THE DREAM GIRL
 
 ./Illy daraen. ismuck more a aream ^X 
 
 / v' /I iO / 
 
 X U mJart J anu , J assure
 
 The Dream Girl 
 
 by 
 
 Ethel Gertrude Hart 
 
 <3 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 Gordon Grant 
 
 Garden City New\oik 
 DOUBLEDAY,PAGE ff COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 191 3, &? 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of 
 
 translation into foreign languages, 
 
 including the Scandinavian
 
 MOTIF 
 
 I lived with visions for my company 
 
 Instead of men and women, years ago, 
 
 And found them gentle mates, nor thought to 
 
 know 
 
 A sweeter music than they played to me. 
 But soon their trailing purple was not free 
 Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent 
 
 grow, 
 
 And I myself grew faint and blind below 
 Their vanishing eyes. Then Thou did'st 
 
 come to be 
 Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining 
 
 fronts, 
 Their songs, their splendours . . . (better, 
 
 yet the same . . . 
 
 As river-water hallowed into fonts . . .) 
 Met in Thee, and from out Thee overcame 
 My soul with satisfaction of all wants . . . 
 Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to 
 
 shame! 
 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 2130052
 
 TO 
 
 THE MAN OF LAW 
 
 AND 
 ANOTHER
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 These flashes on the surface are not he. 
 He has a solid base of temperament: 
 But, as the water lily starts and slides 
 Upon the level in little puffs of wind, 
 Though anchored to the bottom, such as he. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her 
 mind. 
 
 Othello, Act II., Scene I.
 
 FAIR UNKNOWN: 
 
 Polly says that above all things I 
 am histrionic; and that that just sums 
 up the whole situation. And she ought 
 to know. But at least it was at her sug- 
 gestion that this correspondence was 
 dreamed into being. And you con- 
 sented. Always remember that . . . 
 you consented. 
 
 It seems a bit odd, doesn't it? Two 
 
 people who know nothing of each other 
 
 save through a slip of a girl who are 
 
 never to meet how decided both you 
 
 3
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and she are on this point and yet a 
 friendship on paper is hazily approach- 
 ing us, and I am sending out the first 
 thought waves. How do you feel about 
 it? 
 
 I am wondering very much whether 
 you regard it, and me, as a mission! 
 Polly is inscrutable on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "Why dig for motives?" she suggests. 
 "A man with an imagination like yours 
 should never be at a loss." 
 
 I leave you to guess at the scornful 
 inflection with which these words were 
 uttered. What a practical little soul it 
 is, this Polly of ours. 
 
 I wish you could have seen her when 
 
 she told me about you, Lady-of-the- 
 
 Mountains-and-the-Mists . . . one 
 
 tumbled wave of hair shadowing that 
 
 4
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 clever forehead of hers, and her eyes 
 divided between blazing indignation at 
 me and cool contempt of me. 
 
 The room was firelit, and the coal was 
 sending leaping tongues of flame to 
 dance reflections in the tiles. Outside, 
 the fog was creeping steadily up from 
 the river flats. 
 
 And I was grumbling! 
 
 No, I don't do it often; only with con- 
 viction. And honestly, I think I have 
 cause. But here, that small friend of 
 mine and I part company. 
 
 "You might," she asserts carelessly, 
 "have been killed." And considers 
 this fact a crushing one. 
 
 "Pity I wasn't," I growl. "At least 
 you would have had the mournful grati- 
 fication of feeling that I had come by 
 my death in a fitting manner." 
 5
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Her eyes flicker. 
 
 "Yes," she says. "I ought to have 
 thought of that. It really would have 
 been most pathetic, and romantic. 
 'Gallant rescue of a child in which the 
 hero loses his life.' . . . Can't you 
 see it done in headlines, Max, and a 
 special article all to itself? Even I 
 should have come in for some of the 
 glory. ... I, who have the inesti- 
 mable distinction of typing your stories 
 for you. And you though tardily 
 would have been famous!" 
 
 And that is all it would have meant 
 to Polly. . . . 
 
 So now you are beginning to know 
 what manner of man Max Herrick is 
 very much at your service. A dreamer 
 of dreams a writer of stories which 
 have never made any stir in the world; 
 6
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and, at the present time, six-foot-one 
 of helpless manhood. 
 Polly looked up just then from her 
 
 cushion by the fire, and her eyes were 
 amused. 
 
 7
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "You are getting sorry for yourself 
 already," she said, demurely. 
 
 "Have you come to the part about 
 the fire yet? Send her the newspaper 
 clipping it will preserve your mod- 
 esty, and tell her all that you want her 
 to know." 
 
 Yet this is the girl whose white face 
 was the first I saw when I came back to 
 life, to find I had lost quite a piece out 
 of it after the rush through an in- 
 ferno of smoke and heat, and a fall that 
 seemed to last for years. 
 
 But perhaps I was dreaming then, or 
 still semi-conscious. For I fancied I 
 heard a quick catch of the breath and a 
 gasping "Thank God!" Polly cer- 
 tainly would not thank God because I 
 had taken hold of things again. 
 
 I hope I shall not bore you by writing 
 8
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 so much of her? You see she has some- 
 how grown into my life since the day, 
 two years ago, when I lit upon Mrs. 
 Collop's select establishment, and found 
 in one of my fellow boarders a girl who 
 could not only type my stories, but 
 criticise them pretty caustically. 
 
 I suppose it is friendship this com- 
 radeship of ours. Certainly for me, 
 life would lose much of its sauce pi- 
 quante if Polly slipped out of it. And, 
 from her side, it must be diverting 
 to have some one to lecture and quarrel 
 with. 
 
 She tells me that she has explained 
 the situation to you explained me. 
 And I can imagine it is on this wise, and 
 that Max Herrick as edited by Polly 
 Carrol is a man who, being blessed 
 with far more money than is good for 
 9
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 him, has played with his life, and taken 
 nothing seriously. 
 
 Well ... I wonder! 
 
 Only last night I had a sermon all to 
 myself on the subject that seems a tire- 
 less one. 
 
 "It isn't as if you were editing a 
 paper," she said musingly. 
 
 "There would be some excuse then for 
 your regarding everything and every- 
 body as copy. You are even" with 
 a flash of those wonderful eyes of hers 
 " studying me now with a view to 
 reproduction. And I shall have the 
 pleasure of typing my own utterances 
 later on. Is anything real to you?" 
 
 "Mrs. Collop's excellent beefsteak 
 pudding, for example," I suggested 
 lazily. She shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 10
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "You would write about anything," 
 she said hotly. 
 
 "This because I gave you a crop 
 of freckles in my last yarn," I said 
 temperately. "That seems to have 
 rankled." 
 
 " Me? " she said with a little, shadowy 
 smile playing round her lips. "I like 
 that. You know so much about me, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Is there more than one Polly 
 Carrol?" 
 
 "Not at all," she said icily. "I am 
 quite on the surface of things." 
 
 "Just so who ever supposed other- 
 wise? Still, an interesting study." 
 
 And then I was treated to an indig- 
 nant rush of colour. 
 
 But turn about is only fair, isn't it, 
 Dream Girl? There now, I have found 
 ii
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 a name for you, and it suits you rarely. 
 So much for a prophecy. For you live 
 among the mountains, and you have 
 grown to look like them. And. above 
 all, I catch a hint of exquisite compas- 
 sion in your eyes. 
 
 How do I know? Well, you see I 
 write that tells its own tale. And a 
 woman who is willing to receive and 
 answer letters from a sick man she has 
 never seen, must have just the touch 
 that Polly lacks. 
 
 And here, compunction seizes me. 
 For she has been rarely good, this com- 
 rade of mine; and my day begins when 
 she puts the cover of her typewriter on, 
 and slips in to my room to make it 
 home. My prison would be dreary 
 enough without her. 
 
 And though indolence is supposed to 
 12
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 be my prevailing characteristic, I don't 
 think it is. I like to be in things. 
 
 I suppose she told you how I came to 
 be Max Herrick, horizontal, not ver- 
 tical . . . ? 
 
 A fire in a small up-country hotel, and 
 a kiddie in danger, and a ladder that 
 gave way. You can fill in the gaps, 
 can't you? I was pretty ill for a while 
 with burns, and the shock to the nerves. 
 A man ought to rise above such things, 
 oughtn't he? At first there were forty- 
 eight hours to each day at least, com- 
 ma'd, and dashed (very much dashed), 
 and full-stopped by dressings of burns; 
 and paragraphed by liquid atrocities 
 that represented my special diet. A 
 NURSE capital letters all the way 
 through, please - - the ruler of my 
 destiny. She continues, though I 
 14
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 am promoted to lounge suit and full 
 diet. 
 
 Do you wonder that I am sorry for 
 myself on paper? 
 
 She is out for her walk now, and I be- 
 lieve she measures her steps. Her very 
 smile is professional, and never reaches 
 her eyes. And I grumble, and obey, 
 and am, like Ellen Thorney croft's novel 
 -"In Subjection." 
 
 Do you read Ellen, I wonder? And 
 do you wish that in this particular 
 child of her brain there was more 
 Fowler and less Felkin? I do. If 
 women novelists will get married, 
 why write in conjunction with their 
 husbands? 
 
 I asked Polly this a while ago, and 
 her mouth twisted. 
 
 "Don't know, I'm sure," she said,
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 sarcastically. "I don't write novels, 
 and I'm not married." 
 
 As if that settled the question! And 
 if you could have heard the scorn she 
 infused into "I don't write novels," you 
 would have been sorry for me. 
 
 It can't be good for me to feel so con- 
 stantly subdued, now can it? Dream 
 Girl, there are mists about your moun- 
 tain home see me through these. 
 Don't be too practical. 
 
 It was a strange experience to come 
 back to things normal after those weeks 
 of shadows. To be no longer puzzled 
 by faces that seemed to spring suddenly 
 at me through vapour, and, as suddenly, 
 vanish. To face a dado that had ceased 
 to be a mass of crawling reptiles, and re- 
 solved itself into regular lines and curves 
 that kept still. To find the fire an 
 16
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 old friend not a continuation of the 
 horror! 
 
 When Mrs. Collop lumbered in, and 
 shed tears two shades paler than ordi- 
 nary ones, to match her eyes; and ven- 
 tured to suggest, between heavy sniffs, 
 a grilled steak of the delectable quality 
 known as undercut I felt as if I really 
 had left Mist Valley, and was back in 
 the world that somehow has generally 
 turned its sunny side to me. 
 
 But when I realized that an indefinite 
 time must elapse before I could put my 
 foot to the ground six months at the 
 very least in the hands of the Woman- 
 in- White no apologies to Wilkie Col- 
 lins the title suits Nurse better than 
 it did that ill-starred heroine of his 
 my language grew lurid. And Polly 
 was in as usual. 
 
 17
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "Months," I said; for I thought she 
 wasn't sufficiently impressed. She 
 laughed rather shortly. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it awful?" she said. "I 
 don't wonder you feel bad about it. 
 Every luxury you can think of, no duty 
 to whisper reproaches while you take 
 your ease doctors who are far too 
 good to you, and friends who make you 
 their first thought. It really could not 
 have been worse unless you had been 
 disfigured!" 
 
 But her face softened quite suddenly. 
 
 " Is your foot feeling very bad, Max? " 
 she asked. And it was quite bad, 
 you know; and sympathy from her is 
 rare. I seized it eagerly. 
 
 Would it strike you that I was a pessi- 
 mistic sort of chap? Don't be afraid 
 to tell me I am used to abuse. 
 18
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 She has said just enough about you to 
 make me wonder much. That you are 
 old in experience but romantic. 
 
 "Tell her all that is in your heart," 
 she suggests saucily. 
 
 Suppose I should do just that, Dream 
 Girl ! Would it bore you? For you are 
 a girl, you know and a very kind 
 one. 
 
 This has taken a week to write, and 
 has been done in easy stages. 
 
 It is nine o'clock Nurse is climbing 
 the stairs 
 
 And if my temperature has gone 
 up ... 
 
 Fancy a man being governed by his 
 temperature ! 
 
 Dejectedly yours, 
 
 MAX HEKRICK.
 
 n 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Memory's the streamlet of the scene, 
 Which sweeps the hills of life between; 
 
 
 
 Upon its shores we rest 
 
 And love to view the waters fair, 
 
 And see lost joys depicted there. 
 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 21
 
 DEAR Six-Foox-ONE OF GRIEVANCES: 
 Why dejectedly? Your letter did 
 not read that way at all. I should 
 not call you a pessimist perhaps just 
 a little bit of an egotist. You are cer- 
 tainly fond of introspection. But that 
 may belong to the gift Polly makes so 
 much fun of to you. I say to you, 
 advisedly, I am not going to tell you 
 how she speaks of it to me. You have 
 quite as good an opinion of yourself as 
 you ought to have, Max Herrick - 
 horizontal. 
 
 Why am I willing to write to you? 
 That requires consideration. No, I 
 don't think I am approaching it in the 
 light of a mission at all. As edited by
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Polly Carrol, you present possibilities. 
 Poor Six-foot-one of helpless manhood 
 - you didn't want me to know you 
 were tall, did you? You really are to be 
 pitied, even though your durance vile is 
 is to be terminated at the other side of 
 some months. 
 
 And Polly is right it might have 
 been a great deal worse. If it had been 
 your spine, now! And, any way, you 
 are not taking the real rest cure. That 
 is a pretty drastic affair. All communi- 
 cation with the outer world cut off, no 
 books, no papers, no letters. How 
 would you have liked that? Your doc- 
 tors, and even the Woman-in- White, 
 must be letting you down as gently as 
 they possibly can. 
 
 So Polly tells you that she has ex- 
 plained you to me? Well, I suppose she 
 24
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 has. She has certainly put at my dis- 
 posal detached bits of you that seem 
 curiously contradictory and jumbled up, 
 and rather like those puzzle pictures we 
 used to amuse ourselves with as children. 
 
 I shall judge for myself, and whether 
 my judgment from this distance 
 will be a more correct one than hers, so 
 near you, you must determine, you 
 Writer of Stories. 
 
 In the meantime, I want the atmos- 
 phere of this place to get into your room, 
 to draw you out of it at times. 
 
 This home of mine is rather like a 
 Swiss Chalet with the mountains behind 
 it, and a road that winds its way through 
 wild, bush country. We call it a road, 
 but it is little more than a track, and a 
 very rough one at that, down which the 
 coach comes once a week, bringing our 
 25
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 mail. In the season the wheels crush 
 dozens of wild flowers that stain the soil 
 with purple, and pink, and yellow, and 
 white, and every shade you can think of. 
 Coachie is a celebrated character. 
 He knows every settler's home for miles 
 
 comtr dttce a veeh. 
 
 "bnoana our mail 
 
 round, and almost every history con- 
 nected with the occupants. He will 
 eye your writing, my friend, and wonder 
 he takes a keen interest in my cor- 
 26
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 respondence. Last week he was polite, 
 next time his look will be a question 
 that some day his. lips will utter. Are 
 you to be a relation for six months? 
 
 We live very near to the heart of 
 things in this part of the world. So 
 little happens that much is made of the 
 slightest deviation from the ordinary 
 rut. 
 
 I wonder if any one loves Stony Creek 
 as I do? 
 
 In my garden I am sure "Eliza- 
 beth's German Garden" was no lovelier 
 there is a riot of colour that would 
 fairly intoxicate you. It is far more a 
 dream than I am, I can assure you. 
 Think of pictures of Japanese Fairy- 
 land perhaps you have even been to 
 the Flowery Land? Well, I haven't 
 cherry blossom to carry you there, but 
 27
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 for the rest! The soil is a rich dark 
 loam, sandy and moist, for there are 
 springs bubbling up in all directions. 
 And a creek with rustic bridges runs 
 
 ,e is a celfDraiEQ. 
 cWacfer 
 
 through it, twists and turns and wan- 
 ders a creek with boulders, and ferns 
 stodgy cabbage ones, startlingly 
 green against the dark background of 
 28
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 rock and delicate, spreading fronds 
 of maiden hair. 
 
