Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 257: what you’re looking at

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

248 - His eyes were dark, though blue, when close inspection could be had, his hair black and with a decided incli- mation to curl over his temples, when he permitted it to attam a sufficient length. His nose was straight, his mouth firm and perfect, but with an al- most imperceptible dimple of humor at each corner, in dehance of the se- verity otherwise suggested. His skin was extraordinarily white ; perhaps it appeared more so, because of the blackness of his hair; yet there was nothing of pallor about 1t—noth- ing of unwholesomeness, for his com- plexion was rich, warm, clear, even ro- bust. The bride—who can describe her? Words are as inadequate as is the brush of an artist who attempts to reproduce the glory of a Mediterranean sunset. She was a Juno and a Circe in one. A magnificent woman with the olive tint of the south on her skin, the bloom of perfect health on her cheeks, and the glory of unthinkable promise tn her dark eyes. During the three seasons of her ex- perience, she had swayed the world around her as a helmsman steers his ship. It had responded to her touch as certainly as a well trained horse feels the tightened rein in the hand of his master: and she had done it all uncon- sciously—would have done it unwil- lingly, had she known how perfectly it obeyed. Her conquests were regretted; she sorrowed for the men she had been obliged to refuse, just as she gloried in the man she had accepted. Him she loved; not as thousands upon thou- sands of men and women love, when criticism and kisses are borne upon the same breath, when passion and petu- lance lurk in the same endearing terms, when pride and policy, devotion and deception at the same time adorn and disfigure the erratic god. She loved with that superlativeness of thought and deed, that completeness of heart and being, which has within THE ARGOSY. it nothing of ostentation, but every- thing of reality. The wooing had been short, but di- rect. They had known each other as children, and they had not met again till this season. The existence of each had been forgotten by the other, ex- cept in that general way in which one remembers a playmate of childhood; and then, fate brought them together once more in a formal presentation. “It is my old playmate, Mercy,” the young earl had said, smiling with pleasure; and she had replied: “ Yes, Jack, your playmate still, if you wish.” Then they walked apart and talked over those half forgotten hours until the rooms were filled with guests and they were obliged to part. “Mercy,” he said then, while the others surged around them, jostling him even as he spoke, “I am going to ask you to fulfil the promise that you uttered a few moments ago. I want you to be my playmate always. May I come and ask you that question? ”’ “ Yes, Jack,” she replied, ‘‘ you may come, but you need not ask the ques- tion, for you have the answer now. We will be playmates always.” Such was their engagement; and now, the wedding. Never, in the history of London, short of royalty itself, had such an oc- casion as this wedding gladdened the hearts of the smart set—of those who loved show more than reality; the out- ward and visible sign, more than the inward and spiritual grace; though there was nothing of true worth lack- ing in this particular function. It was the inward and spiritual grace with the outward and visible sign nec- essarily present, because of the riches of the groom, the beauty of the bride, and the acknowledged superiority of position enjoyed by each. It was, in one way, too, an innovation, for it was the first of the early morning weddings, held at sunrise, just as the sun begins to polish the visible world with a gloss of gold and ivory—when the birds be- ECOMRRIC Oe CO