I—FRANZISKA FAHLER
It is a Christmas morning in Surrey—cold, still and gray, with a frail glimmer of
sunshine coming through the bare trees to melt the hoar-frost on the lawn. The
postman has just gone out, swinging the gate behind him. A fire burns brightly in
the breakfast-room; and there is silence about the house, for the children have
gone off to climb Box Hill before being marched to church.
The small and gentle lady who presides over the household walks sedately in,
and lifts the solitary letter that is lying on her plate. About three seconds suffice to
let her run through its contents, and then she suddenly cries:
"I knew it! I said it! I told you two months ago she was only flirting with him; and
now she has rejected him. And oh! I am so glad of it! The poor boy!"
The other person in the room, who had been meekly waiting for his breakfast for
half an hour, ventures to point out that there is nothing to rejoice over in the fact
of a young man having been rejected by a young woman.
"If it were final, yes! If these two young folks were not certain to go and marry
somebody else, you might congratulate them both. But you know they will. The
poor boy will go courting again in three months' time, and be vastly pleased with
his condition."
"Oh, never, never!" she says. "He has had such a lesson! You know I warned
him. I knew she was only flirting with him. Poor Charlie! Now I hope he will get on
with his profession, and leave such things out of his head. And as for that
creature—"
"I will do you the justice to say," observes her husband, who is still regarding the
table with a longing eye, "that you did oppose this match, because you hadn't the
making of it. If you had brought these two together they would have been married
ere this. Never mind; you can marry him to somebody of your own choosing
now."
"No," she says, with much decision; "he must not think of marriage. He cannot
think of it. It will take the poor lad a long time to get over this blow."
"He will marry within a year."
"I will bet you whatever you like that he doesn't," she says, triumphantly.
"Whatever I like! That is a big wager. If you lose, do you think you could pay? I
should like, for example, to have my own way in my own house."
"If I lose you shall," says the generous creature; and the bargain is concluded.
Nothing further is said about this matter for the moment. The children return from
Box Hill, and are rigged out for church. Two young people, friends of ours, and
recently married, having no domestic circle of their own, and having promised to
spend the whole Christmas Day with us, arrived. Then we set out, trying as much