 And I have planted Iris on the banks 
 in patches, and, in one clear, sunny pool 
 - Water Lilies. 
 
 Then the May, and the Jackarandah 
 and the Virginia Creeper that sets 
 the Chalet in living gold and fire in the 
 fall o' the year! Picture it with the 
 mountain behind, purple with shadows, 
 and rosy- violet, and silvery-mauve when 
 the mists creep down the slopes and stay 
 a while. And then talk to me of town 
 life you daren't! 
 
 Could any orchestral music be sweeter 
 than that I listen to when the birds look 
 at me with their bright, shy eyes, and 
 sing and sing? 
 
 There is even a dispute occasionally 
 between first and second violin till 
 29
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 the rest join in and drown the quarrel- 
 ling in a burst of melody that swells and 
 dies away and in the distance an 
 echo trembles. 
 
 Some of them fairly chatter to me, 
 and in the winter, fat robins feed out of 
 my hand strut and eye me while the 
 crumbs are thrown out. Don't tell me 
 they are not the same birds every year 
 I know better! 
 
 I think it is such a pity that you have 
 a dado in your room that is capable of 
 springing to life when you are sicker 
 than usual. Don't you sigh for self- 
 colour? I should. 
 
 I quite agree with you that Miss 
 Fowler was much nicer than Mrs. 
 Felkin. I suppose she would be indig- 
 nant at the idea. Perhaps she is too 
 happy to write well what do you say? 
 30
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Love doesn't put one "In Subjection," 
 that is, it need not. Two fronting the 
 world, fronting everything together. 
 All that means. 
 
 I am still smiling over the look of 
 exquisite compassion with which you 
 have credited me. That will be rather 
 hard to live up to. And yet, I realize 
 that it may be more possible than if I 
 were as near to you as Polly is. At least 
 I and you will have perspective. 
 
 I saw that newspaper cutting. It 
 was a big thing to do a bigger would 
 be to turn your prison into something 
 else. Don't you agree? Perhaps you 
 do this in spite of the grumbling I 
 could almost imagine that you do. A 
 strong nature will rise above environ- 
 ment or bend it to suit its purpose. 
 And even nurses have their points.
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Your mental picture of me would be 
 interesting and enlightening. From 
 what Polly has told you, you think I 
 have rather an American style I 
 
 know. . . . Silvery hair, and young 
 eyes. A maiden lady of uncertain age, 
 but romantic tendencies. 
 Wouldn't you like to know? 
 
 32
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 This much: My life is not in any 
 sense of the word a dream one. It has 
 to be lived faithfully and sturdily. Will 
 you be very much shocked if I tell you 
 that I am one of the world's workers, 
 and that my orchard, and my poultry 
 farm, and my bees support one of the 
 dearest little Dresden China grand- 
 mothers that ever came straight out of 
 a fairy tale, and myself? 
 
 Sorry, but the truth will out. 
 
 I have been typing this on a discarded 
 machine of Polly's, on the balcony in a 
 blaze of sunshine. Presently I must say 
 good-bye to the mountains and the 
 amethyst shadows and you, and prepare 
 dinner. I shall bring to the meal a sub- 
 stantial and undrearnlike appetite. 
 
 You must enter into detail next time. 
 Tell me about your doctors, and the 
 33
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 NURSE even Polly as you see 
 her. 
 Something is burning in the oven. Till 
 
 the next 
 
 THE DREAM GIRL. 
 
 You hesitated between that and 
 Dream Lady. Do you really think it 
 possible I may be young to match 
 the eyes? 
 
 I don't need to tell you not to grow 
 bitter. A man who talks about being 
 governed by his temperature has the 
 
 saving sense of humour. 
 
 D. G. 
 
 34
 
 Ill 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 . . . . For the mind recoils 
 Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold, 
 While heaviness collects the shattered spoils. 
 It is not in the storm, nor in the strife 
 We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more 
 But in the after-silence on the shore, 
 When all is lost, except a little life. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 . . . . How my life is all read back- 
 ward, and the charm of life withdrawn. 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 35
 
 You GIRL! 
 
 Of course you are young to 
 match the eyes. Silvery hair, indeed? 
 I never imagined anything of the kind. 
 But I do know your eyes they have 
 caught and held the purple shadows you 
 speak of. And you are tall and slender, 
 but not thin. Certainly not thin. And 
 I shall tell you things I would not dream 
 of telling Polly. 
 
 In this way, two parts of my nature 
 will have full play. Between you I may 
 develop into something distantly re- 
 sembling a man! So I beg don't be 
 too practical. If this correspondence 
 of ours is to begin and end in vapour 
 let that look of understanding that I see 
 37
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 so plainly, creep into your eyes glance 
 through your letters. 
 
 No, I don't like being pitied. There 
 is a vast difference between the article 
 that has been so lavishly served out to 
 me lately by strangers, curious and 
 otherwise and the close touch of a 
 nature that realizes. 
 
 So I have the saving sense of humour? 
 
 Je-hosh-a-phat ! 
 
 Well, I need it. 
 
 Of course, Polly has told you about 
 Mrs. Collop. Not? as Herr Ernst 
 Lindt would say! Her late husband 
 must have had a keen sense of the fitness 
 of things when he bestowed his name 
 upon her. She "inclines," as she would 
 put it, "to run to fat, my dear." I 
 should say the fat had run to her. Her 
 face is a vast, shapeless expanse of 
 38
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 not flesh, nothing on earth will convince 
 me that it is flesh a substance that 
 resembles badly made yeast dough. 
 Her mouth is a slit that turns up good- 
 
 .e inclines r to niEL- 
 JolaL,my9ear 
 
 humouredly at the corners, and is very 
 useful for eating. And her eyes are un- 
 ripe gooseberries. Collop was a brave 
 man I write this after due deliberation. 
 39
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Picture her this morning with a 
 capacious apron, and an expres- 
 sion of tribulation. Her voice (a 
 pale one - - faint, lavender-gray 
 don't voices remind you of colours?) 
 depressed. 
 
 "Mr. Herrick-my-dear, I don't know 
 as you ever experiences the feelings as I 
 gets. I feels just as if my legs would fly 
 off a- top of my boots." 
 
 Mr. Herrick-my-dear, never, in the 
 course of a somewhat varied life, having 
 experienced that rather weird sensation, 
 says so much to the worthy soul's 
 satisfaction. 
 
 After a few pleasantries she really 
 
 has the kindest heart in the world 
 
 - she leaves for the kitchen, where 
 
 she resolves herself into a chef, who 
 
 is nothing short of a genius. Maids 
 
 40
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 she must have, for this is a big house, 
 but 
 
 Maids may come, and maids may go, 
 But she cooks on forever. 
 
 I should think I am not in soli- 
 tary confinement very far from it. 
 " They come not as single spies - 
 
 At first I was most exemplary. I 
 smiled sweetly and informed them 
 
 " No, I wasn't fond of lying down 
 
 "Yes, I was thankful I was able to 
 dress and be on a lounge 
 
 "Yes, I was fond of music good 
 music," I added, savagely for I saw that 
 I would have concerts that would stretch 
 out indefinitely if I wasn't very firm. 
 
 "Yes, I read occasionally some- 
 times thought about what I read, 
 though this, less often, being a strain 
 on my limited faculties
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "No, I didn't find rapture in talking 
 about my symptoms 
 
 "Yes, my doctors were the best of 
 their kind 
 
 " Yes quite alone in the world - 
 
 " Yes, I was indeed fortunate in hav- 
 ing such a friend as Miss Carrol - 
 And so on, ad nauseam. 
 
 I am thinking of having a board done 
 for the foot of my lounge with an in- 
 scription to the effect that I have the 
 usual complement of feet, and expect 
 to use them some day. I told the 
 Woman-in- White this, and she smiled 
 her wintry smile. Of course, she has 
 her points who ever doubted that? 
 But her immaculate white dresses make 
 me shiver. When Polly slips in in the 
 red frock that is getting so shabby, I 
 feel positively grateful. 
 42
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 So you are not afraid of my growing 
 bitter? There you axe, you see, under- 
 standing already. What a nice Dream 
 Girl you are. Polly now 
 
 Oh, it's a fine old world, and there are 
 good people in it. With Herr Lindt 
 to play the soul out of me Kendal - 
 my particular chum, about whom more 
 anon a perky young reporter who is 
 the last thing in audacity, to turn my 
 room into a newspaper office while he 
 hits off to a nicety the little mannerisms 
 of "the staff" for my edification the 
 breezy medicos, and Polly to scold me, 
 and sing to me, and make up jolly fires 
 for me what more can I ask from life 
 but the one thing it has taken away from 
 me my castle in Spain? 
 
 Why do these castles always resolve 
 themselves into thin air? 
 43
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Tell me that you who are part fay! 
 
 Oh, of course I shall tell you about it 
 and Her. 
 
 She is very young, and her parents 
 begged me to wait. Then, this came. 
 She was away in Sydney at the time 
 visiting some relatives. As soon as I 
 was able to write I did the only decent 
 thing to do offered her her release. 
 You see there was fear at one time that 
 I might be partially crippled. 
 
 And I wasn't cad enough to expect 
 her to wait while I tried to get better! 
 
 Only well, I was fool enough to 
 think that though that particular castle 
 in Spain had toppled to the ground, the 
 love that had superintended its erection 
 would glorify the ruins. Do you know 
 what I mean? What I wanted her to 
 do ? Can't say exactly, but you will 
 44
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 guess. Perhaps, to come just once and 
 give me a look of understanding from 
 her pretty, baby eyes tell me that 
 though we must wake from our dream, 
 it had been a sweet one, and meant 
 something to her. 
 
 In short, I had fancied that particular 
 make of satin was silk-backed not 
 cotton. 
 
 Does the mere fact that I am "laid by 
 for repairs" mean that the real man, the 
 personality, is crippled, too, I wonder? 
 She seemed to find it so. 
 
 She had not answered my letter except 
 by saying she was coming to see me 
 as soon as she returned. And one 
 day a hansom stopped before the 
 gate, and she and her mother got 
 out. 
 
 The violets have been early this year, 
 45
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and there were bowls of them about my 
 room. 
 
 Girl have you had your story, and 
 do you understand? 
 
 It always seemed to me that the sun- 
 shine grew brighter when she was near 
 
 war neor 
 
 she is so beautiful. A fur toque on 
 
 her fair hair, and Parma violets on her 
 
 46
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 muff. A bunch of the real flowers 
 tucked into her belt. She left these 
 with me. 
 
 And I must lie and let her come to 
 me! Hard, don't you think? 
 
 For a moment I forgot that her 
 mother was there, blonde, and portly, 
 and important. I only saw the small, 
 flower face. 
 
 "How horrid for you," she said. 
 And under her breath, "And for me, 
 too." 
 
 Well, I need not have worried myself 
 about the difficulty of keeping a dis- 
 tance between us it was quite easy. 
 In some subtle way she was not the girl 
 I had petted; she was older. She sat 
 where I could watch her, contrast her 
 soft fairness with the hard features of 
 her mother. And we talked about the 
 47
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 things folk always talk about when they 
 want to forget that they have ever shared 
 thoughts, wishes. It was strange. 
 No word uttered could have emphasized 
 the difference, but I was determined to 
 clearly define the position. 
 
 "You received my letter under- 
 stood?" I asked. 
 
 She gave me a shrinking look. 
 
 "Yes, it was inevitable, of course. 
 But I don't think I quite realized 
 till I saw you you are so thin, and 
 altered. Oh, Max, why did you do 
 it? You ought to have thought of 
 me." 
 
 "Do you mind if we don't talk about 
 it?" I said. 
 
 "But you ought to have taken more 
 care of yourself. You belonged to 
 
 me."
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Past tense already, you see, Girl. 
 And anything grimmer than her mother 
 I have yet to see. 
 
 "You understand," I said tersely, 
 "that you are free?" 
 
 "Of course. But it is all so hu- 
 miliating. Did you suffer at all, 
 Max?" 
 
 "Oh, no," I said jauntily; "burns 
 don't hurt, you know." 
 
 Yes, I said that quite brutally. 
 
 "Fancy you a cripple, Max! And 
 you used to have such a splendid 
 figure.' 1 ' 
 
 Past tense again. Is everything to 
 be in the back of my life? Fate has 
 surely played me a scurvy trick this 
 time. Don't you think I may grumble 
 just a bit on paper? 
 
 And though I kept silence, that was 
 49
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 better than saying the words that were 
 trembling on my lips. 
 
 " I've brought back your letters, and 
 the other things," she said, biting her lip. 
 "I am going away it will be better." 
 
 "Yes, it will be better." 
 
 "How easily you say it," she said 
 childishly. "I thought at least you 
 would be sorry." 
 
 And, as I live, Girl, there were actu- 
 ally tears in her pretty eyes. 
 
 It was just at that moment they 
 were crossing the room to say good-bye 
 the mother standing looking at me 
 with an expression of faint distaste - 
 that Polly began to sing in that croon- 
 ing voice of hers - 
 
 "Does yer want de moon to play wid 
 Or de stars to run away wid, 
 Dey'll come if yer don't cry. " 
 SO
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Perhaps I had been wanting just that 
 the moon to play with ! The thought 
 of Polly was like a moral shower bath. 
 I had heard the keys of her typewriter 
 rattling all through this interview - 
 she told you she had moved her office 
 here, didn't she? and I knew by the 
 song that one more day's work was over 
 for her the little everyday girl who 
 keeps sunny in spite of what must be 
 drudgery. 
 
 When I looked away from the window 
 I was alone, and I heard a silken rustle 
 on the stairs. And Finis was put to 
 that book of my life. 
 
 "Tell me something funny," I said 
 when Polly's face appeared in the door- 
 way. "I want to laugh." 
 
 Did they hear us, I wonder, as 
 they drove away in their han-
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 som? After all, it doesn't matter, does 
 it? 
 
 Write to me soon! 
 
 I am better, I think. Your letter, 
 perhaps, or the ones that are to come. 
 I told Polly this just now, and got a 
 mischievous smile for answer. Then 
 she eyed me keenly. 
 
 "Yes, the prescription is Ai at 
 Lloyd's," she said judicially. As it is. 
 
 Madame your humble, 
 
 MAX HEKRICK. 
 
 So the grandmother is like Dresden 
 China ! She wears a white, woolly thing 
 over her head, doesn't she?
 
 IV 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Though thou loved her as thyself, 
 As a self of purer clay, 
 Though her parting dims the day, 
 Stealing grace from all alive; 
 Heartily know, 
 When half-gods go 
 
 The gods arrive. EMERSON. 
 
 I found me thy thrall, 
 By magical drawings, 
 Sweet tyrant of all! 
 I drank at thy fountain 
 False waters of thirst; 
 Thou intimate stranger, 
 Thou latest and first. 
 
 EMERSON. 
 
 53
 
 POOR FRIEND! 
 
 All the same, you are not as 
 badly hurt as you imagine. Your ac- 
 count is too circumstantial. Unless, 
 indeed, Polly is right, and, sooner or 
 later, everything presents itself in the 
 light of copy. At present, you are 
 calmly diagnosing your case, and sym- 
 pathizing with yourself, because the 
 symptoms are well marked, and you are 
 feeling as melancholy as you ought to, 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 I want to shake that baby with the 
 pretty eyes and the Parma violets. It 
 seems to me rather a pitiful kind of love 
 that would not wait while you are 
 "trying to get better." Inexcusable, 
 55
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 too, for you really are getting better, 
 fast. And, even if that tiresome foot 
 makes you halt a little through life 
 this is only a guess, you know, not a 
 prophecy Why! 
 
 But perhaps she only admired you for 
 your broad shoulders, and the rest of it. 
 Some girls are like that. 
 
