Читать книгу The Matrimonial Bureau - Carolyn Wells - Страница 8

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Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.

—Two Gentlemen of Verona,

In her library that evening Miss Esther’s thoughts came back to Helen and her castle in Spain.

“She ought to have one,” she thought. “She’s just the girl for a castle in Spain,—no, not exactly in Spain,—a Joyous Gard would suit her better. There should be a maze and a pleasaunce, and a mailed knight should come on his charger to beg for her glove, that he might joust for it in the Field of the Cloth of Gold. She would have made a wonderful Iseult, with a touch of Morgan le Fay. She is wonderful enough as it is, and it is a shame that there are no available Apollos or Abelards or Aucassins who want chatelaines for their castles.”

It is clearly to be seen that Miss Esther fully appreciated the fact that the ultimate ambition of the eternal feminine is the individual interpretation of that ubiquitous architectural structure known as a castle in Spain. This is distinctly opposed to the masculine attitude of mind which looks only for the Princess at the Window.

Though not definitely conscious of this differentiation, Miss Esther was building in her imagination various castles for Helen, when it suddenly occurred to her that the Prince would provide the castle, could she but find the Prince.

“Tekla found her Prince for herself,” thought Miss Esther, smiling as she remembered the big brunette Thor; “but one could scarcely imagine Helen applying to a matrimonial agency. I might apply for her, select a suitable Prince, and deposit him on her doorstep the way that Adolf man was dropped here.”

The whimsical idea pleased Miss Esther’s fancy, and she went into it in detail. “While I’m about it,” she thought, “I may as well select Princes for Jean and Lillian, too. This thing is not without precedent. Petruchio was brought and dropped at Katherine’s feet by outside influences. If I can help Helen, I’m going to do it. If she wants a castle, she’s going to have it, and if, as Tekla’s experience seems to prove, a matrimonial bureau is a necessary factor in the case—I’ll be one!”

The beauty of the plan grew upon Miss Esther. The possibilities widened as she thought about it, and she grew so excited that she found herself walking about the library, peering into the bookcases and making quick, explosive remarks to her friends: “You, Henry the Eighth, you ought to appreciate what I’m doing! You were nothing but a matrimonial bureau yourself!” and she shook her fist at the worn, leather-backed volume. “And you, Don Quixote, if you had applied to a matrimonial bureau, you would have found your old Dulcinea without any trouble, and you wouldn’t have had to fight those ridiculous windmills.”

“Yes, I’ll be a matrimonial bureau—a first-class one, and I’ll apply to myself for Princes for those three girls—and I’ll get them, too!”

“Dr. Isaiah Bushnell,” announced Nora, appearing at the library door; “do you want to see him?”

“Of course she does,” said the Reverend Doctor Bushnell, affably, as, rubbing his hands, he walked past Nora into the room.

“How do you do, Dr. Bushnell. Pray be seated. You find me very busy to-night.”

“Ah, yes, my dear Miss Adams, ‘t is a busy world; but work is a blessing; as one of our poets has it, ‘ ‘T is better to have—better to have—’ but there, I have no doubt you know the quotation. You are so familiar with the flowers of poesy.”

“I fear I cannot place the quotation you refer to,” replied Miss Esther, a little coldly.

“Ah, well, ‘t is no matter, ‘t is no matter. How often our memory fails us just as we need it most. It was only yesterday that I intended to approach you in reference to a most unfortunate affair which has been brought recently to my attention. But, ah, that fickle memory again. The little errand entirely escaped my mind, but to-night, as I was passing your beautiful home, and remembered that here dwelt the most charitable of women, I said to myself, ‘I will ask her!’ That, my dear Miss Adams, is my errand.”

“Is it?” said Miss Esther; “and how much money do you want?”

“Please do not be so abrupt, dear lady. Let me state the case. Let me tell you of the destitution—”

“Never mind the destitution, Dr. Bushnell, I will contribute to your cause, but as I said, I am extremely busy this evening.”

“Ah, yes indeed, yes indeed! and can I not help you? The benefit of my wider experience is yours for the asking. Let me advise and assist.”

“Do,” said Miss Esther, with sudden cordiality. “I should be glad of your help. Does your wide experience embrace the organization of a matrimonial agency?”

“Ah, you jest,” said Dr. Bushnell, a little stiffly; “surely you cannot mean to resort to such methods. You, who are destined to fill so nobly the niche in which Providence has placed you!”

The matter being presented to her in this light, Miss Esther perceived a certain humor in the situation that had not appealed to her before.

“Oh, if you advise against it, I will drop all thought of such a thing.”

