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Updated: June 3, 2025
There was nothing left for Owen Warland but to sit down like a man that had been stunned. He went through a fit of illness. After his recovery his small and slender frame assumed an obtuser garniture of flesh than it had ever before worn. His thin cheeks became round; his delicate little hand, so spiritually fashioned to achieve fairy task-work, grew plumper than the hand of a thriving infant.
Did you ever hear of a blacksmith being such a fool as Owen Warland yonder?" "Well said, uncle Hovenden!" shouted Robert Danforth from the forge, in a full, deep, merry voice, that made the roof re-echo. "And what says Miss Annie to that doctrine? She, I suppose, will think it a genteeler business to tinker up a lady's watch than to forge a horseshoe or make a gridiron."
Be sure you let me know. Footman. Yes, m'm. Ah! If I must meet one of them... Thanks. I'll take tea first. It's not that I've changed, of course, but only that I happened to have my back to the light. Isn't that what you are going to say? Oberville. Mrs. Warland! Isabel. So you really have become a great man! They always remember people's names. Oberville.
Isabel. I have no intention of eloping. Warland. For tea, I mean? Isabel. I never take tea. The same drawing-room. Isabel enters from the lawn in hat and gloves. The tea-table is set out, and the footman just lighting the lamp under the kettle. Isabel. You may take the tea-things away. I never take tea. Footman. Very good, m'm. Oberville was to have tea? Isabel. Mr. Oberville?
Raynor wishes the dog-cart sent to the station at five o'clock to meet Mr. Oberville. Footman. Very good, m'm. Shall I serve tea at the usual time, m'm? Isabel. Yes. That is, when Mr. Oberville arrives. Very good, m'm. Where are you going? Isabel. To my room now for a walk later. Warland. Later? It's past three already. Isabel. I've no engagement this afternoon. Warland. Oh, I didn't know.
It's curious to talk of it. I had put it away so carefully. How it smells of camphor! And what an old-fashioned cut it has! You wanted to know if there were to be people at dinner tonight Warland. Here it is but never mind. Isabel. Well? Warland. It's odd he never married. Isabel. The comparison is to my disadvantage. But then I met you. Warland. Don't be so confoundedly sarcastic.
"How strange it is," whispered Owen Warland to himself, leaning his head upon his hand, "that all my musings, my purposes, my passion for the beautiful, my consciousness of power to create it, a finer, more ethereal power, of which this earthly giant can have no conception, all, all, look so vain and idle whenever my path is crossed by Robert Danforth!
Old Peter Hovenden burst into a cold and scornful laugh. The blacksmith, by main force, unclosed the infant's hand, and found within the palm a small heap of glittering fragments, whence the mystery of beauty had fled forever. And as for Owen Warland, he looked placidly at what seemed the ruin of his life's labor, and which was yet no ruin. He had caught a far other butterfly than this.
The boat must be just leaving; she started an hour ago and took Laura with her. In fact I'm alone in the house that is, until this evening. Some people are coming then. Warland. But what in the world Isabel. Her aunt, Mrs. Griscom, has had a fit. She has them constantly. They're not serious at least they wouldn't be, if Mrs. Griscom were not so rich and childless.
Warland. If I only had a head for business, now, I might have done something by this time. But I'd sooner break stones in the road. Isabel. It must be very hard to get an opening in that profession. So many of my friends have aspired to it, and yet I never knew any one who actually did it. Warland. If I could only get the secretaryship. How that kind of life would suit you!
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