A Counterfeit Presentment by William Dean Howells

Author:William Dean Howells [Howells, William Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781411439917
Publisher: Barnes & Noble
Published: 2017-02-03T00:00:00+00:00

III

MRS. WYATT and CONSTANCE

Mrs. Wyatt: "Laughing, Constance?"

Constance, with a burst of indignant tears: "Yes, yes! Isn't it shocking? It's horrible! He made me."

Mrs. Wyatt: "He?"

Constance, beginning to laugh again: "Mr. Bartlett; he's been here. Oh, I wish I wouldn't be so silly!"

Mrs. Wyatt: "Made you? How could he make you laugh, poor child?"

Constance: "Oh, it's a long story. It was all through my bewilderment at his resemblance. It confused me. I kept thinking it was he,—as if it were some dream,—and whenever this one mentioned some trait of his that totally differed from his, don't you know, I got more and more confused, and—mamma!"—with sudden desolation—"I know he knows all about it!"

Mrs. Wyatt: "I am sure he doesn't. Mr. Cummings only told him that his resemblance was a painful association. He assured your father of this, and wouldn't hear a word more. I'm certain you're wrong. But what made you think he knows?"

Constance, solemnly: "He behaved just as if he didn't."

Mrs. Wyatt: "Ah, you can't judge from that, my dear." Impressively: "Men are very different."

Constance, doubtfully: "Do you think so, mamma?"

Mrs. Wyatt: "I'm certain of it."

Constance, after a pause: "Mamma, will you help take this shawl off my feet? I am so warm. I think I should like to walk about a little. Can you see the island from the gallery?"

Mrs. Wyatt: "Do you think you'd better try to leave your chair, Constance?"

Constance: "Yes, I'm stronger this morning. And I shall never gain, lounging about this way." She begins to loose the wraps from her feet, and Mrs. Wyatt coming doubtfully to her aid she is presently freed. She walks briskly toward the sofa, and sits down quite erectly in the corner of it. "There! that's pleasanter. I get so tired of being a burden." She is silent, and then she begins softly and wearily to laugh again.

Mrs. Wyatt, smiling curiously: "What is it, Constance? I don't at all understand what made you laugh."

Constance: "Why, don't you know? Several times after I had been surprised that he didn't like this thing, and hadn't that habit and the other, he noticed it, and pretended that it was an attempt at mind-reading, and then all at once he turned and said I must try once more, and he asked, 'Do I like smoking?' and I said instantly, 'Oh, yes!' Why, it was like having a whole tobacconist's shop in the same room with you from the moment he came in; and of course he understood what I meant, and blushed, and then felt for his handkerchief, and pulled it out, and discharged a perfect volley of pipes and tobacco, that seemed to be tangled up in it, all over the floor, and then I began to laugh—so silly, so disgusting, so perfectly flat! and I thought I should die, it was so ridiculous! and—Oh, dear, I'm beginning again!" She hides her face in her handkerchief and leans her head on the back of the sofa: "Say something, do something to stop me,

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