 Polly's letter on the subject is explo- 
 sive. I am afraid the "baby eyes" 
 rather got on her nerves. They belong 
 to a kind that does not wear well not 
 washing blue. Shall I suggest Dolly 
 Dyes? 
 
 How do I know they are blue? 
 Don't all men rave about celestial orbs? 
 And if they had been green you would 
 have told me more about them their 
 translucent depths, and the play of 
 light and shade. 
 
 56
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Let me print it in capitals SHE 
 WAS NOT WORTHY OF YOU. 
 
 Yes, that does make it easier. Not 
 quite at first, but it will. And I am 
 sorry and glad at one and the same time. 
 
 So she left the violets with you - 
 and you promptly threw them into the 
 fire after she had gone ! No, you didn't 
 tell me that. 
 
 And the bowls of them about your 
 room made you feel suddenly sick, and 
 you longed for daffodils ! You see I have 
 my fairy's cap on to-night. 
 
 Well, if I were you, I would not con- 
 nect the scented beauties with a girl who 
 is not in the least like them, even if she 
 wears them. They belong to the open 
 air, and have stolen its sweetness. She 
 is evidently exotic. 
 
 I have just been out into the garden 
 57
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 in the wind and the rain to pluck two 
 of my special violets for you. I don't 
 think the gale of to-day has beaten all 
 the perfume out of them. I shall put 
 them in this letter, and burn them if 
 you dare ! 
 
 Such a storm there has been. All day 
 long the trees on the sides of the moun- 
 tain have been tossed to and fro pro- 
 testingly. They have swayed, and 
 groaned, and lamented, and one near 
 the house is creaking dismally as I 
 write. There must be more than tree 
 to them. Have they souls, do you 
 think and does the storm partly lib- 
 erate them, and rouse them to some- 
 thing like frenzy? Just then the rain 
 came on drenchingly, and the flowers 
 that have kept reminding me of wee, 
 fragile faces with hair that was con- 
 58
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 stantly being blown into their eyes 
 will be holding themselves up for the 
 sweetness of the blessed downpour. 
 Some will be beaten to the earth that 
 is life the survival of the fittest. But 
 the rest! They seem to glow with new 
 colour and won't it be good to put 
 on strong shoes to-morrow and get out 
 amongst them! 
 
 There is a great fire of sheoak burning 
 in my big fireplace. Such red, flaky 
 coals we must have toast for supper 
 to-night, Grannie and I. And after I 
 have made it, I shall slip along the hall, 
 and coax our only winter guest to join 
 us, and cease his relentless tramping 
 up and down the room. 
 
 I want you to know my poor Man- 
 from-the-Mallee. 
 
 He came into our lives accidentally 
 59
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 one day, and has stayed with us ever 
 since. And one night he told me his 
 story. That there was one I knew it 
 only needed a glance into the sombre 
 eyes, and the almost white hair above a 
 face that should have been young to 
 tell that! He is a nervous wreck, and 
 seems to have left the best part of his 
 life behind him. Really left it, I mean. 
 Past tense, indeed, in this instance. 
 
 He had been told by his doctor to get 
 away from city life, get away from him- 
 self if that were possible. And he 
 thought a man might well bury himself 
 in Stony Creek. So he walked over the 
 hills, down The Gap and into our 
 lives. We have never wished him out 
 of them since, though his presence in 
 the house has not made for either hap- 
 piness or comfort. Like you, he has 
 60
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 money. But in his case, he insists that 
 it came too late. 
 
 itoqf Creek . 
 
 You must know, Six-foot-one, that 
 
 here in these bush homes we have no 
 
 daily paper to distract our minds no 
 
 circulating library save in the nearest 
 
 61
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 township, twenty miles away. And we 
 have fallen into the habit of reading 
 lives closely, closely. We take time 
 to do it, and do not form rapid, super- 
 ficial opinions. 
 
 I am Jack-of-all-trades. Being 
 blessed with a slight knowledge of 
 things medical, weird happenings come 
 my way. I ride miles over the moun- 
 tains at times to take charge of a case 
 our energetic young medico has en- 
 trusted me with. And they bring 
 sprains to me, and cuts, and listen to my 
 words of wisdom with far more respect 
 than they render Doctor Kensington - 
 dear, good fellow that he is. 
 
 And even the Man-from-the-Mallee 
 
 meekly obeys me sometimes. Already 
 
 he has begun to put on flesh, and to 
 
 look less like a walking skeleton. But 
 
 62
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 his eyes look back and I want 
 them to look forward. They shall, 
 too. 
 
 He suffers from terrible headaches, 
 and one night he came into this room 
 to try the spell of the inglenook, and to 
 tell me about his life. I remember so 
 well his haggard face when the pain had 
 gone, and he was leaning back in the 
 depths of the big, easy chair. 
 
 Grannie had fallen asleep, her knit- 
 ting still in her lap, her little, fine hands 
 folded peacefully, and the diamonds in 
 her rings catching fire from the dancing 
 flames. The past in her face but its 
 beauty, and its calm. Traces of pain 
 in plenty but pain smoothed out. 
 And her hair, fine as silk, as soft as "the 
 white, woolly thing she wears over it." 
 How on earth did you guess that? 
 63
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 At first he rather snapped me up, as 
 he has a fashion of doing. 
 
 So I said, "Don't talk if you don't 
 want to." 
 
 And then he turned, and I knew by 
 his face something was coming. Some- 
 thing hard, and bitter as it was. 
 
 "I do want to talk," he said, wearily. 
 " Don't take any notice of my temper 
 - it's a way I've got into lately. It is 
 possible you might understand." 
 
 My friend it is good to have suf- 
 fered if one can understand. And if 
 it will help you to know it if I can 
 be more to you because you know it - 
 I have had my own story. That it has 
 not ended yet that Finis has not 
 been put at the close of the last chapter 
 does not make it any the less sad, per- 
 haps. I can understand, do under- 
 64
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 stand: and that is positively all I can 
 tell you about it. Are you hurt after 
 your own candid statement? But 
 my poor Man-f rom-the-Mallee ! His 
 face was almost ugly in its hard- 
 ness. 
 
 "I hate the sound of rain," he said, 
 abruptly. And when I told him of my 
 love for it, he laughed cynically. 
 
 "Wait till I tell you you will 
 realize that there is always 'the other 
 fellow's' side of the question." 
 
 Six-foot-one, you are not interested 
 in the first part of his story. He is 
 English and came out here as so many 
 others have done, to make his fortune 
 on the fields a younger son from a 
 good old family. His life has been 
 most remarkable in its vicissitudes. I 
 think he has rambling blood in his veins. 
 65
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 He was unfortunate everywhere, and 
 his evil star, as he puts it, took him at 
 last to the MaUee. He left a girl behind 
 him if you had seen the ugly sneer 
 about his mouth as he described her! 
 
 "A girl gently born, beautiful, all the 
 rest of it. Cried when I came away till 
 her face was quite disfigured. How 
 that rain pours! Well, I struck the 
 Mallee drought time, and got let in, in 
 more senses than one it was pretty 
 hideous. Not only my own struggle, 
 though that was hard enough but 
 what I saw. It was ghastly. Hon- 
 est men slaving patiently, doggedly, 
 and in vain. Children sickening from 
 improper food when credit at the stores 
 gave out, and horses too weak to make 
 the journeys. There were prayer meet- 
 ings in the little church for rain the 
 66
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 rain that did not come though these 
 good folk had faith to move mountains 
 not enough to move their God. Did 
 you speak?" 
 
 But I had only said, "Don't!" That 
 "their God" told its own, dreary tale, 
 didn't it? 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "You, too?" he said mockingly. "I 
 thought you were too sensible to believe 
 in a religion that failed when it was most 
 needed." 
 
 "Did they think it failed think He 
 failed the ones who prayed?" 
 
 "No, that was the odd part of it. 
 They had faith to move mountains, I 
 tell you. And when the answer was 
 delayed, told their God that no doubt 
 He knew best. 
 
 Well, I did not pray I watched, 
 67
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and grew into an old man. I lived it 
 through the horrible days when we 
 drove the cattle to the nearest water 
 holes where a few feet of fairly liquid 
 mud did duty for the thing that was 
 needed so urgently. Watched the poor 
 brutes stragger in and sink too weak 
 to get out again. And all the world 
 seemed dying. 
 
 " There was an old chap near my selec- 
 tion who used to go out regularly with 
 an empty watering-can and hold it over 
 his bit of crop trudging backward 
 and forward. Brain gone, of course. 
 Rather upsetting. 
 
 "Now, do you wonder that I hate the 
 sound of rain the rain that came too 
 late? I have listened for it with my 
 senses reeling. At last my luck turned. 
 An unexpected legacy came to me 
 68
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 a bit melodramatic, isn't it? and I sent 
 for HER." 
 
 Mr. Herrick, you should have seen 
 the. look, heard the sneer! 
 
 "I bought a run, and put a skilled 
 manager on. There was a pretty home- 
 stead, and I worked day and night, get- 
 ting things ready, and dreaming. 
 Oh, I dreamed! 
 
 "The best rooms were for her dainty 
 ladyship. I grew to see her there. I 
 told myself what a brick she was to come 
 to me instead of expecting me to go 
 to her. English girls are not like 
 you independent Australian ones, you 
 know. 
 
 "At last the weeks dwindled down to 
 
 days, and I was in Melbourne, waiting. 
 
 Oh, yes, she came. Did you think she 
 
 didn't? But on the voyage out you 
 
 69
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 must really excuse the melodrama she 
 met ' the other fellow' - - a dashing 
 
 ow. 
 
 young cavalry officer on furlough, with 
 a melting tenor voice. 
 
 "They had matters pretty well fixed 
 up before the boat reached the wharf, 
 and there was nothing left for me to do 
 
 but to bestow my blessing. That was 
 70
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 tolerably easy once the first gulp had 
 been got over. I was wide awake by 
 that time. One always wakes from 
 dreams. I should have remembered. 
 
 "And then it still sounds like fic- 
 tion the lives between me and my 
 inheritance went out, and nothing 
 remained for me but to go home, and 
 fulfil my responsibilities as a British land- 
 lord. I am quoting from my solicitor's 
 letter. I suppose I shall make up my 
 mind to it, some day. Funny old world, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "I did not answer. What was there 
 to say! I am sure he knew I was 
 sorry. 
 
 Everything in his life has been too 
 late, he says. But I am wondering. 
 And in my next letter I am going to tell 
 you about Winsome.
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 You don't show these epistles to 
 Polly, do you? Read her parts if you 
 will only parts. For, do you know 
 I always feel that letters are sacred. 
 Even if there is nothing private in them. 
 The writer has meant the atmosphere 
 for the reader alone has shown a part 
 of his, or her, personality that is exclu- 
 sively the property of the one for whom 
 the words were penned. 
 
 Moods are sacred don't you think? 
 So respect mine! It is good to trust one 
 another. 
 
 And you don't like Nurse? Poor boy ! 
 Doesn't she approve of smoking? 
 Your very substantial 
 
 DREAM GIRL. 
 
 Understanding? I wonder ! So I am 
 slender but not thin! 
 
 72
 
 V 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 Were she pitiful as she is fair, 
 
 Or but as mild as she is seeming so! 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
 73
 
 GIRL: 
 
 The violets were quite fragrant 
 when they reached me, but I am 
 deeply, darkly, desperately blue. 
 Polly has tried scolding, snub- 
 bing, what not! And what is the 
 good of writing when all one could 
 say would be confusion to every one 
 and everything? I put it to you in 
 all confidence ! 
 
 Send me another letter from the 
 clouds ! 
 
 This Nurse is getting on my nerves. 
 Folk should not be so immaculate. You 
 have discovered that I do not like her. 
 Strange! I don't believe I mentioned 
 her in my last letter. Are you part 
 75
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 witch? And who told you that I 
 smoked? 
 
 Yours in 
 
 the depths, 
 
 MAX HERRICK. 
 Reminds one rather of 
 
 "On the head, 
 
 Of 
 
 Wilkins Micawber," 
 doesn't it?
 
 VI 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 As she turned her face in going, thus she drew 
 
 me on to love her, 
 And to worship the divineness of the smile hid 
 
 in her eyes. 
 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 77
 
 DEAR MR. HERRICK: 
 
 I have counted the lines in your last 
 effusion, and shall return in kind with 
 mathematical accuracy. 
 
 You have no business to get the 
 blues. Polly tells me that the burned 
 foot is healing beautifully, and that 
 you are gaining flesh and strength. 
 Aren't you just a little bit ashamed 
 of yourself? You should be. 
 
 Who told me that you smoked? My 
 dear sir, there is an aroma about your 
 writing block that is unmistakable. Do 
 you puff cigars luxuriously while you are 
 penning my letters? 
 
 It was the fact that you said so little 
 about the Woman-in- White that gave 
 79
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 you away. Or, rather I debated. 
 For it may have quite another mean- 
 ing- 
 Puzzle that out, disconsolate lover! 
 Your 
 
 DREAM GIRL. 
 
 So
 
 VII 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 For often you have writ to her; and she . . 
 
 Herself, hath taught her love himself to write 
 
 unto her lover. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II., Scene 2. 
 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 
 Into his study of imagination; 
 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit. 
 
 More moving delicate and full of life 
 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing, Act IV., Scene i. 
 
 81
 
 LADY: 
 
 I am cap in hand, I am humble, 
 supplicating, what you will. And my 
 particular shade of blue in future shall 
 be forget-me-not! You did pay me out 
 properly, and I won't forget my lesson. 
 Mea culpa! 
 
 Polly's face was mischievous when 
 she brought me that very thin envelope, 
 and an imp of mockery was in her eyes. 
 
 "You can't have quarrelled already!" 
 she said meditatively. "I thought you 
 and she were kindred spirits, and that 
 you saved the other thing for me!" 
 
 When Polly looks like that I always 
 want to throw something at her . . . 
 she exasperates. 
 
 83
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Show her your letters! What do you 
 take me for. 
 
 iVB-vBoi' totftrov 
 i^atW 
 
 Your violets have done their work, 
 and reconcile me to the purple masses 
 scattered about this room every day 
 at my request. So I think you must 
 make up your mind to forgive with 
 84
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 all the graciousness you can com- 
 mand. 
 
 I did never want to see them again; 
 but you're right, right every time. 
 
 Do I smoke while I am writing to 
 you? Perish the thought! 
 
 And you are debating about Nurse 
 and me ME? Girl, how can you? 
 She has gone out for her walk; you no- 
 tice I always choose this time for my 
 letter to you. And I am off the leash. 
 I could even smoke. But I shall not. 
 She does dislike My Lady Nicotine, 
 and, incidentally, I suppose the man 
 who woos her. Well 
 
 "If it be so, so it is, you know, 
 And if it be so, so be it." 
 
 My troubles as the kiddies say! 
 That Woman-in- White shall only go 
 a certain length. How would you like 
 85
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 it, when you are propounding a deep 
 problem, to be met with a cool "It is 
 time for your nourishment, Mr. Her- 
 rick"? You know I never have 
 luncheon, or dinner, or supper it is 
 always nourishment! Yet I am gain- 
 ing strength under the regime, you say! 
 Yes, I mean to, too. If ever a poor 
 prisoner tried to shorten his sentence 
 by good behaviour! 
 
 I have been reading up on medical 
 subjects lately in order to meet her on 
 her own ground. But her cool smile 
 makes me flounder, and I fool round, 
 and tie myself into knots (granny, 
 not reef). 
 
 She is so infernally sure about every- 
 thing. 
 
 Lindon one of the medicos 
 enthuses. "Mighty fine little nurse, 
 86
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Herrick! Wish there were more like 
 her." And Scott, M.D., as we always 
 call him, because he is so small and so 
 horribly, knowingly clever, grins cheer- 
 fully, puts his hands in his pockets and 
 delivers his soul. 
 
 "You've got rats, my boy rats 
 with extra curly tails. You'll be head 
 over heels in love before you know where 
 you are." And even you . . . ! Yes, 
 I'm gritting my teeth, and I'm using 
 language that isn't exactly sick room. 
 And I want to shoot the lot of you. 
 
