A Quicksilver Cassandra by John Kendrick Bangs. It was altogether queer, and Jingleberry
to this day does not entirely understand it. He had examined his heart as
carefully as he knew how, and had arrived at the entirely reasonable conclusion that
he was in love. He had every symptom of that malady when Miss Marian
Chapman was within range of his vision. There was no room for anyone else
there. He suffered from that peculiar optical condition which enabled him to see but
one thing at a time when she was present, and she was that one
thing, which is probably the reason why in his mind's eye she was the
only woman in the world, For Marian was ever present before Jingleberry's mental optic
He had also examined as thoroughly as he could in hypothesis the heart of this
only woman, and he had, or thought he had, which amounts to
the same thing reason to believe that she reciprocated his affection. She certainly seemed
glad always when he was about. She called him by his first name,
and sometimes quarreled with him as she quarreled with no one else. And if
that wasn't a sign of love in woman, then Jingleberry had studied the sex
all his years, and they were thirty two for nothing. In short,
Marian behaved so like a sister to him that Jingleberry, knowing how dreams and
women go by contraries, was absolutely sure that a sister was just the reverse
from that relationship which in her heart of hearts she was willing to assume toward
him, And he was happy in consequence. Believing this, it was not
at all strange that he should make up his mind to propose marriage to her,
though like many other men, he was somewhat chicken hearted in coming to
the point. Four times had he called upon Marian for the sole purpose of
asking her to become his wife, and four times had he led up to
the point and then talked about something else. What quality is it in a
man that makes a coward of him in the presence of one he considers his
dearest friend is not within the province of this narrative to determine, But Jingleberry
had it in its most virulent form. He had often got so far along
in his proposal as Marian, uh will you will you? And there he
had often stopped contenting himself with such commonplace conclusions as go to the matinee with
me tomorrow, or ask your father for me if he thinks the stock market
is likely to straighten soon, and other amazing substitutes for the words he so
ardently desired yet feared to utter. But this afternoon, the one upon which
the extraordinary events about to be narrated took place, Jingleberry had called resolved not
to be balked in his determination to learn his fate. He had come to
purpose and the purpose he would grew at Coliam. His confidence in a successful
termination to his suit had been re enforced that very morning by the receipt of
a note from miss Chapman asking him to dine with her parents and herself that
evening, and to accompany them after dinner to the opera. Surely that meant
a great deal, and Jingleberry conceived that the time was ripe for a blushing
yes to his long deferred question. So he was there in the Chapman parlor
waiting for the young lady to come down and become the recipient of the interesting
interrogatory, as it is called in some sections of Massachusetts. I'll ask her
the first thing, said Jingleberry, buttoning his Prince Albert as though to impart
a possible needed stiffening to his backbone. She will say yes, and then
I shall enjoy the dinner and the opera so much more. Ahem. I
wonder if I am pale? I feel sort of. Uh, there's a
mirror that will tell. Jingleberry walked to the mirror, an oval, gilt
framed mirror such as was very much in vogue fifty years ago, for which
reason alone no doubt, it was now admitted to the gold and white parlor
of the House of Chapman. Blessed things these mirrors, said Jingleberry, gazing
at the the reflection of his face so reassuring. I'm not at all pale.
Quite the contrary, I'm red as sunset. Good Omen that the sun
is setting on my bachelor days, and my scarf is crooked. Ah.
The ejaculation was one of pleasure for Pictured in the mirror, Jingleberry saw the
form of Marian entering the room through the portieres. How do you do,
Marion? Been admiring myself in the glass, he said, turning to greet
her. I ah. Then he stopped as well, he might, for
he addressed no one. Miss Chapman was nowhere to be seen. Dear me,
said Jingleberry, rubbing his eyes in astonishment. How extraordinary I surely thought
I saw her. Why I did see her? That is, I saw
her reflection in the glass. Ha ha ha. She caught me gazing at
myself there and has hidden. He walked to the door and drew the porteriera
aside and looked into the hall. There was no one there. He searched
every corner of the hall and the dining room at its end, and then
returned to the parlor, but it was still empty. And then occurred the
most strangely unaccountable event in his life. As he looked about the parlor,
he for the second time found himself before the mirror. But the reflection therein,
though it was of himself, was of himself with his back turned to
his real self, as he stood gazing amazedly into the glass. And besides
this, although Jingleberry was alone in the real parlor, the reflection of the
dainty room showed that there he was not so for seated in her accustomed graceful
attitude in the reflected armchair was nothing less than the counterfeit presentation of Marian Chatman
herself. It was a wonder Jingleberry's eyes did not fall out of his head,
he stared. So what a situation it was to be sure to stand
there and see in the glass a scene which, as far as he could
observe, had no basis in reality. And how interesting it was for Jingleberry
to watch himself going through the form of chatting pleasantly there in the mirror's depths
with the woman he loved. It almost made him jealous, though the reflected
Jingleberry was so entirely independent of the real Jingleberry, the jealousy soon gave way
to consternation, For to the wandering suitor, the independent reflection was beginning to
do that for which he himself had come. In other words, there was
a proposal going on there in the glass, and Jingleberry enjoyed the novel sensation
of seeing how he himself would look when passing through a similar ordeal. Altogether,
however, it was not as pleasing as most novelties are, for there
were distinct signs in the face of the mirrored Marian that the mirrored Jingleberry's words
were distasteful to her. And that the proposition he was making was not one
she would entertain under any circumstances. She kept shaking her head, and the
more she shook it, the more the glazed Jingleberry seemed to implore her to
be his. Finally, Jingleberry saw his quicksilver counterpart fall upon his knees before
Marian of the glass and hold out his arms and hands toward her in an
attitude of prayerful despair. Whereupon the girl sprang to her feet, stamped her
left foot furiously upon the floor, and pointed the unwelcome lover to the door.
Jingleberry was fairly staggered. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary a
freak of nature? Surely it must be prophetic. Fate was kind enough to
warn him in advance, no doubt otherwise it was a trick. And why
should she stoop to play so paltry a trick as that upon him. Surely
Fate would not be so petty. Now it was a warning. The mirror
had been so affected by some supernatural agency that it divined and reflected that which
was to be, Instead of confining itself to what Jingleberry called simul tineity,
it led instead of following or acting coincidentally with the reality. And it was
the part of wisdom, he thought, for him to yield to its suggestion
and retreat. And as he thought this, he heard the sweet, soft
voice behind him. I hope you haven't got tired of waiting, Tom,
it said, and turning Jingleberry saw the unquestionable real Marians standing in the doorway.
No, he answered shortly. I have had a pleasant of very entertaining
ten minutes, but I must hurry along. Marian, he added, I
only came to tell you that I have a frightful headache and I can't very
well manage to come to dinner or go to the opera with you tonight.
Why, Tom, pouted Marian. I am awfully disappointed. I had counted
on you, and now my whole evening will be spoiled. Don't you think
you could rest a little while and then come. Well, I want to,
Marian, said Jingleberry. But to tell the truth, I really am
afraid I am going to be ill. I've had such a strange experience this
afternoon. I tell me what it was, suggest tested Marian sympathetically, and
Jingleberry did tell her what it was. He told her the whole story,
from beginning to end, what he had come for, how he happened to
look in the mirror, and what he saw there. And Marian listened attentively
to every word he said. She laughed once or twice, and when he
had done, she reminded him that mirrors have the habit of reversing everything.
And somehow or other, Jingleberry's headache went away, and and well everything went
the end of a quicksilver Cassandra by John Kendrick Bangs