"Oh, drink be d----d!" he said; "what have you to tell me?""I'm glad to hear you rap out such a good honest oath," Isaid; "but I should like a drink, for all that, and if I may say so, you would be none the worse for a brandy and soda, late as it is."When the drinks had come, I remarked to him quietly, but not without significance: "The meaning of this ring is that your wife is here, and very wretched.By an accident I have been privileged with her friendship; and I may say, to save time, that she has told me the whole story.
"What happily she has not been able to tell me, and what I need hardly say she will never know from me, I overheard, in the interests of your joint happiness, an hour or so ago."The man who is telling the story has a proverbial great advantage; but I hope the reader knows enough of me by this to believe that I am far from meanly availing myself of it in this narrative.I am well and gratefully aware that in this interview with Orlando my advantages were many and fortunate.For example, had he been bigger and older, or had he not been a gentleman, my task had been considerably more arduous, not to say dangerous.
But, as Rosalind had said, he was really quite a boy, and Iconfess I was a little ashamed for him, and a little piqued, that he showed so little fight.The unexpectedness of my attack had, I realised, given me the whip-hand.So I judged, at all events, from the fact that he forbore to bluster, and sat quite still, with his head in his hands, saying never a word for what seemed several minutes.Then presently he said very quietly,--"I love my wife all the same."
"Of course you do," I answered, eagerly welcoming the significant announcement; "and if you'll allow me to say so, Ithink I understand more about the whole situation than either of you, bachelor though unfortunately I am.As a famous friend of mine is fond of saying, lookers-on see most of the game."Then I rapidly told him the history of my meeting with his wife, and depicted, in harrowing pigments of phrase, the distress of her mind.
"I love my wife all the same," he repeated, as I finished;"and," he added, "I love Sylvia too."
"But not quite in the same way?" I suggested.
"I love Sylvia very tenderly," he said.
"Yes, I know; I don't think you could do anything else.No man worth his salt could be anything but tender to a dainty little woman like that.But tenderness, gentleness, affection, even self-sacrifice,--these may be parts of love; but they are merely the crude untransformed ingredients of a love such as you feel for your wife, and such as I know she feels for you.""She still loves me, then," he said pitifully; "she hasn't fallen in love with you.""No fear," I answered; "no such luck for me.If she had, I'm afraid I should hardly have been talking to you as I am at this moment.If a woman like Rosalind, as I call her, gave me her love, it would take more than a husband to rob me of it, I can tell you.""Yes," he repeated, "on my soul, I love her.I have never been false to her, in my heart; but--""I know all about it," I said; "may I tell you how it all was,--diagnose the situation?""Do," he replied; "it is a relief to hear you talk.""Well," I said, "may I ask one rather intimate question? Did you ever before you were married sow what are known as wild oats?""Never," he answered indignantly, flashing for a moment.
"Well, you should have done," I said; "that's just the whole trouble.Wild oats will get sown some time, and one of the arts of life is to sow them at the right time,--the younger the better.Think candidly before you answer me.""I believe you are right," he replied, after a long pause.
"You are a believer in theories," I continued, "and so am I;but you can take my word that on these matters not all, but some, of the old theories are best.One of them is that the man who does not sow his wild oats before marriage will sow them afterwards, with a whirlwind for the reaping."Orlando looked up at me, haggard with confession.
