Fredericksburg College - Quips and Quibbles Yearbook (Fredericksburg, VA)

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QUIPS AND QUIBBLES Page 87 E was a naturalist; she was a butterfly. He had come to the Beach to study butterfly life; she had come to be one of the butterflies. He had singled her out from among the rest for special study; she had set her mind to lead him a chase. The Beach was in the wild delirium which comes with the realization that soon all will be over. But a little while and grim life would shake off the bright dream and awake once more for the realities of another season. Along the wide sands they strolled; he intent upon the capture; she rapt in the excitement of elusiveness. “No, I can’t give you that.” “Why? Let it be a souvenir, a sw r eet token of you.” “A very dear friend gave it. No, I can’t part with it.” “Is your friend she from whom you just parted?” “Oh, no! you have the sex wrong.” He drew back in rigid coldness. Breezes from off the ice fields of the far North lent themselves to his words: “But don’t you think you should have told me before of this other fellow?” A light beamed in her merry eyes. “Why, I didn’t think you would care, besides, I thought you knew.” “How should I know?” “I thought I had told you.” A look of bewilderment: “You have told me nothing except that-that I was the only-well-” “But-” “You didn’t make any exceptions then.” “I know, but everyone knows this.” “I did not, and you should have told me.” She turned away to hide the twinkle that would come. He raised the net, and gazed abstractedly at it, as the butterfly took to its wings and flew away. It was all over. Frost had come to put new life into limp humanity. Novels, cameras, bathing suits and sunshades were packed away, along with memories bitter-sweet. And the Beach was deserted. The erstwhile comatose city throbbed once more under the stimulus of the return flow of life. A dainty note, redolent of violets, familiar with its long drawn out words, two to the line, came one morning to the naturalist: “How foolish of you, you old Goosey, to get mad with me down at the Beach; I am awfully sorry; won’t you forgive me? I didn’t know I hadn’t told you I have a brother; and he’s so nice about giving me pretty things. Do you want that pin now?’ ’ He again took up his net, and went to chase butterflies. A parlor in Highlife street. A lamp turned real low. Cushions, foot stools, luxurious chairs. A bright little fire in a polished grate. She sat gazing upon the flickering flame as if all absorbed in its mysteries; he sat gazing upon her face as if lost in the

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Page 86 QUIPS AND QUIBBLES ■ MY LOVE You ask me to think of you sometimes When you have gone far away, And we are no longer children, And life has more work and less play. You beg me as onward I journey In the rugged pathway of life, When there comes an hour of gladness, A pause in the battle’s strife, That backward I memory turn To the happy hours spent with thee, Long years ago together, From cares and sorrows free. But dear heart, you know not, As you made this request of me, The depth of love that’s in my heart, And my endless thinking of thee. If you had asked, my darling, To try not to think often of you, Then would you have demanded A thing I could not do. For ever of you I am thinking With a love none ever can know, For it is far greater, my dearest Than was ever high Heaven below. S. T. L., ’02

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Page 88 The Aspen Leaf mysteries of the woman’s heart beneath the face. “Then why did you write this note?” One quick glance she gave from the fire to his hand; one quick move she made from his hand toward the fire; and the note was feeding the flame. “Now I never wrote you any note!” “But why did you throw my note into the fire?” “Because I wanted to.” “I asked you why you threw my note into the fire.” “Yes, and I have told you why.” ‘ ‘You have told me nothing except ‘because you wanted to. ’ ” “Isn’t that reason enough for you—it was enough for me.” “If you will tell me why you wanted to.” “Because I did, that’s all ” “That reason won’t do.” He became silent; she didn’t break his silence. A seeming eternity passed. The little flame shot up, unconscious of its part in the scene, fluttered and died away in hunger for further food. The diminutive gold and diamond timepiece on the tall white mantle ticked away in rhythmical sweetness, all unconscious that it alone broke the silence. The quarter-hour sounded its silver note; the half-hour marked its close by another chime; the three-quarters passed with one more sweet reminder that time was flying. His eye turned toward the little mentor, and his movement betrayed his impatience; she was exasperating patience itself. The first stroke of the hour sounded: “Must I take that as your final answer?” “Excuse me, what did you say?” “Must I take that as your final answer?” “Must you take what as my final answer?” “You wanted to ‘because you did, that’s all!”’ “Oh, I had forgotten—I was thinking about-something else. Suit yourself about that.” And he never even raised the net to see whether he had caught the butterfly. QUIPS AND QUIBBLES Days passed, they seemed weeks; weeks passed, they seemed months; months passed, they seemed years. Pride, the jealous ruler, had come in and had vanished from his soul Hope, the bright angel. Within her soul a battle waged; on the one side, fear lest he might never come back; on the other, a nature to dare and a resolve to tease; and a strong alliance were these two. In her hand was the balance. Which way would she tip it? The fate of the butterfly was hanging in the balance. A dazzling sea of brilliancy, of splendor, of beauty; and the music was a veritable invitation to the dance. “Stags out,” was called, and how did it happen? The naturalist was by the side of the butterfly. “Who has the next figure?” “I have saved it for you.” Fly, butterfly! A retreat among the palms. The laugh of merriment, the alluring strains of music, the noise of the dancing, came but as echoes from another world. He had lost his tongue; over her was a strange new charm; she was irresistible demureness itself. He looked upon her and found his tongue. “Why did you throw my note into the fire?” “Haven’t- Because I wanted-” He waited; she gave a little laugh: “Haven’t you learned yet to know that a woman can give no reason for anything she does; that it is her innate privilege to do as she pleases, and her will to be accountable for nothing? Don’t you know that when I gave you my reason ‘because’ that was sufficient an answer even if it had been yourself that I threw into the fire? When will you learn to take me as I am—”