An Honorable Precedent

by H. B. Marriott Watson

AN HONORABLE PRECEDENT*

By H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON.

"BUT don't you think," said I to Miss Hewitt, "that the end justifies the means?" She shook her head. "Oh, no," she said; "that's Jesuitical." "Well now, here's an example," I suggested. "You are anxious to sell the contents of this stall, aren't you?" "Oh, yes," responded Miss Hewitt. "And you would be delighted if someone were to come and buy it all up? It would be of such use to the Charity," "Certainly," said Miss Hewitt, promptly. "And would vex Miss Chudleigh over the way?" I added. Miss Hewitt looked at me with suspicion, but I'm sure I was very demure. "Oh, it would be nice, of course, to be successful," she assented. "It would mean fifty pounds." "May I trouble you for another ice," said I, feeling that I was bound to do something after that. "Thank you—strawberry. Well, as I was saying, if you could find a means of getting rid of all this, and thereby benefiting the Charity by so much, you would feel disposed to take it, even if it wasn't quite—well—quite, you know." "I wouldn't do anything dishonest," put in Miss Hewitt, quickly. "Oh, I wasn't talking of anything dishonest," I protested. "I was only thinking that there might be other means, not dishonest, you know, but just a little—well, not quite conventional, you know."

"What sort of means?" asked Miss Hewitt, curiously. "Why now," I said, "you have sold very little all the day, haven't you?" Miss Hewitt bit her lips, and a disconsolate look came into her face. "While I've been here," I said, "you have only disposed of two pairs of stockings, one woolen comforter for the hot weather, and a sort of—a kind of—I didn't quite see, but I thought it looked like a——" "I know I haven't sold much," broke in Miss Hewitt, hastily, and with a slight accession of color. "You have only bought a few ices." I looked meditative. "So I have," I said, feeling that another call was made upon me. "I wonder if I might—no; perhaps better not I suppose you haven't such a thing as a baby's perambulator, Miss Hewitt?" Miss Hewitt was not amused; she had only an eye to a bargain. "No," she said, eagerly, "I'm afraid I haven't; but I've got a very nicely-dressed cradle, and some rattles—and——" "Ah," said I, shaking my head, "I'm afraid it's not old enough for those things." She sighed, and glanced across the way, where Miss Chudleigh was engaged in a roaring trade. "I think I might have one more ice," I said, very bravely. It was not so very hard, after all; the heat was very great and they soon melted.

Miss Hewitt was very nice about it. "Are you sure you ought to?" she asked, doubtfully. "Miss Hewitt," said I, "you are much too scrupulous. That is the reason of your failure. And yet you would have sold me a cradle and rattles with perfect equanimity, knowing that I am a bachelor. The inconsistency of your sex is a puzzle," I remarked, shaking my head. "Oh, but I didn't think about that," she said, with a blush. "I only thought you wanted——" "Come then," I said, "what would you do to get rid of all your articles of commerce?" Miss Hewitt's eyes opened. "Oh, if I could only do that," she exclaimed. "Well, how far would you be prepared to go for it?" said I, insinuatingly. She paused. "I'd—I'd give up the ball to-night," she exclaimed, impulsively. I shook my head. "I have no means of gauging the value of that renunciation," I said, thoughtfully; "but possibly it is greater than the one I know which would enable you to sell your stall." "Oh, do you know a way?" cried she, breathlessly. "Why, certainly," said I, still reflectively. "Mr. Randall, tell me," she pleaded, clasping her hands and putting her elbows on the stall. She looked eagerly into my face. I really had no notion until that moment, but somehow her action put it into my head. "Have you ever heard of the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, Miss Hewitt?" I asked.

Miss Hewitt leaned, staring at me for a moment, and then a look of intelligence came into her eyes, her color started, and she moved away. "I don't think you should make those kind of jests," she remarked, disdainfully. "It's not a jest," I answered, reassuringly. "Then, you're all the horrider," she returned, feigning to be busy with her commerce. "But," I said, in perplexity, "I don't see—I only asked you if you remembered the Duchess of Devonshire—the one what's-his-name painted, you know." Miss Hewitt was much embarrassed; her face took on many expressions. "But you——" she began, and stopped. "Do you remember her?" I asked. "Of course," said Miss Hewitt, snappishly. "Well then," I said, "why am I horrid?" She paid me no attention, but began shifting the things upon the stall in a reckless way. "Oh!" I exclaimed, suddenly, "I see what you were thinking of—you thought I meant—I see now. You thought that I was advising you to sell——" Miss Hewitt got redder than ever. "I didn't think anything of the sort," she exclaimed, hurriedly, and dusting away at nothing, "and I wish you'd go away if you're not going to buy anything." "I should like another ice, please," said I.

