Tom Moore Part 61

"What is your answer, Tom?" she asked, almost anxiously.

"I 'll have to be wooed further before I give it," he declared, keenly relis.h.i.+ng the situation.

"I 'll do it," she murmured. "I 'll do it. Tom, I love you better than all the world. With all my heart and soul I love you."

She knelt beside him and drew his head down on her shoulder.

"I love you," she whispered again, and held him close.

"But," he sighed in happy endurance of the unwonted attentions he was receiving, "Why do you love me so desperately? Is it because of my beauty or my goodness?"

"It's both, Tom."

"Oh, I have it," he exclaimed, "it's my wealth."

"Tom," she said reproachfully and rose to her feet, but before she could reprimand him for his last a.s.sertion his arm was around her waist.

"Bessie dear," he said solemnly, "do you know, for a moment in the joy of your coming I forgot my poverty."

"I did not, Tom," she answered.

"You are an angel of love and beauty, dear girl; you have taken a load from my heart and brightened my life this day. I can't tell you how I adore you, how grateful I am for what you have said to me, but I cannot marry you."

"Tom," she cried reproachfully. "Do you think I do not know of that wretched bargain to which you were driven by that terrible publisher?"

"Who told you?"

"Mr. Sheridan."

"Will that old Irishman never learn to keep his mouth shut?"

"Never, while he can do good to a friend by opening it, Tom."

"I 'll sue him if he keeps on."

"That does n't seem to do much good, dear lad; I 've been suing ever since I came here this afternoon, and I do not seem to have accomplished anything. Tom, say we shall be married soon, there 's a dear."

"Bessie," he said slowly, holding her at arm's length, so that he could look deep into her eyes, "I 'll have to get a clerks.h.i.+p somewhere before that can be. My whole literary work is mortgaged for the future."

"You shall not keep that wicked agreement, Tom."

"Oh, Bessie, a promise is a promise," said Moore. "When I have found a position I 'll consider your proposal of marriage. Can't you see, dear, what poor proof of my love for you it would be to allow you to share my present lot? Think how we should struggle, perhaps almost starve."

"I should not care if I were with you," she said.

"But I, Bessie? It would break my heart to know you were bearing such desolation for love of me."

"Where there is love there can be no desolation."

Moore's voice shook as he answered her, but he remained firm in his determination.

"You are the bravest girl in all the world, Bessie, but even your sweet words shan't make me close my eyes to the truth. We will go on as we are now. I 'll fight it out, and when I am satisfied that I can offer you one t.i.the of what you deserve, if G.o.d wills that I succeed, I 'll come to you with open arms. I 've no head for business. It's a new world I 'll have to conquer, dear. We must wait and I 'll not let you bind yourself to me. Perhaps there will be some one else some day--"

She stopped his mouth with a kiss.

"How can you be so cruel?" she half sobbed. "There can never be any one but you."

"But," he said mischievously, "you took so long to make up your mind, I thought--"

"Tom, you don't love me or you would not tease me so."

"Oh, if you are to be believed, teasing is no sign of indifference,"

said Moore. "It's a leaf from the book you wrote me this last year that you are reading now, Bessie!"

"You are so obstinate," she sighed. "Ah, Tom, you will succeed in spite of all. I know you will."

"Then, dearest, let us wait. Think, how can I expect you to obey me as my wife if you disobey me as a sweetheart?"

"But," said the girl, pouting, "I am not used to being rejected."

"_I am_," said he. "It is good experience."

"I suppose I 'll have to let you have your way."

"I suppose you will, Bessie."

"Father is coming after me in half an hour," she continued, taking off her hat as she spoke.

"So soon?" responded Moore, regretfully.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Bessie, quite at home as lady of the house.

"What is that?" said Moore, looking at her.

"Come in," she repeated, blus.h.i.+ng as she realized her presumption.

"So you have established yourself already?" said the poet, his eyes twinkling, as he opened the door.

It was Mrs. Malone, resplendent in the best her wardrobe could afford.

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

_THE POET HAS CALLERS AND GIVES A DINNER-PARTY_