Life — December 2, 1915 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

me at breakfast, “that Arthur was married.” I thought of Arthur, my old friend, Arthur, who for forty unde- feated years had kept the flag of bachelordom flying at the masthead of a possibly misguided, but at any rate untrammeled, existence. “Don’t you agree with me?” My dear!” I expostulated mildly. Ite was surely a superfluous question. Since the day when she first became legally entitled to call me hers, I have seldom done anything else. On this occasion, too, I felt that she was right. For his own sake Arthur certainly ought to marry. There is no happiness like the happiness of married life. Be- sides, it is obviously unfair that one fellow should be able to throw away on a motor-car, and bridge at the club, the money which another has to devote to perambulators and the under-nurse’s insurance stamps. Still, I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Arthur, and for the moment it seemed a little hard. “When is it to be?” I asked with a sigh. “What?” “ The wedding.” “The first thing is to find a him.” * “Ah, yes, of course,” I sai forgetting the preliminaries. she?” “T was thinking of Virginia Brooks.” I confess I shivered. It was one thing for Arthur to be married, quite another for his immolation to be con- summated on such an altar. I had never met Virginia Brooks, an old school friend of my wife's, but in com- mon with all the world I knew her by repute. She was more than a mere girl; she was a phenomenon, a celebrity, an institution. Not content with twice securing the ladies’ open golf cham- pionship, she had frequently repre- sented her country in international hockey matches, was distinctly above county form at lawn tennis, and only T is quite time,” said my wife to Who is Christmas Life: Cutting the Knot By Richard Dark last year had got within four miles of Calais in an attempt to swim the Channel. “Well,” I said after a pause, “ what must be, must be. But Arthur is just an ordinary man. Do you think she would look at him?” “Look at him? Why, any girl in her senses would jump at him. He's very well off.” I thought of Virginia jumping at Arthur, also of Arthur jumping, sub- sequently, on the domestic chair. It was a saddening picture. “What steps do you take?” I asked. “Thaven't decided yet. But Virginia is coming to stay with the Pratts for a month directly. It ought to be easy enough with a little management.” After breakfast my spirits sank lower and lower. One of the kindest-hearted of women, my wife finds her greatest happiness in promoting the welfare of others, and as a matrimonial agent in particular her local handicap starts at about plus four. The more I pondered the situation the more clearly I saw that Arthur was as good as gone. Fi- nally I determined to go round to his house and warn him. In all human probability nothing could save him, but I should ai least have the satisfaction of feeling that I had done what I could. “You're looking very serious, old chap,” he said, as I entered the room in which he was enjoying his pipe and the morning paper. I sat down, and as I looked at him a mist dimmed my eyes. “Arthur,” I said, “are you feeling very strong this morning?” “As an elephant,” he lightly. “Then brace yourself to hear the worst.” “What is it?” “Emily has decided that you must marry.” “You are joking,” he said. “ T wish I were. No, I'm afraid she has quite made up her mind” Arthur knows my wife well, and when he realized that I was in earnest Propose to answered a shade of pallor crept into his face. For nearly a minute he did not speak. Then, “ What can I do?” he asked. “Nothing,” I answered in a dull voice, He took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead with an unsteady hand. “Who is it?” he whispered. “Virginia Brooks.” With a long-drawn sigh he dropped his pipe to the floor and sank back un- conscious in his chair. I rang the bell for his housekeeper and between us we managed to revive him. He was obviously very shaken, but refused to let me send for the doctor. “I shall be all right directly,” he said, when we were alone together again. “It was kind of you to break it to me, but it took me a little by surprise.” “Try to forget it,” I said lamely. A wan smile crossed his face. “ That's what they always tell you before the execution, isn’t it? No, I can’t forget it, but——” and here he spoke very slowly and distinctly—“I can promise you that Virginia Brooks shall never take me alive.” On the following Tuesday I met Vir- ginia at a tennis party. There is no need for me to describe her. She was all, and more than all, my fancy had painted, and the disdainful ease with which she banged back my choicest services into the far corners of the court strengthened my conviction that she was the last wife in the world for my poor friend. I went home feeling more depressed than ever. On the hall table a letter awaited me in Arthur's handwriting, and bearing the London postmark. Knowing my wife as he did, he said, he had come to the conclusion that he had only two means of escape from Virginia Brooks. The first was to emigrate to the Col- onies, a course which, at his age, he was reluctant to adopt. He had ac- cordingly taken the other alterna- tive and had married his housekeeper. They would be away for about six weeks.