HELEN M. BURNSIDE.
AN APRIL FOLLY.
BY GILBERT H. PAGE.
April 1, 1890. 58A, Lincoln's Inn Fields.--I execrate my fellow men--and
women! To-day I was over at Catherine's. Not an unusual occurrence with
me, but on a more than usually important mission. I needn't note down
how I achieved it. Am I likely to forget my impotent speeches? Still,
she had given me plenty of excuse for supposing she liked me, and I said
so. And then Catherine laughed her exasperating little laugh that always
dries up all sentiment on the spot, and makes my blood boil with anger.
"I _like_ you?" she repeated mockingly; "not at all! not in the least!
What can you be dreaming of?"
I did for a moment dream of rolling her elaborately curled head in the
dust of the drawing-room carpet; but I restricted myself to saying a few
true and exceedingly bitter things, and departed without giving her time
to reply; and herewith I register a vow on the tablets of my heart: "If
ever again I make a single friendly overture to that young woman, may I
cut off the hand that so betrays me!"
By-the-bye, it is April Fools' Day, an appropriate date by which to
remember my folly.
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