 If you imagine that is the type of 
 woman I admire, you are wide of the 
 mark that's all. 
 
 I simply don't enter Nurse's scheme. 
 I am a collection of bones and sinews 
 and muscles, with a heart thrown in for 
 the express purpose of allowing her to 
 
 8?
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 feel its pulsations. And I am interest- 
 ing because I happen to have exhibited 
 some unusual symptoms, etc. 
 
 She even concedes that I have the 
 average amount of pluck. But when 
 one has allowed for this . . . 
 Pshaw ! 
 
 You and Elizabeth would have dis- 
 turbed her immaculate soul. Her gar- 
 den would have straight, white gravel 
 paths, and the beds would be tiled 
 round the tiles well showing. And 
 each plant would be labelled with its 
 botanical name you know the sort 
 of thing I mean. One meets it in 
 nursery gardens -- and nightmares! 
 Whereas, the kind of thing you and I 
 like, is a wild where flowers have got 
 beyond a mere bowing acquaintance 
 stage, and shake hands quite often.
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 And you can pick big bunches, and never 
 miss them. 
 
 You and I that looked good as I 
 wrote it. But wouldn't Polly laugh? 
 
 So you want to know about the folk 
 here. I think you would like Kendal 
 my particular chum. He describes 
 himself as a cynical man of law, and 
 does the thing rather well. The cyni- 
 cism I mean. But it has a trick of 
 peeling off quite suddenly when his heart 
 is touched. 
 
 Nurse and he fight as a rule. This, 
 I note with quiet joy. At first I used 
 to chip in. She is so amazingly cool 
 and audacious. 
 
 But Polly laughed impishly. 
 
 "For a writer of books, you really 
 are very dense, Max Henick," she 
 said. "Don't spoil sport. They 
 89
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 are both having a thoroughly good 
 time." 
 
 Which scared me not a little. Seen 
 from the writer's point of view the situa- 
 tion does bristle with possibilities. 
 
 "Great Scott!" I said feebly. 
 
 "Hadn't it occurred to you," she 
 asked with much sweetness, and that 
 particular twist to her lips that always 
 makes me yearn for paper and pencil, 
 "it is only in books that "one can make 
 one's characters do just as they 
 should?" 
 
 "And not always then," I growled. 
 " You don't mean to say that you think 
 Kendal is falling in love with Nurse?" 
 
 "If I did . . . ?" 
 
 "Horrible. It would be nothing 
 short of a tragedy." 
 
 "Think so? Oh, I don't know. He 
 90
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 admires pretty women. And she is 
 very pretty, you know." 
 
 "Polly! That petrified creature!" 
 
 "She isn't petrified when she is talk- 
 ing to him. I have noticed quite a soft 
 colour in her cheeks after they have 
 been fighting for a while. And you 
 notice he refers to her as 'your little 
 nurse/ When a man especially a 
 lawyer calls a woman of normal size 
 little . . ." 
 
 " Oh, for heaven's sake, Polly the 
 idea is too dreadful!" 
 
 "Work it out in a story," she sug- 
 gested; and a few minutes later was 
 typing busily. 
 
 Well perhaps I shall do that, some 
 day. 
 
 Come to think of it, Kendal is here 
 much oftener than he used to be. I
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 must warn him. And, above all, I 
 must put temptation out of his way by 
 getting better as rapidly as possible. 
 
 Besides, Lindon calls her little. I 
 must remind Polly of that. 
 
 Last night there was dead calm, and 
 
 clear, frosty air. The smoke from the 
 
 factories stretched across the sky and 
 
 92
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 spread itself out fan-shape. And, in 
 the terrace opposite, Herr Lindt was 
 playing Rubinstein's Melody in F on 
 his 'cello. 
 
 Girl, is music a terrible thing to you 
 at times, as well as a beautiful? And 
 was I quite a baby when I felt as if the 
 pain of all the world was gathered into 
 those throbbing notes? I remembered 
 injustices done me when I was a child 
 - injustices that I suffered again with 
 the boy's ignorance, and the man's 
 bitter knowledge. 
 
 And then I wanted Her the beauti- 
 ful face of her the pretty ways that 
 were so full of charm. 
 
 For she did mean something to me. 
 
 Even though I have not told my story 
 
 as your Man-from-the-Mallee did; and 
 
 my hair has not gone white. You have 
 
 93
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 taken me at Polly's valuation, I sup- 
 pose, and I cannot blame you. It has 
 been rather a "Primrose path" so far. 
 But I think I am capable of a love that 
 would mean to me everything. Whether 
 I am ever to inspire it ... 
 
 Imagine this said with a sneer, and 
 a mocking light in my eyes. Stage 
 accompaniments, you Girl how they 
 appeal to women! You deserved that! 
 
 So your story is being written! Per- 
 haps you are more to be pitied than I. 
 It seems to me that finality is always 
 better than suspense. I wish you could 
 have told me more, of course, but, since 
 you can't, I must respect your reticence, 
 and never seek to break it down. 
 
 But if the man is treating you badly 
 has treated you badly then I hope 
 I may never meet him. I suppose I 
 94
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 am blundering, and have vexed you, 
 or hurt you. That would be worse. 
 
 You would be interested in the Ter- 
 race opposite. 
 
 Six two-story houses constitute it, 
 
 and in each house is some one who plays 
 
 -something. A violin teacher lives 
 
 at the farther end; the man next door 
 
 goes in for piccolo and flute; the third 
 
 holds a weary little teacher of music 
 
 95
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 whose brass plate sets forth the fact 
 that she is A.T.C.L., and all the rest of 
 it; and the end place, pretty well front- 
 ing my windows, is where Herr Ernst 
 Lindt lives, moves, and has his being. 
 His plate says Professor of Languages 
 and one might fancy the 'cello inci- 
 dental but for the Melody in F. That 
 has genius behind it. 
 
 He is quite a character; short, fat, 
 and forcible. To hear him on the sub- 
 ject of The Fatherland is a liberal educa- 
 tion. His eyes grow deep and misty, 
 and one would wonder what induced 
 him to leave it if one did not know of a 
 certain Fraulein Elsa, who is "von great 
 artiste you unnerstand." She has 
 promised to wait till this thoroughly 
 good fellow has made some sort of 
 position for himself out here. He 
 96
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 fondly dreams he can do it teaching 
 languages in a provincial town. 
 
 She is touring in Germany at present 
 and her people very much object to the 
 betrothal, although, as Lindt takes 
 care to explain, he is of good birth, only 
 poor. And he plods steadily on, and 
 writes long letters full of the enormities 
 of "zese Eenglish" to "the girl he 
 left behind him." Let us hope he will 
 not share the fate of the Man -from- the- 
 Mallee. One wonders fears also 
 the life of a popular public singer will 
 scarcely prepare this German fraulein 
 for a quiet home with the Professor, as 
 he loves to be called. Still he is the 
 man of her choice. He has read me 
 extracts from her letters, and his face is 
 a sight to see 
 
 "Mein Liebchen!" he says softly 
 97
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 under his breath "mein Liebchen!" 
 
 Well . . . ! 
 
 I have been looking again through 
 your last long letter, seeing the fire of 
 sheoak logs and the inglenook. Why 
 don't you fly down and make me some 
 toast? 
 
 Of course trees have souls. Don't 
 you remember your Hans Christian 
 Andersen on the Dryad? The pine 
 trees have the lonely ones the cedars, 
 the sad the poplars, the prim, supe- 
 rior ones. Query can souls be prim? 
 I leave you to follow things out. 
 
 What a bundle of energy Polly is 
 these days! She used to keep her even- 
 ings free, but lately I have heard the 
 click of her typewriter keys far into the 
 night. And she simply will not listen 
 to reason on the subject. Me, she 
 98
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 laughs at, derisively. I hope there is no 
 special need, but one dare not question 
 her. She is so quiet about herself, and 
 so casual. It has always seemed to me 
 in spite of our close friendship she wishes 
 me to start from the day I came here. 
 What she has left behind her of sorrow 
 - of home life must only be guessed 
 at. 
 
 Did she tell you there was a prospect 
 of my "halting through life" as you put 
 it? Prophecy, or not, it seems rather 
 likely. The sinews were touched, and 
 ai present massage is being tried so 
 far without result. 
 
 But in other ways I am wonderfully 
 better. Nerves recovering tone, appe- 
 tite enormous. I am even thinking 
 out a new story! Good enough, isn't 
 it? 
 
 99
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 We have such jolly evenings. Some- 
 times the tired little music teacher comes 
 over and accompanies Herr Lindt - 
 touches the keys with strange vigour 
 
 when one takes into consideration the 
 slim, white fingers and interprets a 
 Master in a way that brings tears into 
 the Professor's eyes. 
 
 IOO
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "She has ze soul," he will say, while 
 his bow wanders across his 'cello, draw- 
 ing out fugitive notes that throb and 
 vibrate through my room. "Ze leetle 
 creature should go to my country. She 
 vould be appreciated." 
 
 And it does seem sad, you Girl - 
 that this musician's undoubted genius 
 should expend itself in teaching scales 
 to blundering pupils. Life I sup- 
 pose! 
 
 The other night they were here, and 
 the Woman-in- White having gone to 
 see some friends in an other part of 
 the town, we had a specially good 
 tune. 
 
 After they left, Polly stayed on, and 
 the fire was sulky. She had rather a 
 talent in this direction, as no doubt you 
 remember. 
 
 101
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 She was kneeling down on the carpet, 
 and a flame suddenly leapt up and 
 searched her face. This room is a big 
 one, you must know, and the electric 
 light near my lounge leaves the fire- 
 place end almost in shadow. 
 
 She threw herself on to her pile of 
 cushions, those little restless hands of 
 hers clasped round her knees. And 
 her face I found myself wondering 
 how a man who loved her would de- 
 scribe her tried to forget for a mo- 
 ment that we were only friends, and 
 studied her in silence. 
 
 Did I ever notice before how rarely 
 lovely she is? 
 
 You know, it has been good for me, 
 this comradeship. She takes it, and 
 me, so naturally. I suppose our dis- 
 regard of conventionalities would hor- 
 102
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 rify some estimable souls; but I do not 
 need to tell you how profound is my 
 reverence for this girl who is my 
 chum in every sense of the word. My 
 pal! 
 
 She usually favours me with such 
 mocking indifference that I see that, 
 and nothing else. But her face that 
 night for the space of the few minutes 
 in which I merged myself in the identity 
 of the man who loved her seemed 
 something apart rare. Absurd, 
 wasn't it? 
 
 For I am not in the least in love with 
 Polly. Not in the very least. I write 
 this, lest you should imagine that be- 
 cause I approve of the way her hair was 
 about her forehead, and the quick, 
 light movement of her . . . but 
 you have already classified me as a sort 
 103
 
 of "Sentimental Tommy," some dis- 
 tance after Barrie. I know. 
 
 She looked up. I think I must have 
 simulated rather cleverly that other man 
 who is not I, for her cheeks flamed, and 
 her eyes flashed stormily. 
 
 "You," she said witheringly. "are 
 looking sentimental. Were you think- 
 ing out a flowery sentence for your next 
 letter?" 
 
 And then it was my turn to flush 
 vexedly. She is so horribly unerring 
 in her aim. 
 
 "What were you thinking about, fair 
 lady? "I asked lightly. 
 
 "Fair lady!" she said with lifted eye- 
 brows, and an amused drawl. "Oh, 
 no never that, Max. You must 
 have been thinking about Stony Creek. 
 There is only one Dream Girl. Do you 
 104
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 know that your letters always take 
 double postage?" 
 
 "I would like to see her," I said 
 irrelevantly. 
 
 And then I suppose you have told 
 her all about that protege of yours - 
 she quoted some words of his very de- 
 liberately "You would be disap- 
 pointed. One always wakes from 
 dreams." And I felt as if a chill wind 
 had passed over me. For I mean to 
 visit you some day do you hear? I 
 realize you most vividly you, ancl 
 the garden with its hint of Japan 
 and the room that is lived in, and is 
 home. And I wish . . . 
 
 But what is the use of wishing? 
 
 Fairy godmothers are out of date 
 
 gone with pumpkin carriages, and the 
 
 like. But oh Dream Girl one 
 
 105
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 wants sometimes to go back to Fairy- 
 land and believe in things even in the 
 beautiful princess! 
 
 Polly would say I am sentimental- 
 izing again; and in the distance I catch 
 the flutter of white under a silver-gray 
 cloak. The controller of my destinies 
 at this present stage will be here in a 
 few minutes with the mechanical smile 
 that never reaches her eyes, and a cool 
 - "I must say I like the way you take 
 the rest cure, Mr. Herrick." 
 
 She considers that I am improving 
 under her tuition. That is refreshing, 
 and gives me encouragment. 
 
 And here she is! Picture the 
 smile of compassion with which she will 
 remove these evidences of correspon- 
 dence, and proceed to take my tempera- 
 ture. 
 
 106
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I shall bite that thermometer in two 
 some day! 
 Auf wiedersehen! 
 
 Your devoted and repentant, 
 
 MAX HERRICK. 
 
 Some one was advising me to take to 
 knitting the other day. It is supposed 
 to exercise a soothing influence on the 
 nerves. What would you suggest? 
 
 107
 
 VIII 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Just the opposite of dreamy 
 
 She laughs at sentimental woe, 
 
 Her eyes are always bright and beamy. 
 
 BOURDILLON. 
 . . . Pure and true, 
 The good stars met in your horoscope, 
 Made you of spirit, fire, and dew. 
 
 BROWNING. 
 
 109
 
 POOR SENTIMENTAL TOMMY: 
 
 You should not have given me that 
 hint; it is so delightful to find new 
 names for people. Especially when 
 they fit so perfectly ! Don't knit, if you 
 please surely the days are not too 
 long with all that you manage to crowd 
 into them! It seems to me, that, for 
 a man who is "laid by for repairs, " you 
 have rather a good time. I want to 
 hear that Melody in F. It is a big 
 fa,vourite of mine. And of course the 
 Herr Professor plays you Evening Star 
 from Tannhauser? 'Cellos affect me. 
 
 And then the new story ! 
 
 I suppose you don't happen to be 
 able to do caricatures they would be 
 in
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 interesting? Send me a picture gallery 
 the Man-of-Law, and the tired little 
 music teacher, and Herr Lindt. Even 
 Polly as you see her. Try to catch 
 her when she is off guard some day, and 
 you are looking at her with your own 
 eyes; not those imaginary ones of the 
 man who loves her. If I were you, my 
 friend, I would let that one experiment 
 be the last. Polly would resent that 
 keenly find it hard to forgive. 
 
 You are rather an epicure in emo- 
 tions, are you not Sentimental Tom- 
 my? 
 
 I was very much amused over one 
 part of your letter. Why should you 
 imagine that "the man" in my life has 
 treated me badly? Talk about blunder- 
 ing masculine judgment. I could see 
 that you were quite ready to enter the 
 112
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 lists as my champion. How kind of 
 you, Sir Knight ! 
 
 Your deduction was not flattering 
 to my vanity. You see me as a poor 
 soul whom love has passed by, after 
 just a casual call; don't you? I always 
 notice that if a girl remains unmarried, 
 the masculine members of her acquaint- 
 ance jump to the conclusion that no one 
 has wanted her. You are so irresistible, 
 you creatures of razors and shaving 
 brushes. You say to yourselves, or to 
 each other, "Rattling nice girl how 
 on earth does it happen that no one has 
 ever wanted to marry her? " 
 
 And we well, the people behind 
 the scenes laugh quietly to themselves, 
 and nobody is hurt. 
 
 But I was going to tell you about 
 Winsome. Does the name suggest a 
 "3
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 picture? I want it to do just that. 
 By the way don't take a dislike to 
 the Man-from-the-Mallee. How vi- 
 cious you were about the stage accom- 
 paniments! 
 