“I do, my dear Miss Adams,” said Dr. Bushnell, earnestly. “Trust to my maturer judgment. It would be a mistake to take any such step, I do assure you. As I was reading yesterday, in my collection of famous poetry, ‘ ‘T was ever thus—’ ah, again the flowing numbers have escaped me. But you know—doubtless you know the lines. Now, as you were saying, my dear Miss Adams, every little counts, and your contribution will be gladly welcomed not only by myself, but by the worthy people whom we are endeavoring to assist. If you will pardon my abrupt departure, I will, upon the receipt of your beneficence, take my leave.”

Once again by herself, Miss Esther’s mind returned to her daring scheme.

“Let me see,” she thought, “young Putnam Adams must be about thirty now, and the Adamses are good enough Princes for anybody. I wonder how he would do for Helen. But no. A lieutenant in the regular army would never be able to provide the kind of a castle that ambitious girl insists upon. He would suit Jean better. She loves uniforms and a gay life; her happy disposition would be a fair match for his. In fact, the more I think of it, the more appropriate it seems. But I haven’t seen Putnam of late. The last time I saw him was when he was graduated at West Point, and that was six years ago. Since then he has been stationed in Manila, and goodness knows where else. Now all this may have made a man of him, and then, again, it may not, but he is an Adams, and he has won his shoulder-straps since he went away, so I think the boy must be all right. At any rate, I will invite him up here. I wonder if he will come.”

Having satisfactorily settled Jean’s future, Miss Esther turned her attention to the next name on the records of her matrimonial agency.

“Lillian,” she thought, “is so different from Jean. She takes everything so seriously—even that ridiculous art of hers. Well, perhaps ridiculous isn’t the word, for Lillian is not the sort that paints calla-lilies on a black background. She goes only so far, but every step she takes is just right; the trouble is that’s as far as she goes, and she never will get far enough to know that she can’t go any farther. A woman has no business with art, anyway. There never was one that did anything really worth while. I’m glad nobody’s here to say George Eliot at me, or Rosa Bonheur, or Chaminade. Sporadic instances count for nothing except to prove the rule. And I think that Lillian would be much happier married to some good, kind fairy godfather than going to Europe with some fairy godmother.

“But Putnam Adams would never do for Lillian—no, he is better for Jean. Lillian should have an older man—I don’t know why, for Lillian is no older than Jean, and yet it seems to me that the man who would be just the one for Lillian Hastings would be a kind, wise, staid sort of man—who would guide, counsel, and befriend her, and then if he thought she ought to go on with her art work, I’m sure I’d be perfectly willing. Then the responsibility of that girl would be off my mind. Now all I’ve got to do is to find that man. I wish there had been one in Whitfield, but as there isn’t, I must get him somewhere else. It’s positively maddening to think that there are probably hundreds of them in the world, if I only knew their addresses.”

Miss Esther possessed an absurd but absolutely unshakable belief in the way-pointing possibilities of the nearest available piece of printed matter.

She calmly picked up the morning paper with the certainly that she would find in it some indicating arrow pointing toward the material manifestation of the man whose image she had so clearly in her mind. It was part of her method to accept the first hint that could by any possibility be made available for her use as an accomplished fact.

“This will do nicely,” she said:—

A PHILANTHROPIC BEQUEST

Hiram Briggs Founds an Art School—The Wealthy Button Manufacturer Dedicates His New Edifice—Cost $500,000—A Memorial to His Late Wife.

—“That’s the one,” said Miss Esther, decidedly. “I need look no further. A man who is loving enough to erect such a memorial to his dead wife, and who is rich enough to spend $500,000 on it, and who is clever enough to have got rich on buttons, and who is sensible enough to be named Hiram Briggs, is just the man to take care of that artistic temperament of Lillian Hastings. He will act as a blender to her sharply colored views of life. Where does this altogether desirable man live? I will write to him to-night. Of course, Lillian may object to the buttons, but when she realizes Mr. Briggs’s devotion to Art, she will see the matter in its right light, I am sure.”

Miss Esther skimmed through the article quickly and discovered that Mr. Briggs was a citizen of Nashua, New Hampshire. This was entirely satisfactory, and the further details of the story also confirmed her good opinion of the man.

“He ought to get my letter by the day after to-morrow,” she thought, “which will give him ample time to take Lillian abroad this summer. They ought to sail by the fifteenth of August, I should think. And I shall give her one of those lovely traveling-bags furnished with any number of silver things. It must be such fun to find out what they‘re all for, and I should think her honeymoon would just about give her time enough.”