Speaker 1: 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