 She is a little bit of a girl who has had 
 no girlhood who ought to be pretty, 
 but who looks, as a rule, like a bleached 
 flower. Her eyes so seldom sparkle 
 I have seen them look dewy, though 
 and the pink so rarely tinges her tiny 
 face. It is all a bit pitiful. 
 
 Your description of the Terrace re- 
 minds me of her, for she comes of a 
 family, each member of which plays 
 something! They have elevated the 
 playing from a means of livelihood to 
 a profession, and are away at present 
 in New Zealand. 
 
 Winsome and her father live quite 
 114
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 near the Chalet, and have rented an 
 orchard for two years. She says that 
 after one has been pursued by scales 
 chromatic and diatonic issuing from 
 
 
 almost every room in the house after 
 one's meals have been eaten to the 
 accompaniment of arpeggios and mus- 
 ical discords or otherwise it is heaven 
 1*5
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 to be in this quiet spot. And she 
 never means to copy music again ! 
 
 She says this with an odd little droop 
 about her tired mouth. She was fetch- 
 and-carry for the rest, and her worst 
 nightmare consists of giant notes that 
 will not stay on their lines and spaces, but 
 keep tumbling about all over the paper. 
 And, as fast as she puts them back, 
 they fall out again. 
 
 She would tell you she was not at all 
 musical, and you might believe her- 
 till you heard her sing. The child has 
 soul, and it throbs in her voice. 
 
 There is a big room in this house that 
 I have made into a music room. In it 
 is my piano, a relic of former days, 
 when the Grannie and I were better 
 off. For it is rather a good one a 
 Broadwood Grand. I have tried 
 116
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 to educate the simple furniture up to 
 it. 
 
 You should see the firelight dancing 
 on the polished floor, and the rugs that 
 supply the note of colour. The Grand 
 stands on a little, raised platform v 
 and it sounds . . . 
 
 And Winsome and I sing there, quite 
 often. 
 
 Lately the Man-from-the-Mallee has 
 been finding his way in. He sits by the 
 fire with one hand shading his eyes, and 
 listens. And I have wondered just 
 by being her sweet, tired, little selfi 
 It is calling out the man in him, and has 
 given him an interest outside himself. 
 And he seems to enjoy strolling up The 
 Gap and talking to her father, the 
 meekest, tamest soul it has ever been 
 my lot to meet. 
 
 117
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 So I am dreaming dreams. 
 
 Winsome will not expect too much 
 will be content to give more than she 
 receives. Child as she looks, she had 
 the gate of Fairyland opened just 
 a little way and then shut leaving 
 her outside. And perhaps you may be 
 more interested in her story than in 
 that of the Man-from-the-Maflee whose 
 white hair you allude to so spitefully. 
 
 Her people have always lived in this 
 neighbourhood, and I have known 
 them for a long time. Joan, the eldest 
 girl, is very gifted; but I consider her 
 violin stops short somewhere. Her tech- 
 nique is fine; there is light and shade 
 and her playing is descriptive. But - 
 perhaps I am hypercritical it has 
 never spoken to me, once. Her face 
 seen over her fiddle is always very calm 
 118
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and dreamy, her bowing most graceful. 
 But . . . the man in this case 
 is a fine, strapping young fellow, who 
 has haunted the family, and seemed to 
 regard Winsome as his special property. 
 She has been his confidante, mentor, 
 what not, ever since he came into her 
 life, an awkward schoolboy. And she 
 counselled, and listened and lost her 
 heart. I thought, every one thought 
 it could have but one ending. He came 
 oftener than ever after the others went 
 on tour. 
 
 And one night, I told myself that 
 they would find themselves and each 
 other. 
 
 She was staying with me at the time, 
 
 her father having gone on one of the 
 
 camping expeditions his soul loves. 
 
 And the man was very pale, and eager, 
 
 119
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and wanted a long talk with Winsome. 
 And for once her eyes sparkled, in spite 
 of their weariness. She has never 
 expected much from life had never 
 expected, till then. . . . 
 
 I put long trails of Virginia Creeper 
 in the music-room, and the fire was glori- 
 ous. And I thought a lot about them. 
 
 But it was Joan he wanted Joan 
 who has always taken things in her 
 careless, imperious fashion. 
 
 Oh, you Writer of Stories you can 
 see it, can't you? The child listened 
 and I know how the colours went out 
 and everything got gray and misty. 
 She bore herself so bravely too. I think 
 there must be a great many brave 
 women in this world of ours! I can 
 fancy how quietly she heard him, and 
 how her face looked. I know how I 
 120
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 felt when she came out to me later, and 
 clung to me for a minute, and I saw the 
 frozen sweetness of her eyes, and the 
 steady look into the future. 
 
 for a minute 
 
 She had promised to help him in the 
 matter; to even plead his cause with 
 Joan. He was to write to her from 
 time to time to let her know how he 
 progressed as he followed his capricious 
 ladylove from place to place. 
 
 121
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "That is the best of having money," 
 he said boyishly. "I shall haunt her 
 till I win." 
 
 And that is just what he has 
 been doing. Going about with them 
 from town to town. Joan's smart, 
 flippant letters have been full of 
 descriptions of the disconsolate swain 
 who appeared at all the concerts 
 with the same absorbed look on his 
 face. 
 
 At first she was laughingly impatient, 
 and full of suggestions that Winsome 
 should marry him and take him off her 
 hands. And then . . . 
 
 "I've given in, Win, for peace sake. 
 And, besides, Hal says he will give me 
 three years in Leipzig if I will settle 
 down and marry him at the end of the 
 time. He is a real good old sort. So 
 122
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I've said yes firmly and everybody 
 is envying me my ring.' 
 
 She showed me the letter, and 
 watched me while I read it. I wonder 
 if you have noticed, you man of senti- 
 ment, that, as a rule, it is the woman 
 who demands, who obtains? She asks 
 imperiously and takes. 
 
 Self sacrifice is accepted graciously - 
 and then thrown carelessly aside when 
 it becomes wearisome. The girl who 
 grasps with both hands, and laughs 
 lightly over her triumph, scores every 
 time! 
 
 But I don't envy her, you know. 
 Life to me, means something very 
 different. 
 
 And Winsome it has struck me 
 lately that she has not been looking 
 nearly so tired. Once or twice she has 
 123
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 even ventured to contradict my friend 
 of the Mallee. If I can see them quar- 
 rel in real earnest, I shall begin to 
 practise The Wedding March! And the 
 small girl has gentle blood she would 
 not be out of place even in his stately 
 halls with love as beautifier! He 
 showed me a photo of his home the 
 other day. It looks English . . . 
 all that means. 
 
 Spring is here. Did you know it? 
 The garden is calling, and I shall put 
 gloves on and grub busily in the warm 
 fragrant mould. There are heaps of 
 annuals to transplant, and dead leaves 
 to clear away and another year to 
 begin. 
 
 The wild violets are out, and the 
 myrtle. And you can't see them. 
 Poor Sentimental Tommy! 
 124
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I think your nurse must be an excep- 
 tional woman, in spite of hypoder- 
 mics and clinical thermometers, and - 
 nourishment. How particularly savage 
 you were about that. And I suppose 
 it never entered your head to reflect 
 how terribly complicated matters 
 would have become if she had ended 
 by falling in love with you? 
 
 Be thankful that to her you are only 
 the patient. I shudder when I think 
 of what life might have held for you. 
 For you would have given in, you 
 know! 
 
 You hadn't considered that phase of 
 the question? Of course, you hadn't. 
 But nurses I have known and there 
 is the heading for a magazine article 
 for you. Work it out. Real, and 
 imaginary ones. 
 
 125
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I have a profound respect for her - 
 your handwriting is ever so much 
 steadier. Be decently grateful, and 
 don't expect every woman you meet 
 to spoil you. 
 
 I should watch the Man-of-Law 
 it looks suspicious. But, for goodness' 
 sake, don't attempt to warn him. Why 
 you silly man, don't you know that that 
 would be the very way to precipitate 
 matters? Damn her with faint praise 
 if you really imagine anything you say 
 will have the slightest weight. I should 
 leave well alone. I once tried to match- 
 make the man fell in love with the 
 wrong girl. 
 
 And that is what you men gen- 
 erally do. 
 
 Your 
 
 DREAM GIRL. 
 126
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 So you want to go back to Fairyland, 
 and the beautiful Princess? Well, you 
 may, some day. Save those looks for 
 her, and don't waste any of them on the 
 little everyday girl who is your comrade. 
 I understand perfectly what her friend- 
 ship means to you in face of the fact 
 that she hasn't told you much about 
 her life. You seem to have discov- 
 ered that, in spite of the type- 
 writer and the office, Polly Carrol can 
 remain a gentlewoman. There are 
 others, too. 
 
 And you reverence her? Good! But 
 wouldn't she laugh over that? I can 
 imagine the sweeping bow with which 
 you would be favoured. 
 
 I do know a great deal about 
 her, naturally she is my clos- 
 est friend. But what Polly has 
 127
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 not told you. Patience, Sentimental 
 T- -y! 
 
 You were going to tell me about the 
 Man-of-Law. I am waiting. Is it 
 possible that you are jealous of him 
 with Nurse? 
 
 128
 
 IX 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 How sour sweet music is, 
 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept! 
 
 So is it with the music of men's lives. 
 
 Richard II., Act V., Scene 5. 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this 
 bank. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 129
 
 GIRL: 
 
 I am forwarding some sketches 
 in answer to your request. Whether 
 I can draw or not you must decide. 
 At least I can vouch for all being true 
 likenesses that of Lindt, the best, 
 perhaps. Though, don't you think 
 Polly is rather good, and doesn't she 
 pose perfectly for Dear Lady Disdain. 
 Another minute, and she might pour 
 the vials of her wrath out upon me 
 at least, so I fancy. You may curl 
 your lip over the whole lot. As for 
 Kendal that is his usual " Gentleman 
 of the jury" attitude a little, weary 
 smile at the corners of his mouth, 
 and a sort of "Hold on there's
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 more to come. I haven't started 
 yet." 
 
 So I haven't told you enough about 
 him and you suggest jealousy as a 
 
 fctzownl Ac po/e penally 
 for Dear Lady Di/3aial- 
 
 possible cause. That is quite beneath 
 contempt! It is for his own sake 
 that I shudder at the thought of an 
 entanglement in the direction you 
 132 

 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 wot of. I am behind the scenes, and 
 I know. 
 
 I am breathing more freely as time 
 goes on. Polly scared me a bit, I 
 confess, and you didn't mend matters. 
 But women don't know everything 
 Even women who live in Chalets, and 
 know men from the Mallee, and little, 
 tired girls with quaint names. I like 
 your Winsome. 
 
 But, I say, take one bit of advice 
 from me keep your eye on the Man- 
 from-the-Mallee. It may be your sing- 
 ing he listens to on the firelight evenings ! 
 Just a friendly warning, you know. 
 
 But Spring is here, as you remark, 
 and I suppose most of your time is 
 spent on the balcony! 
 
 This is going to be a hot, dry season, 
 they say. But, blow the north wind 
 133
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 never so fiercely, Nurse's face is as cool 
 and white as the spotless attire she 
 affects. This exasperates me. Kendal 
 and I were discussing her yesterday, 
 and I chuckled. For if this sounds like 
 love, I have never dropped across the 
 genuine article. 
 
 He gave his dry smile, and said 
 thoughtfully : 
 
 "Faultily faultless, icily regular, 
 splendidly null, dead perfection, no 
 more." 
 
 I thought it quite conclusive. A 
 man does not talk in that way about 
 THE woman. And he grinned appre- 
 ciatively when I assured him that her 
 mind was made up of shelves with 
 everything correctly labelled, and put 
 away in its right place; and that 
 she never forgot where each article was. 
 134
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Give in? You Mountain Fairy! 
 
 I stopped short just then, and am 
 resuming an hour later. Where do you 
 think I am? 
 
 Out on the veranda . . . OUT! 
 And even though the journey was ac- 
 complished in an ignominious fashion 
 on crutches, with Nurse closely in 
 attendance here I am; and half the 
 town has stopped at the gate to tell me 
 how glad it is. 
 
 To be sure, Polly, discovering by 
 some occult process of reasoning that 
 I was elated, immediately proceeded 
 to take me down by assuring me I was 
 the latest sensation but the evening 
 air is blowing about me, and a screen 
 at my feet shuts off the too inquisitive 
 public; and the electric light just near 
 enables me to scribble this to you. 
 135
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 From every window of the Terrace 
 opposite floats music. They seem to be 
 serenading me. Herr Lindt's room is 
 lighted up ... he has forgotten 
 his blind as usual, and I can see his fair, 
 jolly face rapt with inspiration. Listen, 
 you Girl ... it is that identical 
 Evening Star you love so much. I am 
 not quite near enough to see the 
 heimweh in his eyes, but I can imagine 
 it. He is dreaming of Elsa . . . 
 his fairy princess. 
 
 Love is blind. I have seen her 
 photo, and I assure you she is nothing 
 more than a good-looking German Frau- 
 lein, with a merry twinkle in her eyes. 
 But to him . . . you may fill in 
 the blanks. 
 
 He has had new pupils lately, and his 
 dream expands. According to him, 
 136
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 she is "Von leetle daisy that is, how 
 you call it . . . not?" 
 
 And when I tell him that she will 
 certainly have forgotten him by the 
 time he gets back, he spreads his hands 
 on his knees and says placidly, 
 
 " Ach so ? Vat a nonsense ! ' ' 
 
 It must be good to be so sure. 
 
 The little music teacher came to her 
 window just then and looked out. The 
 heat is wilting her, and she is very white 
 and drawn. She is giving her last 
 lesson for the year, and rest is coming 
 none too quickly. I hate to see women 
 look as she is looking. From what 
 Polly says, Xmas isn't going to mean 
 much to her. She is not going away for 
 her holidays . . . cannot afford it. 
 And here am I, with more money than 
 I know what to do with! What an
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 unequal old world it is. Of course I 
 want to do all sorts of things . . . 
 but just because I happen to be a single, 
 unattached man . . . my hands 
 are tied! 
 
 Her pupil, a great, awkward child 
 with fingers like skewers, is making 
 every mistake it is possible to compass. 
 Crash ! Does she know that my nerves 
 are strung on red-hot wires . . . 
 seemingly not, for on she goes with a 
 persistence worthy of a better object. 
 And I meditate on the folly of parents 
 who will persist in the belief that music 
 . . . music can be taught to any 
 one. What it is meaning to the worn 
 little teacher I can faintly guess. Some- 
 how, her face, or the still, hot air the 
 wind has dropped has set this evening 
 in a minor key. 
 
 138
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 It only needed Polly to come out at 
 that moment, and walk to this secluded 
 end of the veranda, standing where the 
 light streamed over her hair. 
 
 Is it altogether my fancy, or is this 
 heat trying her more than last year's 
 did! She assures me flippantly that 
 she is much nicer as a Winter than as a 
 Summer Girl. 
 
 "Don't get fanciful, Max," she says, 
 rather crossly. "I hate to feel that I 
 am being watched." 
 
 So I must keep my fears to myself. 
 I am not half satisfied. Her eyes are 
 not so often merry . . . they look 
 . . if one were not talking about 
 Polly . . . almost sad. And her 
 face is so dead white. Kendal says she 
 is working too hard, and has told her so. 
 She takes it quite gently from him 
 139
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 . . . almost gratefully. But from 
 me! I don't think Polly should treat 
 me in such an off-hand manner . . . 
 shut me out of her life as she does. 
 
 
 
 o o ( 
 
 keep mjMtarr ib mjtfei 
 & 
 
 "Aren't you nearly finished?" she 
 asked, saucily. " If you overtire your- 
 self the first time I don't know what 
 Nurse will say." 
 
 140
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "Nurse!" I said . . . and you 
 may guess at the exasperation in my 
 tone. "If my life is to be planned out 
 by her I might as well go into a glass 
 case at once. It is my fixed belief that 
 she lies awake at nights thinking out 
 new restrictions. When a fellow is 
 getting better, too!" 
 
