Half an Hour Before Supper

“ SO she’s here, your unknown Dulcinea, — the lady you met on the train,—
And you really believe she would know you if you were to meet her
again ? ”
“Of course,” he replied, “ she would know me ; there never was womankind
yet
Forgot the effect she inspired. She excuses, but does not forget.”
“ Then you told her your love ? ” asked the elder ; the younger looked up
with a smile,
“ I sat by her side half an hour, — what else was I doing the while !
“ What, sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the sky,
And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your own to her
eye ?
“ No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and as bold as the
look,
And I held up herself to herself, — that was more than she got from her book.”
“Young blood!” laughed the elder ; “no doubt you are voicing the mode of
To-Day ;
But then we old fogies, at least, gave the lady some chance for delay.
“ There’s my wife—(you must know) — we first met on the journey from
Florence to Rome:
It took me three weeks to discover who was she and where was her home ;
“ Three more to be duly presented; three more ere I saw her again;
And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that day on the train.”
“ O, that was the style of the stage-coach ; we travel to-day by express ;
Forty miles to the hour,” he answered, “won’t admit of a passion that’s less.”
“ But what if you make a mistake ?” quoth the elder. The younger half sighed.
“ What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced ? ” he replied.
“ Very well, I must bow to your wisdom,” the elder returned, “but admit
That your chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no whit.
“ Why, you do not, at best, know her name. And what if I try your ideal
With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en régle and real ?
“ Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist — you shall follow — this way.
My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid to stay ?
“ My wife, Mr. Rapid— Eh, what ! Why, he’s gone, — yet he said he would
come ;
How rude ! I don’t wonder, my dear, you are properly crimson and dumb!”
Bret Harte.