An Unconventional Confidence by Lucy Maud
The Girl in Black-and-Yellow ran frantically down the grey road under
the pines. There was nobody to see her, but she would have run if all
Halifax had been looking on. For had she not on the loveliest new
hat—a "creation" in yellow chiffon with big black choux—and a
dress to match? And was there not a shower coming straight from the
hills across the harbour?
Down at the end of the long resinous avenue the Girl saw the shore
road, with the pavilion shutting out the view of the harbour's mouth.
Below the pavilion, clean-shaven George's Island guarded the town like
a sturdy bulldog, and beyond it were the wooded hills, already lost in
a mist of rain.
"Oh, I shall be too late," moaned the Girl. But she held her hat
steady with one hand and ran on. If she could only reach the pavilion
in time! It was a neck-and-neck race between the rain and the Girl,
but the Girl won. Just as she flew out upon the shore road, a tall
Young Man came pelting down the latter, and they both dashed up the
steps of the pavilion together as the rain swooped down upon them and
blotted George's Island and the smoky town and the purple banks of the
Eastern Passage from view.
The pavilion was small at the best of times, and just now the rain was
beating into it on two sides, leaving only one dry corner. Into this
the Girl moved. She was flushed and triumphant. The Young Man thought
that in all his life he had never seen anyone so pretty.
"I'm so glad I didn't get my hat wet," said the Girl breathlessly, as
she straightened it with a careful hand and wondered if she looked
very blown and blowsy.
"It would have been a pity," admitted the Young Man. "It is a very
"Pretty!" The Girl looked the scorn her voice expressed. "Anyone can
have a pretty hat. Our cook has one. This is a creation."
"Of course," said the Young Man humbly. "I ought to have known. But I
am very stupid."
"Well, I suppose a mere man couldn't be expected to understand
exactly," said the Girl graciously.
She smiled at him in a friendly fashion, and he smiled back. The Girl
thought that she had never seen such lovely brown eyes before. He
could not be a Haligonian. She was sure she knew all the nice young
men with brown eyes in Halifax.
"Please sit down," she said plaintively. "I'm tired."
The Young Man smiled again at the idea of his sitting down because the
Girl was tired. But he sat down, and so did she, on the only dry seat
to be found.
"Goodness knows how long this rain will last," said the Girl, making
herself comfortable and picturesque, "but I shall stay here until it
clears up, if it rains for a week. I will not have my hat spoiled. I
suppose I shouldn't have put it on. Beatrix said it was going to rain.
Beatrix is such a horribly good prophet. I detest people who are good
prophets, don't you?"
"I think that they are responsible for all the evils that they
predict," said the Young Man solemnly.
"That is just what I told Beatrix. And I was determined to put on this
hat and come out to the park today. I simply had to be alone, and I
knew I'd be alone out here. Everybody else would be at the football
game. By the way, why aren't you there?"
"I wasn't even aware that there was a football game on hand," said the
Young Man, as if he knew he ought to be ashamed of his ignorance, and
"Dear me," said the Girl pityingly. "Where can you have been not to
have heard of it? It's between the Dalhousie team and the Wanderers.
Almost everybody here is on the Wanderers' side, because they are
Haligonians, but I am not. I like the college boys best. Beatrix says
that it is just because of my innate contrariness. Last year I simply
screamed myself hoarse with enthusiasm. The Dalhousie team won the
"If you are so interested in the game, it is a wonder you didn't go to
see it yourself," said the Young Man boldly.
"Well, I just couldn't," said the Girl with a sigh. "If anybody had
ever told me that there would be a football game in Halifax, and that
I would elect to prowl about by myself in the park instead of going to
it, I'd have laughed them to scorn. Even Beatrix would never have
dared to prophesy that. But you see it has happened. I was too
crumpled up in my mind to care about football today. I had to come
here and have it out with myself. That is why I put on my hat. I
thought, perhaps, I might get through with my mental gymnastics in
time to go to the game afterwards. But I didn't. It is just maddening,
too. I got this hat and dress on purpose to wear to it. They're black
and yellow, you see—the Dalhousie colours. It was my own idea. I was
sure it would make a sensation. But I couldn't go to the game and take
any interest in it, feeling as I do, could I, now?"