 Polly laughed. Perhaps it is because 
 I have heard it so seldom lately that I 
 noticed what a pretty laugh she has. 
 It ripples so. 
 
 "Sorry!" she said, penitently. "I 
 should have avoided the sore spot. 
 You are getting more fractious than 
 ever . . . that is a good sign." 
 
 "Hang it all," I said irritably, "if you 
 only knew how long I to throw away 
 these crutches and race you down 
 to the gate. . . . 
 141
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "I know," she said softly, "I know. 
 Don't ever suppose that I forget, Max. 
 It is rather an upside-down world, 
 isn't it? So many in this town to-night 
 longing for the rest that is irksome to 
 you ... so many." 
 
 She said it under her breath, and did 
 not stir when I said incredulously, 
 "Polly!" 
 
 At that instant my half -denned fears 
 were full grown. You know how erect 
 she is, how full of unconquerable energy ! 
 Well, gradually she seems to have lost 
 that look and to have become listless. 
 She can't be sickening for something? 
 
 Dream Girl ... I have the feel- 
 ing that you are needed . . . you, 
 and no other. You are not always to be 
 in misty distance . . . do you hear? 
 If ever a tune should come when Polly 
 142
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 needed you . . . Girl .... 
 you wouldn't refuse to materialize then? 
 
 She seems sadly alone, and a man 
 blunders so. Come to think of it, 
 Scott, M. D. has looked at her pretty 
 searchingly lately he has rooms here, 
 you know. 
 
 Solicitude from me she will not accept 
 she would tell you it is not my r61e. 
 What is, I wonder? To grasp with 
 both hands as did that imaginary 
 woman of yours! I suppose Polly 
 would say so. And you? 
 
 "I am thinking," she said, "how 
 beautiful the creek will be to-night." 
 
 "The creek, Polly!" 
 
 " Hasn't she told you about it . . . 
 
 your Dream Girl? Oh, I know it quite 
 
 well, I have stayed with her several 
 
 times. Max ... it is fairylike 
 
 143
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 ... the shine of the water over 
 the stones, and the cool, delicious 
 bubbling sound of it. There is one 
 bend where the boulders almost meet, 
 and a myrtle tree has taken root. 
 I keep seeing it ... the flowers 
 trailing in the water. And the moon- 
 light has just touched the mountain - 
 picked out the rugged granite, and the 
 stunted trees. . . ." 
 
 There was intense longing in her 
 voice. Her face was very wistful, and 
 tired. That intangible fear had me in 
 its grip again. 
 
 "You want to be there, Polly," I 
 said. "Well . . . why not!" 
 
 She looked at me with a hunted ex- 
 pression that I am going to remember. 
 
 "Don't, Max," she said, unsteadily. 
 
 "Don't." 
 
 144
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Oh, Girl . . . you with the second 
 sight, and almost the fairy wand 
 exercise your magic here. 
 If the difficulty is money . . . 
 think a way out of it. She needs a 
 change sadly it must be managed 
 somehow. She need never guess 
 that I had anything to do with it 
 . . . your woman's wit will find a 
 hundred ways out ... it must. 
 
 For we are in for a record summer, 
 they say. 
 
 Transplant Polly to the mountains, 
 
 and the creek, and the garden. Let 
 
 her fight the Man-from-the-Mallee 
 
 . even that would be good 
 
 for her. And when she comes back 
 
 - if I don't find out all there is to be 
 
 found out about you, my Lady! ! ! 
 
 Think . . . think! And don't 
 H5
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 delay. There is something sapping 
 her strength. 
 
 If you don't well, I shall discover 
 for myself where this mysterious Stony 
 Creek is . . . even though you have 
 so carefully covered up tracks, and have 
 your letters posted under cover to Polly. 
 How well you have thought things out ! 
 
 Again . . . music . . . the 
 band this time, playing a quickstep 
 in the Reserve. 
 
 Yes, quite ready, Nurse! 
 
 Worriedly yours, 
 
 MAX HERRICK. 
 
 My apologies to Winsome let me 
 know how the little idyll progresses! 
 She has been, in printer's parlance - 
 crowded out this time. 
 
 Your pardon, Lady ! 
 146
 
 X 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 The days come and go like muffled and 
 veiled figures sent from a distant, friendly 
 party; but they say nothing, and if you do not 
 use the gifts they bring, they carry them as 
 silently away. 
 
 EMERSON. 
 
 147
 
 each, m lorn ^ 
 
 DEAR DANA GIBSON THE SECOND : 
 
 You can sketch . . . quite 
 nicely. I do not wonder your pride was 
 touched when I asked you whether you 
 could draw. I am looking at each in 
 turn, and thinking busily. Polly is 
 right . . . your nurse is very 
 pretty. And that looking-glass study 
 of yourself which I did not ask 
 for, Sir Egotist, but am very glad 
 to have is it a true likeness? Be- 
 cause if so, a man with that chin 
 149
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 should have done something with his 
 life. 
 
 Polly's is surely flattered? I think 
 when you drew her, you must have 
 allowed that imaginative look to once 
 more creep into your eyes. If she had 
 seen it ... well ... I have 
 warned you. Certainly, she is Dear 
 Lady Disdain . . . but, even lov- 
 ing her as I do, I am sure you have 
 idealized her face. 
 
 It was good of you to act upon my 
 suggestion so promptly, you must be 
 second-cousin-once-removed to the man 
 who makes his living by lightning sketch- 
 ing. Sepia wash, too . . . how 
 beautifully you have finished them off 
 And what a pity you have so much 
 money . . . there might have been 
 the makings of an artist in you. . . . 
 150
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 While I am on this subject, it is good of 
 you to think of it, but we are not in 
 Fairyland, remember: she would guess 
 at once Polly, I mean. 
 
 I shall scold her for working so 
 hard . . . but beyond that! And 
 I think there is need . . . for her 
 to work. She may have many little 
 troubles that will account for the worn 
 look. I think she has been a bit sad for 
 quite a long time. And all my magic 
 fails. Give her a steady, patient friend- 
 ship that will not question too much 
 . . . give her your very best. And 
 don't worry her if she looks "dead 
 white ' ' pretty often . Life isn ' t a dream . 
 Polly takes it seriously has to take it 
 seriously. 
 
 You said a while ago that you were 
 studying up on medical subjects so as to
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 impress Nurse. Poor fellow I im- 
 agine your helpless flounderings, and 
 extend pity to you. 
 
 Some years ago I was bitten with the 
 craze for First Aid to the Injured. Liv- 
 ing in this lonely part of the world one 
 has to know a little about bush surgery. 
 
 At the first exam, many were the 
 experiences. The medico who ques- 
 tioned us viva voce was a burly giant 
 with' a rough face, and the kindest heart 
 in the world. Two of us were in the 
 torture room at the same time, and my 
 companion completely lost her head. 
 
 "This boy," said our inquisitor, indi- 
 cating an unfortunate youngster who 
 had been the victim of our bandaging 
 all through the course of lectures - 
 "has been poisoned by gas. What 
 treatment would you suggest?" 
 I 5 2
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "What treatment? " 
 
 " Exactly. This young lady has given 
 the symptoms, but you know there is 
 never much time to waste in cases of 
 poisoning of any description. You are 
 
 twelve miles away from a doctor 
 
 j? 
 
 His voice was mild and insinuating, 
 his eyes encouraging. 
 
 "I would . . ." 
 
 "Just so, that is what I wish to get at. 
 You would . . . ?" 
 
 There was a silence that could be felt. 
 The unfortunate girl's eyes rolled in a 
 frenzied fashion. 
 
 "I was well up in all the other 
 poisons," she whispered tragically to 
 me. 
 
 "I would suggest," said the doctor, 
 blandly, "that you pay a little attention
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 to the patient whose condition is rapidly 
 becoming critical!" 
 
 "I would . . . take him out into 
 the garden " this, with a desperate 
 plunge "and hose him. Oh, but 
 that isn't right, either there might 
 not be a hose. I should certainly take 
 him out into the garden!" 
 
 The doctor's smile was inscrutable. 
 
 When we were given our papers, a 
 little society butterfly looked up into 
 his face with melting sweetness. 
 
 "What would you do in a case of 
 snake-bite, Doctor, twenty miles from 
 the nearest township?" 
 
 "What would you do, Madam?" 
 
 "Goodness! I can't imagine. I know" 
 . . . this with a brilliant smile, "I 
 should keep the child quiet and send for 
 the doctor. " He looked thoughtful.
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Winsome was indeed crowded out of 
 your last letter. But I am going on 
 with my story. If you are tired of these 
 epistles you have only to say so, and I 
 shall ring off. Indeed, I feel the time 
 to be approaching when this will be the 
 wisest course to pursue. You are on 
 crutches now, you see, and I shall soon 
 " Fade away and gradually die. " You 
 did not send me a sketch of the Dream 
 Girl ... as you picture her! 
 
 As for your remarks about the Man- 
 from-the-Mallee ... I should 
 smile. Fall in love with me, indeed! 
 I think they have almost reached an 
 understanding of each other . . . 
 and it came about in this way. And 
 when I tell you about it, you will under- 
 stand why you haven't had a letter for 
 such a long time. 
 
 155
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 A few miles up The Gap there has 
 been a tragedy that has spread itself 
 out over a good many years. A man 
 and a woman, and a love that failed to 
 hold . . . quite an old story. She 
 was beautiful, and had a wild, lawless 
 streak in her, and our quiet life grew 
 unbearable to her. So she went, and 
 for a long time nothing was heard of her. 
 And the man lived on alone, dourly; 
 and let the thing bite into his soul. He 
 spoke of her, and of it, once to me, but 
 only once . . . and we have grown 
 used to his face of frozen misery. It has 
 been one of the things that belonged to 
 us and The Gap. 
 
 Lately he went away, to see the old 
 folk at home he told me in a half-un- 
 willing fashion. And, soon after he 
 went, the unexpected happened. For 
 156
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 she came back; to die, as it seemed at first 
 a wreck of the wilful creature who 
 had broken the bars of her cage. What 
 her life has been we can only guess at 
 I fancy she would call freedom by a 
 different name, now. 
 
 Winsome found her, desperately ill, 
 cowering over a fire she had made in 
 her deserted home. And Winsome 
 goes straight to the heart of things, 
 always. 
 
 I can fancy how she talked, in her 
 gentle, tired way that moonlight night. 
 But a great deal has had to be guessed 
 at, for she has been very ill. And we 
 were not to ask any questions that would 
 agitate, the doctor said. 
 
 One thing ... it was the Man- 
 from-the-Mallee who told it me, with an 
 odd catch in his voice, and a gentler 
 157
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 light in his eyes than has been there for 
 many a weary day. 
 
 "She fancied that the touch of a good 
 woman's lips might hold back the bitter, 
 mocking words that were wounding her 
 
 so. And she kissed her . . . with 
 that throat!" 
 
 It was in one of his long night 
 158
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 rambles that he came upon them 
 . . . attracted by the light in the 
 deserted home. And when I told him 
 that I was sure God had sent him in that 
 particular direction, he nodded, sombrely. 
 
 She had done a great deal by that 
 time, our little Winsome; and the poor, 
 weary soul, fast in the clutches of 
 diphtheria, was tossing restlessly on the 
 bed, and her nurse was watching for the 
 help she had prayed for. 
 
 Even then, she would not let him 
 enter the house . . . she has, 
 throughout her life thought for others 
 . . . and on his way for the doctor, 
 he stopped for a few minutes to tell me 
 all he knew. 
 
 And I looked into his eyes, and saw 
 what he was suffering. 
 
 "I will go to her," I said. "Grannie
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 is too old for there to be any fear of 
 infection and I never take anything 
 like that. " 
 
 He thanked me mutely. 
 
 So I have been in quarantine . . . 
 and it has been a strange experience 
 . . . the only break in the monotony 
 being Doctor Kensington's visits, and 
 those of the Man-from-the-Mallee. 
 We never allowed him to come nearer 
 than the garden path, and greatly he has 
 chafed at the restrictions. But it was 
 necessary to keep communication with 
 the other world and the Chalet ! 
 
 The little grandmother rose nobly to 
 the occasion, and every day sent up by the 
 doctor or our Mallee friend, food stuffs 
 that would have kept going a garrison. 
 
 And it is all over now there is no 
 need to disinfect this letter for you. 
 1 60
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 But I shall never forget these weeks. 
 The lonely night watches and the 
 delirium. The immediate danger was 
 soon over, thanks to anti-toxin; but 
 the poor creature was worn out, 
 and heart-sick besides. And, as soon 
 as she recovered, Winsome took it 
 
 - badly. I shall never forget that 
 man's eyes when I had to tell him 
 
 - the utter despair. But he wasted 
 no time. 
 
 A specialist all the way from Mel- 
 bourne . . . two trained nurses 
 . . . everything she needed, and 
 much she did not. I realized what 
 gold could do ... with love be- 
 hind it. 
 
 She was very ill ... and it has 
 been a fight. At first the city man was 
 more than doubtful. 
 161
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "No stamina," he said as he was 
 driving away to catch his train. " Worn 
 out before her time. " 
 
 But she has come back to a pro- 
 tecting love that has lifted my poor 
 Man-from-the-Mallee will lift him. 
 
 And she knows it now : the knowledge 
 is bringing a rare beauty into her face. 
 She looks alive ! 
 
 And the nurses have gone fancy 
 a wee country home like that turned 
 into a hospital ! and the man has 
 come back. And two people who 
 have been through the fire are learn- 
 ing to trust each other again and 
 to forgive. 
 
 Do you know . . . the summer is 
 trying even up here among the moun- 
 tains. And I cannot think of another 
 word to write. Shall this be the last of 
 162
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 your Dream Girl? She has gone far 
 enough along the road of life with you, 
 and wants a long rest. Imagine her 
 vanishing into the mists, and purple 
 distance. D. G. 
 
 163
 
 XI 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 I do beseech you 
 
 Chiefly that I may set it in my prayers 
 
 What is your name? 
 The Tempest, Act III., Scene I. 
 
 I am Sir Oracle, 
 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark I 
 Merchant of Venice.
 
 You EXASPERATING .... 
 
 I imagine nothing of the kind. Ring 
 off, indeed? Not much! You have 
 come into my life, and you are going 
 to stay there. I shall allow you- 
 ten minutes for refreshments . . . 
 say! 
 
 Your letter annoyed me, interested 
 me, and finished up by worrying me. 
 
 What was the man who isn't treat- 
 ing you badly thinking of when 
 he allowed you to take such risks? 
 It sent a shiver down my spine . . . 
 Diphtheria! ! 
 
 That Man-from-the-Mallee wants his 
 head punched. . . . You may say 
 what you like about him, but it is very 
 167
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 evident to me that he was thinking of no 
 one but his blessed Winsome ! 
 
 I beg your pardon, Lady . . . 
 the girl was a brick, of course. But 
 then, so were you you ran an 
 equal risk! So my hat is off to 
 both. But I'm angry with you, all 
 the same. 
 
 This has made me determined to find 
 out all I can in reference to you. I am 
 setting about it in dead, grim earnest. 
 So I give you fair warning. 
 
 As for letting you "fade away and 
 gradually die ' ... bosh. Yes, 
 I repeat it bosh ! 
 
 We have taken too much interest in 
 each other's lives to ring down the cur- 
 tain at this early stage. I mean to 
 discover all that is to be discovered con- 
 cerning you. I ... MaxHerrick! 
 168
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 If you don't write at once on receipt of 
 this . . . 
 
 Disgustedly yours, 
 SOME DISTANCE AFTER DANA GIBSON. 
 
 So glad you appreciated the sketches. 
 Am forwarding with this my idea of the 
 Dream Girl. 
 
 169
 
 XII 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Fear not, . . . take thy fortunes up; 
 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou 
 
 art 
 As great as that thou fearest. 
 
