from home.

We were not getting dull, of course, but when I said one day that I should like a long, newsy letter from one of the girls Will echoed my wish heartily.

That afternoon came a letter, not from one of the girls and not long, but decidedly "newsy, " so much so that it fairly took away my breath. It ran as follows:

Dear Willie- Congratulate me! I am the happiest man alive. Your sister Dorothy, the dearest girl in the world, had promised to marry me. No time to write more now. Your friend and brother to be, Richard Deering.

P. S.- Perhaps it would be just as well not to mention that little affair of last winter to Dorothy. She might not understand it. In fact, I don't understand it myself now. R.

It was long before Will spoke. When he did, it was to say:

"And he calls it 'that little affair," after all the sleep I lost for the rascal. ‘That little affair’ indeed.” -A.J. Johnson in Waverly Magazine