The Young Man said, of course, she couldn't. It was utterly out of the
The Girl smiled. Without a smile, she was charming. With a smile, she
"I like to have my opinions bolstered up. Do you know, I want to tell
you something? May I?"
"You may. I'll never tell anyone as long as I live," said the Young
"I don't know you and you don't know me. That is why I want to tell
you about it. I must tell somebody, and if I told anybody I knew,
they'd tell it all over Halifax. It is dreadful to be talking to you
like this. Beatrix would have three fits, one after the other, if she
saw me. But Beatrix is a slave to conventionality. I glory in
discarding it at times. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all," said the Young Man sincerely.
The Girl sighed.
"I have reached that point where I must have a confidant, or go crazy.
Once I could tell things to Beatrix. That was before she got engaged.
Now she tells everything to him. There is no earthly way of
preventing her. I've tried them all. So, nowadays, when I get into
trouble, I tell it out loud to myself in the glass. It's a relief, you
know. But that is no good now. I want to tell it to somebody who can
say things back. Will you promise to say things back?"
The Young Man assured her that he would when the proper time came.
"Very well. But please don't look at me while I'm telling you. I'll be
sure to blush in places. When Beatrix wants to be particularly
aggravating she says I have lost the art of blushing. But that is only
her way of putting it, you know. Sometimes I blush dreadfully."
The Young Man dragged his eyes from the face under the
black-and-yellow hat, and fastened them on a crooked pine tree that
hung out over the bank.
"Well," began the Girl, "the root of the whole trouble is simply this.
There is a young man in England. I always think of him as the
Creature. He is the son of a man who was Father's especial crony in
boyhood, before Father emigrated to Canada. Worse than that, he comes
of a family which has contracted a vile habit of marrying into our
family. It has come down through the ages so long that it has become
chronic. Father left most of his musty traditions in England, but he
brought this pet one with him. He and this friend agreed that the
latter's son should marry one of Father's daughters. It ought to have
been Beatrix—she is the oldest. But Beatrix had a pug nose. So Father
settled on me. From my earliest recollection I have been given to
understand that just as soon as I grew up there would be a ready-made
husband imported from England for me. I was doomed to it from my
cradle. Now," said the Girl, with a tragic gesture, "I ask you, could
anything be more hopelessly, appallingly stupid and devoid of
romance than that?"
The Young Man shook his head, but did not look at her.
"It's pretty bad," he admitted.
"You see," said the Girl pathetically, "the shadow of it has been over
my whole life. Of course, when I was a very little girl I didn't mind
it so much. It was such a long way off and lots of things might
happen. The Creature might run away with some other girl—or I might
have the smallpox—or Beatrix's nose might be straight when she grew
up. And if Beatrix's nose were straight she'd be a great deal prettier
than I am. But nothing did happen—and her nose is puggier than ever.
Then when I grew up things were horrid. I never could have a single
little bit of fun. And Beatrix had such a good time! She had scores of
lovers in spite of her nose. To be sure, she's engaged now—and he's a
horrid, faddy little creature. But he is her own choice. She wasn't
told that there was a man in England whom she must marry by and by,
when he got sufficiently reconciled to the idea to come and ask her.
Oh, it makes me furious!"
"Is—is there—anyone else?" asked the Young Man hesitatingly.
"Oh, dear, no. How could there be? Why, you know, I couldn't have the
tiniest flirtation with another man when I was as good as engaged to
the Creature. That is one of my grievances. Just think how much fun
I've missed! I used to rage to Beatrix about it, but she would tell me
that I ought to be thankful to have the chance of making such a good
match—the Creature is rich, you know, and clever. As if I cared how
clever or rich he is! Beatrix made me so cross that I gave up saying
anything and sulked by myself. So they think I'm quite reconciled to
it, but I'm not."
"He might be very nice after all," suggested the Young Man.
