Quicksilver Cassandra by J. K. Baines. 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 room for no one
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 was 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 a woman. Then Jingleberry had studied
the sex all his ears, 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 towards 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 it is
in man that makes a coward of him in the presence of one he considers
his dearest frith 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 or will you will you? And there
he had as often stopped contenting himself with such commonplace conclusions as go to the
matina with me tomorrow, or ask your father for me if he thinks the
stock market is likely to strengthen 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 propose, and propose he would ruat caleum. His confidence in a
successful termination to his suit had been reinforced that very morning by the receipt of
a note from miss Chapman asking him to die 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 here 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 up his Prince Albert as though to impart
a possibly needed stiffening to his backbone. She will say yes, and then
I shall enjoy the dinner and the opera so much. The more, ahem,
I wonder if I am pale? I feel sort of. There's a
mirror that will tell. Jingleberry walked to the mirror, an oval, gilt
framed mirror such as was very much the vogue fifty years ago, for which
reason alone no doubt, it was now admitted to the golden white parlor of
the House of Chapman. Blessed these mirrors, said Jingleberry, gazing at the
reflection of his face, so reassuring. I'm not at all pale. Quite
the contrary, I'm red as a 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 Poortierre. How do you do,
Marian? Been admiring myself in the glass, he said, turning to greet
her. I er here 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 glad ha. She caught me gazing at myself there and has
hidden. He walked to the door and drew the portiere aside and looked into
the hall. There was no one there. He searched every corner of the
hall and of 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 turn 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
arm chair was nothing less than the counterfeit presentment of Marian Chapman 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 wondering 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 could 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 towards 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. No, 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 simultaneity, 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 a soft, sweet voice
behind him. I hope you haven't got tired of waiting, Tom, it
said, and turning jingle Berry saw the unquestionably real Marian standing in the doorway.
No, he answered shortly. I have had a pleasant, 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 er I can't
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 can 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. Tell me what it was, suggested 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 had 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 a habit of reversing everything. And
somehow or other, Jingleberry's headache went, and well everything went, end of
a quicksilver Cassandra