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Updated: May 15, 2025
"And his name was not Aglen, at all?" asked Arnold. "No; he took the name of Aglen from a fancied feeling of pride when he quarreled with his father about well, it was about his marriage, as you know, Mr. Emblem; he came to London, and tried to make his way by writing, and thought to do it, and either to hide a failure or brighten a success, by using a pseudonym.
Your son-in-law was known to you under the name of Aglen, which was not his real name. Did he tell you his real name?" "No." "What did he tell you? Do you remember the letter?" "I remember every word of the letter." "If you dictate it, I will write it down. That may be a help." Mr.
Aglen died November 25th, 1866, and is buried in the cemetery of Johnson City, Ill." The old man folded the letter carefully, and laid it on the table. Then he rose and walked across the room to the safe, which stood with open door in the corner furthest from the fireplace. Among its contents was a packet sealed and tied up in red tape, endorsed: "For Iris.
This is Miss Aglen, who is, I need hardly say, deeply anxious to win your good opinion. And this is Lala Roy, an Indian gentleman who knew her father, and has lived in the same house with her for twenty years. Our debt I shall soon be able to say your debt of gratitude to this gentleman for his long kindness to Miss Aglen is one which can never be repaid."
It would be a strange thing only to think upon this journey which lies before me, and which I must take alone, had I time left for thinking. But I have not. I may last a week, or I may die in a few hours. Therefore, to the point. "In one small thing we deceived you, Alice and I my name is not Aglen at all; we took that name for certain reasons.
The girl who gives you a cup of tea in a shop; the girl who dances in the ballet; the girl who makes your dresses." "In that case, Clara, you need not mind my calling Miss Aglen a young lady." "There is one word left, at least: women of my class are gentlewomen." "Miss Aglen is a gentlewoman." "Arnold, look me in the face. My dear boy, tell me, are you mad?
My dear cousin, I owe so much to you, that I want to owe you more. Now, I have a proposition a promise to make to you. I am now so sure, so very sure and certain, that you will want me to marry Miss Aglen and no one else when you once know her, that I will engage solemnly not to marry her unless you entirely approve. Let me owe my wife to you, as well as everything else."
Emblem began quickly, and as if he was afraid of forgetting: "'When you read these lines, I shall be in the Silent Land, whither Alice, my wife, has gone before me." Then Mr. Emblem began to stammer. "'In one small thing we deceived you, Alice and I. My name is not Aglen' is not Aglen " And here a strange thing happened. His memory failed him at this point.
"I do not know, mind," he said, still hesitating to take the final step; "I do not know the nature of the inheritance; it may be little or maybe great. The letter does not inform me on this point. I do not even know the name of the testator, my son-in-law's father. Nor do I know the name of my daughter's husband. I do not even know your true name, Iris, my child. But it is not Aglen."
It is by this time sufficiently understood that Iris Aglen professed to teach it is an unusual combination mathematics and heraldry; she might also have taught equally well, had she chosen, sweetness of disposition, goodness of heart, the benefits conferred by pure and lofty thoughts on the expression of a girl's face, and the way to acquire all the other gracious, maidenly virtues; but either there is too limited a market for these branches of culture, or which is perhaps the truer reason there are so many English girls, not to speak of Americans, who are ready and competent to teach them, and do teach them to their brothers, and their lovers, and to each other, and to their younger sisters all day long.
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