The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-02-13
Day Before Yesterday.

Day Before Yesterday.
An entirely modern young man STEP
ped on board an outward bound train just
as it was moving away from one of the
Boston depots. He had not to hasten at
all to reach it, and his umbrella did not
form an awkward angle with the side of
the car as he climbed the steps. Indeed,
there was about all his movements that
air of elegant, if somewhat fatigued leis-
ure, that marks the essentially modern
young man. He entered the drawing-room
car, waited quietly in the doorway until
the perplexed gentleman with the large
party of ladies found his numbers, with
the porter's assistance. and allowed him
to pass. He then, like other young men,
deposited his overcoat in an armchair,
placed his bag and umbrella in the rack,
and, after an uninterested glance at his
fellow travellers, passed on into the smok-
ing car. All this, with that evident as.
sumption that the present compartment
was but an intermediate state leading to
a region of the blest beyond, so peculiarly
annoying to those whose sex precludes
them from its possibilities. The stout,
elderly gentleman, who had turned square
ly about, and was viewing the occupants
of the car with a broad smile touched
with expectancy, watched his exit with
look OF generous approval. The young
lady in the opposite corner glanced over
the top of her novel, and made mental
note of him, which later might or might
not be useful. The two ladies in black
looked up, without pausing in their con.
versation as he passed them, and one of
them thought that he looked like her COM
had been passed he returned, having pre-
sumbly finished his cigar, and, taking
novel out of his overcoat pocket, seated
himself and looked idly out of the win
dow. He was thinking of woman and
of his call upon her the evening before.
He and Adelaide Vincent had formed
habit of mutual Observation-Disclosures,
that is, in matters of appreciation, of
comprehension of each others moods, of
condolences exchanged; one of those re-
lations into which two clever people 80
often drift, when their surroundings and
education have been much alike. With
ground of genuine liking, largely mixed,
on his part, with admiration, it had been
surprise to neither of them to learn that
this relation had grown to be too near a
one to be given up; in fact, that to 60
from this to an ostensibly nearer one was
scarcely transition. This had been the
subject of their talk the evening before.
He had asked her to be his wife, and she
had answered him calmly, easily, almost
lightly, and had then retracted, almost
before he had received it, the consent she
had given.
"No," she had said, " 1 will give you no
answer now. l will wait until you come
back from this journey. 1t is new way
of looking at ourselves-you aud me-
you know. Let me become little used
to it before make up my miEd."
1t was of this that he was thinking
now. He was very much in love with
her. He was sure Of this; the doubt now
cast over their relations made him keenly
realize it. Though Adelaide was clear
sighted and thoroughly reliant on her own
conclusions, she was nevertheless girl
of moods. Might not her very keenness
and clearsightedness, her distrust of emo.
tional phases lead her to reject him after
all. 1t was more than possible. He was
by no means that repellant and unwise
creation, confident lover. His safety
lay in not disturbing her, in making the
whole affair reasonable one, not alarm
ing her by display of sentiment she
would be sure to think exaggerated.
Their conversation had gone on in very
quiet and very characteristic strain.
ave belong to our age; do we not ?"
she had said with serious smile.
81 hope 3d." he had replied. 1t must
ha O UooI daoI If q hOra to ha on apaoh
ronism. And if one is born 80 it's diff
cult thing to live down."
eyes," she went on, 81 have always
been thankful that have never had any
aspirations, any longings, above my
sphere. 1t is matter of temperament.
1t is not severe morality that teaches
me with what have Herewith to be con-
tent; it's that my own character and the
characters of those about me afford me
abundant entertainment. | find myself
very interesting"
"That is not altogether surprising" he
observed lszily.
"And find you interesting, too you,
Lawrence Brooks" and she regarded him
critically. "You are irreproschable in a
certain way. have never known you
to make mistake. Think of that |
And you are so appreciative you appre-
ciate me. What | do not know is
whether or not you would appreciate me
if were different. l rather think you
would not.'
al never defend myself upon general
grounds" Lawrence had said, laying down
the paper knife with which he had been
playing. "But when applications to the
individual are made, | am sure of my
ground. positively assert that no cir
cumstances could possibly arise under
which should not appreciate you"
"That is what mean by belonging to
our age. II were an snachronism, as
you have put it, and yet myself-thor-
oughly myself-if l had come over in the
'Mayhower,' for instance, would you have
appreciated me 2"