"Nice! That isn't the point. Oh, don't you see? But no, you're a
man—you can't understand. You must just take my word for it. The
whole thing makes me furious. But I haven't told you the worst. The
Creature is on his way out to Canada now. He may arrive here at any
minute. And they are all so aggravatingly delighted over it."
"What do you suppose he feels like?" asked the Young Man
"Well," said the Girl frankly, "I've been too much taken up with my
own feelings to worry about his. But I daresay they are pretty much
like mine. He must loathe and detest the very thought of me."
"Oh, I don't think he does," said the Young Man gravely.
"Don't you? Well, what do you suppose he does think of it all? You
ought to understand the man's part of it better than I can."
"There's as much difference in men as in women," said the Young Man in
an impersonal tone. "I may be right or wrong, you see, but I imagine
he would feel something like this: From boyhood he has understood that
away out in Canada there is a little girl growing up who is some day
to be his wife. She becomes his boyish ideal of all that is good and
true. He pictures her as beautiful and winsome and sweet. She is his
heart's lady, and the thought of her abides with him as a safeguard
and an inspiration. For her sake he resolves to make the most of
himself, and live a clean, loyal life. When she comes to him she must
find his heart fit to receive her. There is never a time in all his
life when the dream of her does not gleam before him as of a star to
which he may aspire with all reverence and love."
The Young Man stopped abruptly, and looked at the Girl. She bent
forward with shining eyes, and touched his hand.
"You are splendid," she said softly. "If he thought so—but no—I am
sure he doesn't. He's just coming out here like a martyr going to the
stake. He knows he will be expected to propose to me when he gets
here. And he knows that I know it too. And he knows and I know
that I will be expected to say my very prettiest 'yes.'"
"But are you going to say it?" asked the Young Man anxiously.
The Girl leaned forward. "No. That is my secret. I am going to say a
most emphatic 'no.'"
"But won't your family make an awful row?"
"Of course. But I rather enjoy a row now and then. It stirs up one's
grey matter so nicely. I came out here this afternoon and thought the
whole affair over from beginning to end. And I have determined to say
"Oh, I wouldn't make it so irreconcilable as that," said the Young Man
lightly. "I'd leave a loophole of escape. You see, if you were to like
him a little better than you expect, it would be awkward to have
committed yourself by a rash vow to saying 'no,' wouldn't it?"
"I suppose it would," said the Girl thoughtfully, "but then, you know,
I won't change my mind."
"It's just as well to be on the safe side," said the Young Man.
The Girl got up. The rain was over and the sun was coming out through
"Perhaps you are right," she said. "So I'll just resolve that I will
say 'no' if I don't want to say 'yes.' That really amounts to the same
thing, you know. Thank you so much for letting me tell you all about
it. It must have bored you terribly, but it has done me so much good.
I feel quite calm and rational now, and can go home and behave myself.
"Goodbye," said the Young Man gravely. He stood on the pavilion and
watched the Girl out of sight beyond the pines.
When the Girl got home she was told that the Dalhousie team had won
the game, eight to four. The Girl dragged her hat off and waved it
"What a shame I wasn't there! They'd have gone mad over my dress."
But the next item of information crushed her. The Creature had
arrived. He had called that afternoon, and was coming to dinner that
"How fortunate," said the Girl, as she went to her room, "that I
relieved my mind to that Young Man out in the park today. If I had
come back with all that pent-up feeling seething within me and heard
this news right on top of it all, I might have flown into a thousand
pieces. What lovely brown eyes he had! I do dote on brown eyes. The
Creature will be sure to have fishy blue ones."
When the Girl went down to meet the Creature she found herself
confronted by the Young Man. For the first, last, and only time in her
life, the Girl had not a word to say. But her family thought her
confusion very natural and pretty. They really had not expected her to
behave so well. As for the Young Man, his manner was flawless.
Toward the end of the dinner, when the Girl was beginning to recover
herself, he turned to her.
"You know I promised never to tell," he said.
"Be sure you don't, then," said the Girl meekly.
"But aren't you glad you left the loophole?" he persisted.
The Girl smiled down into her lap.
"Perhaps," she said.