Miss Hewitt was somewhat taken aback, and looked as if she would like to speak, but she only frowned and dumped another ice upon the counter. "But now you have suggested it," I went on, considering, "it's not at all a bad idea." Miss Hewitt moved to the further end of the stall, and sold another pair of stockings. "It's quite worth thinking of," I said, when she was within hearing again; "I am glad you mentioned it" "I never mentioned anything," she retorted, hotly. "No, of course, you didn't mention it," I agreed, "but I don't see why you should be angry, because we are discussing calmly——" "I'm not discussing anything," she observed, tartly. "No," said I, "but if the Duchess of Devonshire thought it a good deed to purchase what she considered the welfare of her country by allowing voters to kiss her, I don't think you should be offended if for the sake of an excellent Charity——" "I am not the Duchess of Devonshire," said Miss Hewitt, shortly. "I don't suppose," I said, "that it was much of a kiss." Miss Hewitt's nostrils curled in scorn. "Good people are always so particular," I said, philosophically. Miss Hewitt's indignation broke forth. "Do you suppose, Mr. Randall," said she, sarcastically, "that one would allow anyone that wished to——" "Oh, I never said anyone," I interrupted, hastily. "No, certainly not anyone." She looked at me with undisguised hauteur. I glanced about the stall. "I should like to have a lot of those things," I said. "I could send them to a children's hospital, you know." Miss Hewitt's face relaxed slightly. "They would be very useful," she said. "It would be fifty pounds, wouldn't it?" I asked, as if entering on a calculation. "Yes," said Miss Hewitt, with a little show of excitement; "forty-five if anyone took the lot." I fingered in my pocket, and hesitated. "I'm afraid——" said I. "You see, I forgot I had promised to buy a quantity of flowers for the infirmary," I remarked, glancing at Miss Chudleigh's stall. Miss Hewitt's face fell, but she said nothing. I took out my pocketbook and extracted some notes, dividing my looks between the two stalls in a hesitating way. "I think the children in the hospital would like the toys very much," said Miss Hewitt, nervously. "Yes, they could play with the stockings nicely, couldn't they?" said I. She paid no heed to this remark.

"I wonder if Miss Chudleigh would do what the Duchess did," I observed, presently. "Perhaps you had better ask her," said Miss Hewitt, sarcastically. "Oh, no," I said, hurriedly; "I was only wondering. For the sake of the poor, people do make sacrifices, I suppose." "I don't believe she did let them—let them kiss her," remarked Miss Hewitt after a pause, and contemplating a wooden horse. "Don't you?" I asked, looking up, "What did they do, do you think?" Miss Hewitt examined the toy carefully. "Oh," she said, indifferently, "I should think she merely pretended." "Pretended?" I echoed. "Yes, they only kissed—just—not quite—I mean they didn't really touch her," she explained, with more interest in the horse. I considered this. "But some of them," I objected, "would not have been content to be put off that way. They must have really——" "Oh, if anyone liked to be rude and take advantage like that," she said, disdainfully, "she couldn't help it, poor thing." "No," I assented, "I suppose she couldn't, and she must have hated it all the time." "Of course she did," said Miss Hewitt, now inspecting a doll. "But she did it out of a sense of duty—to benefit her country," I concluded. "A man would never have been so unselfish," said Miss Hewitt. "Never," I said, emphatically. "But do you think that women are capable of such an act of self-sacrifice in these days?" I asked. "Of course," said Miss Hewitt, watching some people go by with great interest, "if—if they only—only pretended to." "But if there was an accident?" I ventured. Miss Hewitt apparently did not hear this. "Do you really think," I persisted, "that a woman—a girl would do a thing like that?" "She wouldn't—she couldn't—of course the Duchess did not let it pretend to be done—in—before anyone else." "Not, for example, in a room like this," I said, looking round the bazaar. "How then?" "Afterwards," murmured Miss Hewitt, bending down to pick up a pin, I suppose. "Oh," I said, "she would only promise then?" Miss Hewitt said, nothing. I rose, "Well, I'm afraid I must be really going," I said, holding out my hand. "I think if she were really honest she would have to keep her promise," said Miss Hewitt in a low voice.

I looked at her, but she was not looking at me. "I think you have given me two waltzes to-night," I observed. "It isn't very generous usage." "I'm sure it's quite enough," said Miss Hewitt, firmly. "Well, at any rate, let us sit out the second," I suggested. Miss Hewitt looked at me in surprise. "I thought you liked dancing," she said, innocently. "Oh, sometimes," I said. "But we might have a talk in the conservatory. It's sure to be very hot." "Do you think it is," said she. "Certain." "Oh, we'll see," said she, nonchalantly. I turned to go. "By the way," said I, leaning on the stall confidentially, "shall I leave you the fifty pounds now? And then you can send the things to the hospital at once, you know." Miss Hewitt avoided my eye. "I didn't know," she began, and broke off. "Perhaps it would be better," she murmured. I offered my hand. "To-night, then," I said. She did look at me at last, but it was quite by accident—just the sort of accident that happened in the conservatory.

* From Black and White. Illustrated for Short Stories by Gertrude Greene.