 Twelfth Night, Act V., Scene i. 
 
 171
 
 MONSIEUR: 
 
 After such subtle flattery you make 
 it difficult for me to insist upon 
 letting the silence fall between us. 
 That sketch is quaint and fanciful, and 
 I like it. 
 
 You are a bit of a genius. Of course 
 it is not in the least like me . . . 
 
 Do you know, you have done an odd 
 thing accidentally, no doubt. You 
 have idealized . . . very much 
 idealized . . . Polly's face! Did 
 you show it to her before you sent it to 
 me? It would have amused her not a 
 little. 
 
 For what purpose should we continue 
 this correspondence? Soon you will be 
 173
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 ready to take up a man's work in the 
 world your soul is ready now, I 
 think. 
 
 That being the case . . . you 
 have dreamt it all . . . wake up! 
 
 D. G. 
 
 174
 
 XIII 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where 
 most it promises. 
 
 All's Well That Ends Well. 
 
 We are such stuff as dreams are made on. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 175
 
 GIRL: 
 
 I shall not wake up! If anything 
 is more real to me than you are, I shall 
 like to know what it is! 
 
 Allow me to inform you, Madam, that 
 Max Herrick is once more Six-foot-one- 
 Vertical . . . and that in a fort- 
 night's time that Woman-in-White will 
 be taking on a new case. 
 
 And I will not stand any nonsense. 
 This is my first and last word on the 
 subject. Just when everything is get- 
 ting so interesting, too! 
 
 Oh, I could laugh . . . you have 
 been so far out of it, you and Polly 
 . . . prepare to feel as small as you 
 
 should ! 
 
 177
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Last night the Man-of-Law came, 
 bringing with him . . . The Girl 
 . . . looking very pleased with her- 
 self. 
 
 And Nurse ... I ought to save 
 this for another letter . . . meas- 
 ure for measure Nurse . . . are 
 you paying attention? ... is en- 
 gaged to a fellow who is travelling on 
 the Continent just now! The Man-of- 
 Law reminded her of him, hence the 
 pink colour, and the animation. She was 
 merely keeping her hand in. But haven't 
 I enjoyed the thought of telling you ! 
 
 I told Kendal 'how near I had been to 
 warning him, and he smiled. His smile 
 means quite a lot. 
 
 Nurse's best fellow is little, and has 
 twinkling eyes. She unbent so far as to 
 show me his photo last night. 
 178
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "He looks plucky," I said, ten- 
 tatively. She actually laughed. 
 
 "You think he needs to be?" she 
 asked, tolerantly. 
 
 "I suppose," I hazarded "he is 
 very fond of you?" 
 
 And then I got a shock. For her eyes 
 positively softened, and got dreamy. 
 
 "I think he is," she said under her 
 breath. And did not mention tem- 
 peratures that evening. 
 
 Talking about temperatures . . . 
 this heat is awful. If I were only the 
 Man-from-the-Mallee now, and could 
 . . . let me be sure I quote correctly 
 . . . "walk over the mountains, 
 down The Gap, and into your lives." 
 
 If my hair would go white I suppose 
 that would constitute some claim on 
 
 you 
 
 179
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Girl there is a mocking light in 
 my eyes ... a sneer is curving my 
 lips ... I am speaking in low, 
 broken sentences . . . I have a 
 headache ! (This last, is literal fact !) 
 To our next and first merry meet- 
 ing! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 1 80
 
 XIV 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 But there's more in me than thou under- 
 stand'st. 
 
 Troilus and Cressidd. 
 
 I wonder that you will still be talking, Sig- 
 nior Benedick; nobody marks you! 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 181
 
 SIR EGOTIST: 
 
 I am sorry for the headache but all 
 the same this is Good-bye. 
 
 My congratulations to the Man-of- 
 Law, and the Woman-in- White. I feel 
 quite troubled to think that "little 
 bit of property" can't be "made over 
 jintly." 
 
 I really am too weary to write any 
 more. Don't you understand . . . 
 I don't wish to write. 
 
 THE DREAM GIRL. 
 
 It was not in the contract that you 
 were to get so desperately interested in 
 my concerns! Anyway . . . this 
 is final! 
 
 183
 
 XV 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 Wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving 
 
 me now; 
 The need I have of thee, thine own goodness 
 
 hath made; 
 Better not to have had thee than thus to want 
 
 thee 
 
 Winter's Tale, Act IV. 
 
 185
 
 GIRL: 
 I never knew before that Shylock 
 
 was a woman! 
 
 M. H. 
 
 187
 
 XVI 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 "For Love, the King, so many names there be, 
 So many aspects doth His beauty wear, 
 Some passing sweet, and some so strange 
 
 that we 
 
 Scarce recognize, and will not know him fair; 
 'Nay, thou art Pain, ' we cry with shrinking 
 
 heart; 
 
 And veil our laces that we may not see; 
 'Yet grief/ he answers, 'is Love's counter- 
 part, 
 Who shuns him, shuts his door as well on me. ' " 
 
 189
 
 DREAM GIRL. 
 
 I am writing this though it seems 
 terribly likely that it may never reach 
 your eyes. If you had only trusted me 
 more! 
 
 It was not idle curiosity, and it has 
 grown to be sore need. I have so fallen 
 into the habit of sending you my moods 
 by post . . . this, though I must 
 write it, does not seem likely to reach 
 you. 
 
 But you are somewhere and, if 
 there be anything in mental telepathy 
 you must break the silence. You 
 must. 
 
 It is not only my need, though that 
 
 is sore enough but Polly's. 
 191
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I have been dreaming too long 
 . . . and the mists have rolled away. 
 And I am fronting a chasm. I suppose 
 it is always this way. What was it 
 that your Man-from-the-Mallee said - 
 "Everything was too late in his life ! " 
 
 And, if you ever read this, you will say 
 the gnawing pain at my heart is not very 
 real or I could not write about it. 
 . , , But you do not know. 
 
 We are having record heat. Day 
 after day insupportably hot, and at 
 night, strong east winds that have a 
 blight in them. One feels they hold 
 disease . . . death. As, indeed, 
 they do. 
 
 Folk have ceased to talk about the 
 weather it is typhoid instead; and 
 the question is, who next? For there is 
 a pestilence raging in the place. 
 192
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Each day Scott comes in with a graver 
 face, and I do not ask him now as 
 I did at first, "Any more cases, 
 Doctor?" 
 
 For the thing has come too near to be 
 more than whispered. We have it in 
 this very house. And it is Polly . . . 
 Polly. 
 
 And I know that if the life that is 
 flickering so uncertainly should go out, 
 it will take all that is best of me with it. 
 I know ... at last. 
 
 Girl ... if you had only let me 
 do what I wanted to do. . . . Now, 
 when it is too late, my money can be 
 used for her. As you said " Gold 
 . . . with love behind it." 
 
 But it can't give life ... it 
 can't undo these months of drudgery 
 that have been steadily sapping her
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 strength away while I looked on, and 
 did not understand. 
 
 If she had been with you . . . 
 oh, I don't want to reproach you 
 when you know, it will be hard enough 
 for you. I tell myself that you will miss 
 her letters, that a time will come 
 when you will write to me ques- 
 tioning the silence. And I must wait 
 for that. 
 
 When you know, you will come 
 as you went to Winsome. This is 
 Polly. . . . 
 
 A while ago Nurse came in. I did 
 not ask the question that is always on 
 my lips she spoke without that. 
 
 "Quite bad, Mr. Herrick. You want 
 the truth, don't you? The poor little 
 soul has nothing to fight with. " 
 
 But her eyes were sorry for me. 
 194
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 There is no disguise between us. She 
 seems to understand. 
 
 Am I too circumstantial this time? 
 For oh Girl . . . this is the real 
 thing. It hurts . . . cruelly. 
 
 I am waiting here powerless, and in 
 the room across the hall lies a shadowy 
 Polly whose soul seems far away and 
 always restless. And all my love can- 
 not reach her all my deep love. 
 
 Perhaps ... if I had wakened 
 sooner! What do you say? Love can 
 do such mighty things. I am thinking 
 of all that would have been possible 
 if she had cared. 
 
 I would have made her care . . . 
 it is not possible I could have failed 
 . . . I would have taken her by 
 storm. 
 
 I was remembering a while ago Betsy
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Trotwood's "Oh, Trot blind, blind, 
 blind." 
 
 Why are we allowed to be so blind? 
 You have loved can you tell me? 
 
 Memory is a searchlight that is re- 
 lentless. It shows me that I always 
 cared: a fire as well, for it sears to agony. 
 
 Dream Girl, even you must have 
 guessed and have laughed at my folly 
 in supposing that that other . . . 
 
 This is part of my very being. 
 
 If you could be here . . . caring 
 for her. You might have let me know 
 who, and where you are. I have wild 
 pictures of your coming to her calm, 
 strong, self-reliant. And I could have 
 talked my heart out to you. 
 
 It is some small comfort that I can 
 
 walk again ... to have lain 
 
 I 
 
 196
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 The east wind has started up again 
 . . . one feels it carries death. . . . 
 
 They will not let me see her she is 
 very delirious, and in her intervals of 
 consciousness too utterly weak to risk 
 any agitation. Does that tell you how 
 bad she is Polly, who used to rally 
 me, and scold me, and rouse me to 
 battle? 
 
 This room is full of her . . . 
 memories that spring at me. I see her 
 everywhere. 
 
 And I want her in my arms. 
 
 I am listening all the tune and 
 there is so much to listen to. For the 
 nights are horrors. It is not Polly who 
 is there, but some one who talks end- 
 lessly . . . laughs, and sings, little 
 broken snatches that are always merry 
 . .' . that break my heart. 
 197
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 But worse times come when she is 
 typing . . . and she cannot re- 
 member. 
 
 Yesterday they left her for a few 
 minutes while Nurse consulted with the 
 doctors . . . and I stole across the 
 passage, and stood looking down at her. 
 And though I was so near, she did not 
 know me, while every fibre of me was 
 crying, "Polly I love you. " But her 
 soul was right away. I could not 
 reach it. 
 
 Oh if you had seen her, you who 
 love her, too the little, little crea- 
 ture. 
 
 I crept away before Nurse returned. 
 And I am wondering how much I gained. 
 I cannot forget. I say to myself, 
 "That wasn't Polly!" 
 
 Many times a day they come, the 
 198
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 doctors who are so sadly overworked 
 these times . . . and there have 
 been three consultations with a Mel- 
 bourne specialist already. 
 
 Even you cannot deny me this now 
 . . . and if you did! Love has 
 rights. If any earthly power can save 
 her. . . . 
 
 Lindon has just been, and for the 
 fiftieth time I am so deadly sure he 
 wants me to be prepared for some- 
 thing. But is one ever prepared for 
 that? 
 
 His eyes are tired, and sad. They 
 have all loved her ... we have 
 had to stop folk coming to the door 
 . . . the bell disturbed her and 
 there were so many. 
 
 "You must save her," I said. And 
 he smiled wearily. 
 
 199
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "All I can do," he said. And then 
 was off. And I have to face the night 
 with that. Then Nurse - 
 
 "We are changing the treatment a 
 little she is no worse really!" 
 
 And . . . almost abruptly "I 
 suppose you don't believe in prayer?" 
 
 And I thought for an instant . . . 
 that it would be good to have a God who 
 would listen . . . and answer! 
 
 She is very delirious again, as she 
 always is about this time of night, and 
 Nurse is soothing her gently. But it 
 only reaches her for a while. And the 
 wind rushes in through my windows 
 with a dry, gasping sound . . . and 
 the stars are bright. Horribly bright. 
 
 The ice cart has just stopped with a 
 fresh supply but they might pack her 
 in ice, and it seems as if that cruel 
 200
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 temperature would rage on. The real 
 danger is the heart . . . she has 
 had one or two nasty collapses already. 
 
 Strange, isn't it? I am remembering 
 only her merry moods to-night. I keep 
 seeing her on her pile of cushions at the 
 fire that was always so jolly last winter 
 her mouth curving mischievously as 
 she lectured me. 
 
 And her eyes . . . ah, I must 
 have known even then that they were 
 the most beautiful in the world . . . 
 misty, and shining and wistful. And 
 I would give all I have if she could be 
 here now to fight me in the old way. 
 
 Just across the hall . . . and a 
 whole world between us! 
 
 Nurse again ... I think she 
 realizes how horribly restless I am. It 
 is Polly's own wish that I shall not see 
 201
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 her . . . she made them promise 
 at the very first. I must think that out. 
 
 Oh, Dream Girl . . . you must 
 come! If Fairyland was best after 
 all for there, wishes had wings. 
 
 The doctor is back . . . both of 
 them are back. 
 
 She is worse . . . very much 
 worse. And the night grows more 
 stifling. It will never be cool again, I 
 think. 
 
 There will be no sleep for any one 
 . . . how she has won love. . . . 
 
 The moon was blood-red when she 
 rose . . . even now, is glowing like 
 a ball of fire. Folk are out on veran- 
 das, paths, anywhere. In a few hours 
 the sun will be back ... it seems 
 as if he has never been away . . . 
 and the papers will be full of sensational 
 202
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 articles about the record weather, and 
 the sudden deaths from sunstroke, or 
 graphic accounts of madness from the 
 fierce heat. And I shall still be waiting 
 . . . or I shall know. 
 
 The air is full of insects that make the 
 silence of the house more noticeable. 
 They buzz and drone, and dash against 
 the electrolier with a clicking sound that 
 rasps my nerves past endurance. 
 
 Polly seems quieter. Oh, Girl 
 . . . Girl ... I could not bear 
 that! She was always so much alive 
 . . . and she will fight. . . . 
 She never gave in to anything! 
 
 To-day, they took her hair off. The 
 doctors were anxious for this days ago, 
 but Nurse's heart failed her. She 
 brought it in to me a while ago, and held 
 the thick, curling mass as if she loved it. 
 203
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 But it seemed to me part of Polly 
 . . . something live . . . and I 
 have put it away. I shall not look 
 at it again. 
 
 Dawn already bright and glaring. 
 A cloudless sky, and menace in the sting 
 of the wind. Polly talks excitedly of 
 her typewriter, and some letters that 
 must be attended to. Once I heard my 
 own name. It must be that she will 
 want to see me - 
 
 Lindon again. . . . We shall soon 
 know, he says. And left me to imagine. 
 
 Twenty-four hours . . . four- 
 teen hundred and forty minutes to be 
 lived through. He thinks by that time 
 . . . and yet, I would keep them 
 back if I could. 
 
 It is going to be the hottest day we 
 
 have had. 
 
 204
 
 XVII 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 When some beloved voice, that was to you 
 Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, 
 And silence against which you dare not cry 
 Aches round you like a strong disease and 
 
 new . . . 
 
 What hope? what music will undo 
 That silence to your sense? Not friendship's 
 
 sigh, 
 
 Not reason's subtle count; not melody 
 Of \iols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew; 
 Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales 
 Whose hearts leap upward through the cy- 
 press trees 
 
 To the dear moon; nor the angel's sweet All- 
 hails, 
 
 Met hi the smile of God: nay, none of these. 
 Speak Thou, availing Christ! and fill this 
 pause. MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 205
 
 GIRL: 
 
 Do you remember, how to the Man- 
 from-the-Mallee all the world seemed 
 to be dying! The papers made ghastly 
 reading to-day. Eleven o'clock, and 
 in this sheltered room the temperature 
 is 112. What will it be by after- 
 noon! And still not a cloud to break 
 up the brass of the sky. The death 
 rate even in this town is something to 
 sicken one. 
 
 And I must write, or I shall lose my 
 reason. Write though the feeling 
 that you may never read these letters 
 adds to the unreality of everything. 
 
 Do you remember the woman, who, 
 when her brother died kept on writing 
 207
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 letters " To Maurice in Heaven " . . . 
 till the unbearable silence overcame her, 
 and stifled her? 
 
