Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1896-09-19
HIS IDEAL WOMAN.

from India was to spend week with
my people in the country. A good deal
can happen in five years, and we natural
ly had plenty to talk about But tore
myself away at last with a promise to
return for August and settled myself in
town in my old lodgings off st. James
street.
Apart from the various business mat
tiers requiring my attention-my invest
ments had not improved during my alb
sence and it was necessary to cast my
eye about for other securities-London,
at the moment, appealed to me irresisti-
bly,.
There, within the four mile radius,
was massed the whole of what / had
missed during my five years in a remote
station in Burma--the life. the mo-
tion, the perpetual sense Of something
going on, of being III close proximity,
if not in absolute contact with, the
source of current modes of thought, of
hearing the ceaseless hum Of the wheels
Of civilization, the throb of actually, of
which not even the echoes had penetrat-
ed to the squat white bungalow on the
banks of the Irawadi, where the mon
otony had not been varied by even so
much as a moments fighting, and one
made up for saving one IS intellectual by
overlooking ones physical instincts.
Once in town, found myself plunged
into vortex of amusement There
Were old friends to be Cooked up. I"
When Cooked up" they insisted on
dinner, to be followed by theater or
music hall. Some of the men | had
"done the town" with five years before
had got married. | had to make the ac-
quaintance of their wives. Others who
had been married had been divorced.
had to forget that they had ever been
married.
One way and another was so busy
that it was not till the end of a month
that / remembered that had not seen
Wetherby. He had always been lone OF
u.s. in the old days at Oxford and
elsewhere, prepared for anything and
everything, and ] could not make out
how it was that had not already come
across him.
"Oh, Wetherby," said Benson, the
stockbroller, when [ asked him what
had happened to our old friend, 1--WE
never see Wetherby now. He is supposed
to be i'll love. For myself, / believe he
was just going to marry a girl, and she
died, with the result that he has been
brooding over her death ever since.
Anyway, no one ever seems to sec
him anywhere, though he's still got
the same old rooms III the temple Co
and look him up by all means, but /
don't Suppose you'll be able to see him,
or, if you do, to get anything out Of
him. As l say, he never seems to go
out anywhere, though, as you know he
used to be such a great ladies man. y
with strong views as to the ideal
woman" Iput in, remembering various
conversations we had had ON tho subject.
eyes, " assented Benson, ''he was al
ways great ON the woman question,
talking about the perfect type, and all
that sort Of bosh He always was q bit
of dreamer.
Perhaps, l said maliciously, that
may account for his never being seen
now. He may have found this type and
be keeping her to himself. F"
perhaps, said Benson. However,
you go and see him. You and he used
to be such terrific pals you may be able
to get more out of him than we other
fellows have been able to do.
''Well, I'll go anyway. l said.
| went down to the temple that very
night My loud knock ON the outer door
of his chambers brought Wetherby him
self to open it. 1t struck me that he
looked half confused, half annoyed, as
if l had surprised him at a moment
when he was occupied with other mat
tiers and resented intrusion. | wondered
whether, after all, the perfect type"
theory was right,
l put my suspicion aside, however,
when, recognizing me at last in the semi
obscurity of the staircase, he seized my
hand and shook it warmiy. My dear
fellow" he said, II am delighted to
see you. When did you get back?' He
overwhelmed me with questions as
followed inside and pulled chair up
to the open window facing his own.
For an hour we sat talking over old
times and smoking The conversation,
reminiscent, as for the most part it was,
enabled me TO see that in some respects
he was changed from the man / had
seen five years before. He spoke more
deliberately-slower. As Benson had
remarked, he had always had tenden-
cy to dream. The tendency seemed ac-
centuate6. At times he was silent for q
minute together, putting meditatively
at his pipe. A last l could not help
questioning him even at the risk OF
| giving offense. Benson says, re-
marked, that you are quite different
from what you used to be. You never
go out anywhere. What is it? You re-
member our talking about the perfect
type. You have not found her? You
are not in love?"
He was silent moment, putting out
huge clouds of smoke. Then Look
here, old fellow" he said II don't
know why should not tell you. These
other fellows could not understand if
did tell them.
II am afraid you are crediting me
with more intelligence than possess,
| Safd ere what vOr7 r1rOpOSa m fall me