Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (109 page)

Hitherto,
as
far
as
the
strange
circumstances
permitted,
Trimmer had
felt
entirely
normal.
That
is
to
say
that
his
emotions
and
outlook were
in
keeping
with
a
man
of
his
age,
station,
education
and
habit of
mind.
Now
came
a
change,
sudden,
bewildering,
well-nigh
overwhelming.

Once
he
had
been
in
a
state
which,
for
want
of
a
better
phrase, he
called
being
"in
love."
He
had
"walked
out"
with
a
young
lady who
was
a
draper's
assistant.
After
a
while
she
had
deserted
him because
of
the
superior
attractions
of
a
young
clerk
in
a
warehouse. He
had
been
wounded,
but
not
deeply
wounded.
Marriage
was
not necessary
to
his
temperament,
or,
as
he
put
it,
he
could
get
along without
women.
Not
for
the
last
sixteen
years
had
he
thought
of love
until
that
moment,
when
he,
the
waif
of
another
century,
beheld Miss
Marjory.

It
was
as
if
some
strange
secret
were
revealed
to
him
on
the
instant. The
ecstasy
of
love
which
engulfed
him
like
a
wave
told
him
that here
was
his
true
mate,
his
complement
according
to
Nature,
bom into
this
world,
alas!
one
hundred
and
fifty
years
too
early
for
him. Yet,
for
all
that,
by
a
miracle,
by
witchcraft,
by
some
oversetting
of the
normal
laws,
the
gulf
had
been
bridged,
and
they
stood
now
face to
face.
He
walked
towards
her,
fumbling
in
his
mind
for
something to
say,
some
gallantry
preliminary
to
street
flirtations
such
as
happened around
him
every
day.

"Good
evening,
miss,"
he
said.

He
saw
the
blush
in
her
cheek
deepen,
and
she
answered
without regarding
him:

"Oh,
sir,
I
pray
you
not
to
molest
me.
I
am
an
honest
maiden
alone and
unprotected."

"I'm
not
molestin'
you,
miss.
And
you
needn't
be
alone
and
unprotected
unless
you
like."

The
maiden's
eyelids
flickered
up
and
then
down
again.

"Oh,
fie
on
you,
sir!"
she
said.
"Fie
on
you
for
a
bold
man!
I
would have
you
know
that
my
father
is
a
highly
respected
mercer
and
drives into
London
daily
in
his
own
chaise.
I
have
been
brought
up
to learn
all
the
polite
accomplishments.
'Twould
not
be
seemly
for
me to
walk
and
talk
with
strangers."

"There's
exceptions
to
every
rule,
miss."

Once
more
she
gave
him
a
quick
modest
glance.

"Nay,
sir,
but
you
have
a
pretty
wit.
'Tis
said
that
curiosity
is
a permitted
weakness
to
us
women.
I
vow
that
you
are
a
foreigner. Your
accents
and
strange
attire
betray
you.
Yet
I
have
not
the
wit
to guess
whence
you
come,
nor
the
boldness
to
ask."

"I'm
as
English
as
you
are,
miss,"
Trimmer
protested,
a
little
hurt.