I didn't care for this picnic, and didn't see why I was invited as most of the guests were younger than myself. But it was one of those cases where a refusal might be misconstrued, and so I went. We sat around the white tablecloth en masse, for dinner; and in the course of the passing of viands, Miss Sprig was asked to help herself to olives that happened to be near her.
"Yes, do, while you have opportunity," said Mrs. Purblind.
"I always embrace opportunity," replied Miss Sprig with a simper. Whereat Mr. Chance, sitting next her, suggested that, as a synonym of opportunity, possibly he might stand in its stead.
I detest such speeches, they are properly termed soft, for they certainly are mushy--lacking in stamina--fiber of any sort. But I could have endured it, as I had endured much else of the same sort that day, had it not come from Mr. Chance. It may be foolish of me, but his tone and his words of the day before were still with me. They were so dignified, so sensible, so manly, that I respected and admired him. Up to that time I had not felt that I knew him, but after he spoke in that way, it seemed as if we were acquainted. Now I saw how utterly mistaken I had been, and I was mortified and disgusted.
The silly little speech I have quoted was not all, by any means; there were more of the same kind, and actions that corresponded. Evidently he was one of those instruments which are played upon at will by the passing zephyr. With a self-respecting woman, he was manly; with a vapid, bold girl, he was silly and familiar. I decided that I liked something more stable, something that could be depended upon.
I was placed in a difficult position just then. Had I acted upon my impulse, I should have risen and walked off--such conduct is an affront to womanhood, I think; but I was held in my place by a fear--foolish, yet grounded, that my action would be regarded as an expression of jealousy, the jealousy of an old maid, of a woman much younger and prettier than herself. This is but one of the many instances of the injustice of the world. I don't think that I am addicted to jealousy, but I may not know myself. Possibly I might have felt jealous had I been eclipsed by a beautiful or gifted woman, but it would be impossible for me to experience any such emotion on seeing a man with whom I have but a slight acquaintance, devote himself to a girl whom I should regard as not only my mental inferior, but also as beneath me morally and socially as well. The only sensation of which I was cognizant was a disgust toward the man, and mortification over the mistaken estimate of his character, that had led me, the day before, to suppose him on a footing with myself.