Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-01-01

| to go away forever; that L revered her as
Catholic reveres the image of his patron
saint-claptrap and cheap rhetoric have
great influence with women-but that
to remain near her, under the cir
cumstances, would be dishouorable and
drive me mad. l would not have avewed
my love except to explain my position. She
could never have understood my sudden
breaking off had not explained. Now that
1 had spoken. all would be over between us.
l should grow lachrymose and melodramatic
1 should talk ike the juvenile tragedian of a
country theater about an eternal farewell
May be she would allow me, as the hack nov
elist puts it, to imprint first, last kiss upon
her marble brow, and then, and then, fare
well-pronounced in eight syllablea-for-
ever"
But where's the gain in this, Bob? How
are you to get rich wife by forswearing her
society? Coniound it, you are trying to
humbug me-"
Not bit. Be patient. I'm coming to
tie point. If the girl cared anything for me
If she didn't, the game would be up-she
would be impressed by nay sense of honor
and chivalry, by my spirit of self-sacrifce,
by my declaration of love after my insistence
on frien lship and brotherhood. Ii she should
show any emoton-and she would be q
strange woman who did not-Td fall into
new raptures and proclaim that my love had
overcome my lifelong attachment to
celibacy; that to marry her would be
greater happiness than L had ever dreamed
of but that felt the disparity of our fnsn-
cial condition; that our union was impos-
sible; that l must keep my resolution, and
Danish myself eternally from her presence.
| II she were really fond of me, as she ought to
be by this time, she would say that my
poverty was no objection in her eyes; that
she honored my pride, but that, listening to
the voice of love, she could not hear the
clink of gold or words to that effect. Now
would come my grand opportunity, and 1
should be equal TO ityou may be sure"
"What would you do next, Bob?"
81 should enlarge upon the divine joy OF
being her husband, of feeling that she was
my ownest own, of living with and to her
until death, which alone could part us. [
should thank her for her generosity, for her
noble willingness to ignore my poverty
should pronounce her the most magnanimous
of women. But, should say, cannot
accept the sacrifice. Much as l love you, I
cannot forfeit my salf-respect, as L should
l. . III T. Eo1ra
of ne for that is what it would amount to-
We should have discussions, protests, scenes.
II | was as clever as a man ought to be TN
der such circumstances, 1 should make it ap
pear that the sacrifice was on my part. L
should at last accept her, despite her fortune,
surrendering principle after principle, preju-
dice as well as philosophy, in behalf of a
love which cannot reason, and which con-
quers everything by its omnipotence.
Wouldn't this be q triumph of manage
ment over money? Instead of receiving a
great favor from an heiress, the man who
could play his part skilfully would seem to
confer a great favor by accepting the heiress.
In place Of choosing her for her wealth, he
WOulu pear W bt LEU W ItGi W-e-As-- u
account of ais love for her"
''There is something in what you say, Bob.
Your plan is a good one. 1 should think
that you had been studying the subject Of
how to win an heiress. 1t is rather deep for
me- [ confess but I'm turning it over IN my
mind. The more reflect on it the better it
locks"
By this time the two young men had
strolled through Fifty seventh street. where
Miss Mumford had passed them, into Central
Park, beyond the Mall The afternoon was
that of one of the delightful days of early
May, so memorable in the vicinity of New
York, when the spring appears to have burst
all at once upon the world. Three weeks
before winter seemed still to reign. The skies
were often leaden, the winds raw and chilly
vegetation was backward the trees looked
as if afraid to put forth young leaves lest
late frost should kill them. But a fortnight
of warm weather had entirely changed the
aspect OF Nature The Park was freshly,
beautifully green the foliage was full of
birds; the air was deliciously soft; the paths
and promenades were thronged with men,
women and children, and the roadways
spanked with snowy equipages, containing
elegantly dressed men and women. 1. was
day when the Park showed the riches and
the rich citizens Of the metropolis Plethoiic
incomes were denoted in the sumptuous car
riages and the toilets of the women, who had
the air Of repose, even OF langor, and physi-
cal sslf,satisiaction which years of financial
surplus alone can give.
Bob, whose other name was Bargate, and
Hudson had sat down on a rustic bench, and
were watching the pageant. They had been
silent for some minutes, when Jack, who had
evidently been Illuminating, broke out with :
1t is glorious thing TO be rich, Bob par
tioularly here. You don't care for riches,
know, for you dislike society you have few
companions; you prefer to wander around
alone to read mustY books, speculate on the
unattainable, and aualyze folks. That IS
your taste but it is not mine. 1 love ex-
element, gay life, good company, nice din
ners, winters in Paris, summers in London,
and all that sort of thing. These cost money.
My income won't furnish them, aud feel
dizcontented without them. wish 1 had
your disposition, Bob, especially if had to
be poor all my life. You take matters
coolly you don't chafe. I don't really BE-
lieve you want anything, and, confcund it, I
want everything"
How do you know what 1 want2" ques-
toned Bargate, with certain asperity in
his tone, as if temper had got the better of
self-disoiplins. But. recovering himself, he
continued amiablY: You imagine, Jack,
that no man wants anything unless he con-
tinually talks about it. There are such
things as discipline and silence, though you
may not suspect the fact"
Hudson probably did not hear his com
| ror;on His ave and mind we fixed unon a