 Girl . . . where are you? You 
 must be going to know some day, 
 or surely even I could not have the 
 heart . . . 
 
 I have wondered whether you are ill, 
 too, and I remember the risk you ran, 
 and how terribly infectious diphtheria 
 is and that last, tired letter. Per- 
 haps while I am listening here you are 
 battling for your life. And I shall lose 
 you both. 
 
 This will be written in snatches. If 
 what they fear is coming, comes I am 
 to go to her. And any moment . . . 
 Half an hour ago Herr Lindt was here, 
 carrying carefully some delicacy for "ze 
 leetle creature. ' ' He comes over the road 
 208
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 many times in the day, and so far, his offer- 
 ings have been singularly inappropriate. 
 
 This time it was a monstrous cray- 
 fish . . . and he entreated me to 
 plead with the doctors that she might be 
 allowed to " peeck von leetle beet. " He 
 is convinced that they are starving her, 
 and cannot be made to understand. He 
 sits and talks about her with the tears 
 streaming down his cheeks. He re- 
 members everything she has said and 
 done, I think. And he has never once 
 jarred. To-day it was almost more 
 than I could bear ... he has not 
 wavered in his certainty that she will 
 recover. And to hear him talking like 
 that, when I know . . . 
 
 When he left me he gripped my hand j 
 and we stood for a moment looking at 
 each other. 
 
 209
 
 fl H- Q 
 
 JlerrLmdi vs convinced 
 
 starviitflvl 
 
 
 
 2IO
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "Eet ees that you lov her as I lov 
 mein liebchen," he said, brokenly. 
 "Not?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. And he went away 
 without another word. He has never 
 touched his 'cello since she has been ill. 
 
 Word has come that there will be no 
 ice to-day . . . the machinery has 
 broken down under the tremendous 
 pressure. 
 
 Girl ... I am going in to say 
 good-bye! 
 
 Yes . . . I wrote that yesterday, 
 and to-day . . . ? I wonder how the 
 widow felt when her son came back to 
 her from the dead. . . . No, I 
 don't wonder at all ... I know. 
 
 She is going to live ... so weak, 
 that it is a question of scarcely breathing 
 211
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 our hopes, but over the worst, and with 
 her face toward recovery. I am sure 
 of it. 
 
 And because you are going to read 
 these letters after all what a budget 
 there will be for you to go through I 
 can bear to tell you about yesterday. 
 
 When Nurse came in for me, it seemed 
 as if everything had stopped. I won- 
 dered almost at the clock ticking heavily 
 in the hall. The room was very still, 
 and hot to suffocation, though the wet 
 sheet at the window made a little cur- 
 rent of cool air near the bed. 
 
 But I only noticed that dully. I saw 
 nothing but the little, cropped head 
 sunk so deeply in the pillows. 
 
 "Is she suffering?" I said . . . 
 or some one said ... it did not 
 seem to be I. But Polly's face answered 
 
 212
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 the question. Tiny, and wasted as it 
 was, every line had gone out of it. It 
 was the face of a child. 
 
 I ... had heard of that, before. 
 
 Nurse's voice came from a distance 
 . . . miles away. 
 
 "I don't need to tell you to think only 
 of her you have done that, all along. " 
 
 And, oh ... Girl . . . think 
 of talking like that before Polly . . . 
 and she taking no notice. It was 
 ghastly. 
 
 I was so sure she would know me 
 . . . I held her hand closely. And 
 her eyelids were half shut, like a dying 
 bird's. 
 
 And I knew that she was going from 
 me that I was to see her go. That I 
 could clasp her hand tightly, but it 
 would slip out of mine. 
 213
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 And then . . . oh, Dream Girl, 
 when that story of yours has ended 
 happily, and there are children to put to 
 bed . . . tell them about Him 
 . . . let them get to know Him, 
 then. It was such a wonderful thing 
 that happened to me. 
 
 I knew that Polly was going and 
 that all my agony was powerless to keep 
 her back. And like a flash came 
 the memory of One who, when He was 
 on earth, healed the sick, I went right 
 back to childhood . . . and the 
 child's faith came strongly, strongly. 
 All the years of unbelief blotted out, and 
 as if they had never been. 
 
 I knew why the Christ of God won the 
 love of the heart. ... In the deeps 
 of life one needs Him. 
 
 And I felt that He was in the room 
 214
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 . . . and the world had gone back 
 two thousand years. And it was the 
 little maiden He had come to waken to 
 life. . . . 
 
 It did not seem as if I had to ask Him 
 . . . after that first wild cry that 
 surely reached! 
 
 The little, drooping face turned ever 
 so slightly on the pillow, and her eyes 
 unclosed listlessly. And they were 
 weary . . . but Polly! 
 
 And I said, "Polly I want you 
 you must come back to me, Sweet- 
 heart." 
 
 There was a faint, quivering smile 
 that began in her eyes, and reached her 
 lips. 
 
 "Stupid old Max," she said weakly. 
 "Do you mind if I go to sleep?" 
 
 And I knew that it was no vision, but 
 215
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 a blessed reality, and that we were 
 living in the year 1908 and that 
 Polly was back. 
 
 Her hand stirring sometimes in mine. 
 . . . Oh, you Girl . . . stir- 
 ring . . . and live! 
 
 And the heat flush on her cheeks was 
 good to see after that awful, waxen 
 pallor. 
 
 She was still sleeping sweetly when her 
 ringers slipped from mine, and I fol- 
 lowed Nurse out of the room. 
 
 "Good boy," she said, approvingly, 
 when I threw myself down in the biggest 
 chair I could find, and ate as if I had 
 been famished. "You have obeyed 
 directions splendidly so far but it is 
 almost too much to hope that you will 
 continue to do so. " And as I live, 
 Girl (what a trick I have of saying 
 216
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 that!) the very commonplace way in 
 which these words were uttered made 
 me realize that Polly was really, and 
 actually, round the corner. We haven't 
 talked much for a long time. 
 
 "Quite satisfactory," she went on in 
 her old professional way; "but you must 
 be sensible, and help us. For a while 
 . . . a fortnight, say ... I am 
 going to keep you out of the room. 
 Your eyes give you away. I am sorry 
 to have to put your romance into such 
 matter-of-fact words . . . but you 
 don't mind that, do you? My patient 
 must not be startled; and you must be 
 content for a long time to let her quietly 
 get better . . . eat, and drink, and 
 sleep like a child, with no complex 
 emotions to upset our calculations. 
 More ham?" 
 
 217
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "More ham . . . !" I spluttered 
 indignantly. "You are a rattling good 
 nurse, but you don't know everything. 
 
 Polly will remember when she wakes. 
 
 
 
 "Don't flatter yourself she will 
 probably do nothing of the kind. You 
 must be patient. ... I mean it, 
 Mr. Herrick." 
 
 And she says this in quite the old 
 style . . . and I groan inwardly, 
 and submit. 
 
 For I would have a much easier way 
 out of the difficulty. If Polly were my 
 wife, I would carry her away from them 
 all, as soon as she was fit. I want 
 . . . My Own Way . . . and 
 that is the long and short of it, I . . . 
 would be so gentle with her. But, 
 no it is not to be thought of ... 
 218
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Those two medicos and the Woman- 
 in- White are three too many for me. 
 
 I wonder what Polly would say? 
 
 The clouds that have been gathering 
 heavily all the afternoon have drifted 
 away, and the sun is making everything 
 in the street look bronze, and ugly. 
 And just over the way . . . 
 
 Oh, Dream Girl it might so easily 
 have been Polly! 
 
 The little music teacher I told you 
 about has indeed given her last lesson. 
 All through the holidays she has lain, 
 tossing restlessly . . . but that is 
 over now. And at least, she has had 
 kind friends about her. And I think 
 . . . on The Other Side they will 
 make things up ! 
 
 It seems almost too hot for funerals; 
 yet there have been so many these days. 
 219
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 And the coffin is so pitifully small. 
 . . . In one of the hansoms I see 
 Herr Lindt. He will be wondering, 
 no doubt, whether they will let "ze 
 child play her piano up zere." 
 
 But I think she will want a long rest 
 first. 
 
 That was yesterday, and still no 
 change. I suppose we shall get used 
 to it in time. Polly is waking I can 
 hear Nurse's voice, and . . . surely 
 
 . . a low laugh? 
 
 Then, the Woman-in- White, with her 
 eyes suspiciously moist, though her lips 
 are twitching. 
 
 "She wants to know," she explains, 
 "whether Mrs. Collop has melted into 
 lard with the heat, and if we have taken 
 steps to preserve the same." 
 
 And now I know she is really better, 
 220
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and old Sol may do his worst since she 
 is well enough to be mischievous. 
 
 And then ... a lecture. How 
 many have I had since yesterday 
 . . . ? And boiled down, the sub- 
 stance is the old . . . 
 
 "My patient must live the life of 
 a child for quite three weeks . . . 
 she must, indeed. Is that Herr 
 Lindt?" 
 
 "Yes, and for heaven's sake don't 
 let him know the end of that crayfish. 
 He dislikes cats anyway . . . but 
 if he knew that General French had 
 nearly burst himself over that cherished 
 shellback, more than the cat would 
 stand in danger. Nurse . . . dear 
 . . . I believe there is a change 
 coming!" 
 
 "Go out and whistle for it," she 
 221
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 suggests. " Softly, now you are such 
 a big, clumsy fellow. . . . " 
 
 And I whistle . . . ? Oh, "Polly 
 darling," of course! 
 
 Girl, I shall soon have your number, 
 
 and ring up! 
 
 Yours, 
 
 MAX. 
 
 222
 
 XVIII 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 And every living thing did joy in life, 
 
 And every thing of beauty did seem 
 
 living . . . 
 
 Oh, then, life's pulse was at my heart reviving. 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say 
 nothing. 
 
 King Lear, Act III., Scene a. 
 
 223
 
 LADY: 
 
 Just three weeks since I last wrote, 
 and already she is beginning to ask 
 questions . . . Polly, I mean. 
 But there is no need to explain to you, 
 you understand that there is only one 
 She in the whole world. She does 
 everything with conviction, and her 
 recovery has been a very rapid one 
 when one considers . . . 
 
 This evening being calm and beau- 
 tiful, and that Woman-in- White having 
 as much sense as two ordinary people 
 put together, Polly, on a lounge piled 
 with cushions three deep I counted 
 them as they were carried out, and even 
 sacrificed two dearly loved ones of my 
 225
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 own . . . is on the veranda, sniffing the 
 air with every appearance of content. 
 
 She is rather a more substantial Polly 
 than she was a fortnight ago, though 
 
 she still looks ridiculously small, and 
 her rough little head is so quaintly 
 boyish. And her eyes are as big as the 
 proverbial saucers why always sau- 
 226
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 cers pallid, shallow things? and 
 her lips tremble when she laughs. But 
 her hands have ceased to be birds' claws, 
 and she looks vital ! 
 
 Ten minutes ago Mrs. Collop lum- 
 bered down the path clad in white, with 
 an extraordinary confection go up 
 top for that, my boy! that I believe 
 you women call a sun-hat on her head. 
 Picture that face peeping coyly out 
 from frills of lace that go all round the 
 blessed thing. 
 
 She turned in the path a proceed- 
 ing fraught with danger to some pot 
 plants on the lawn and looked at us 
 with swimming eyes. 
 
 "You look so natural like," she 
 
 faltered, one fat hand wandering toward 
 
 that part of her physiognomy where 
 
 pearly drops had gathered. "Mr. 
 
 227
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Herrick-my-dear, it reminds me of the 
 time when Collop and me . . . " 
 
 "You'll be late for church, Mrs. 
 Collop," said Polly in that uncertain 
 little voice of hers. And the good soul 
 went swaying down the path and 
 through the gate. 
 
 "What a pity to cut short her elo- 
 quence," I said, sotto voce. 
 
 Polly did not answer. 
 
 And the sun went down, and the 
 chimes ceased. 
 
 "Do you know," Polly said, suddenly, 
 "when I was so ill that time I had a 
 strange experience. I was almost too 
 tired to fight, you know . . . and 
 I'm not even sure that I wanted to. 
 And I was drifting out on a calm sea 
 drifting away. And a voice called me 
 back. I took up the oars again most 
 228
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 unwillingly. And I had the fancy that 
 it was your voice, Max. Absurd, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Very," I said, choking back the 
 inclination to tell her all. For it's 
 jolly hard on a fellow to have to play 
 the game of friendship when one means 
 something so different. 
 
 "I don't believe," said Polly petu- 
 lantly, "that you are a bit glad I am 
 better. You are thinking of your 
 Dream Girl all the time, and I come 
 in nowhere." 
 
 "Think so?" I said, leaning in rather 
 a bored fashion against the veranda 
 post, and telling myself that she must 
 know that my eyes . . . 
 
 Why, even Nurse said they gave me 
 away. And one can't muzzle eyes! 
 
 "I have been wondering," she said 
 229
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 with a little, shadowy smile playing 
 round her lips "whether you have 
 fallen in love with her?" 
 
 "Go up top," I said lazily. "Your 
 perspicacity is growing with every hour 
 of your life. How long did it take you 
 to arrive at that conclusion?" 
 
 And oh, Nurse, Nurse 
 surely this shall be accounted to me for 
 righteousness! It would have been so 
 easy to tell her then. Silence for 
 a while, then - 
 
 "Where is she, Polly? I want to tell 
 her all about your illness. I want to 
 know her see her." 
 
 "Good boy," she said with a trace 
 of the old mockery. "You want so 
 much. But that was always your way. 
 Let it rest, Max it is all over your 
 need for her gone. You have long 
 230
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 ceased to be the bundle of nerves you 
 were when she took you in hand. You 
 are almost the finished article!" 
 
 "Polly ... I believe you are 
 jealous of her!" 
 
 And then I was treated to an old-time 
 flash. 
 
 "What amazing discernment! Did 
 you think that would annoy me? Let 
 your Dream Girl remain an episode." 
 
 "So that was all I meant to her?" 
 She laughed softly. 
 
 "Did it have its feelings hurt, then?" 
 she asked, mischievously. 
 
 "Hang it all, Polly," I said, irritably, 
 "I tell you we got to understand each 
 
 other perfectly. I could tell her things 
 
 )) 
 
 "That you couldn't tell me? Oh, 
 I quite grasp that. There was so 
 231
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 much you couldn't tell me, wasn't 
 there?" 
 
 "At least she did not make fun of 
 everything I said, as you do!" 
 
 "No? What an exemplary young 
 woman ... I must take lessons. 
 To understand you. . . . Poor 
 Max! If I had realized that things 
 were so serious, I would have done you 
 such a beautifully typed Misunderstood 
 to pin on to your lounge. . . . " 
 
 "Polly, you are getting better!" 
 
 "So the doctors say, Mr. Herrick, 
 I really think they are right." 
 
 "I can't understand how you and 
 she came to be friends. . . ." 
 
 "Opposites in nature . . . that 
 is the only solution I can offer." 
 
 "Will you give me her address?" 
 
 "So that she may heal the wounds 
 232
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I have inflicted? How did you exist 
 without her that time I was ill? " 
 
 "It was horrible!" 
 
 Now . . . what made my voice 
 break as it did just then? You will 
 guess, Girl. 
 
 Polly looked at me very wistfully. 
 
 "I could not provide against such a 
 contingency, you know," she said, 
 slowly. "I will act as postman again, 
 if you are really determined. But I 
 can't see anything to be gained." 
 
 "Polly," said I, abruptly, "does a 
 girl know when a man is in love with 
 her?" 
 
 "If he tells her so, Max." 
 
 "Not unless?" . 
 
 "Not unless." 
 
 "You mean in actual words?" 
 
 "How else?" 
 
 233
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "Well, I think she ought to guess." 
 
 "She does guess sometimes . . . 
 wrongly. It makes her more careful 
 next time. You men are blundering 
 creatures, you know; you sometimes 
 talk about the girl you love to the 
 girl who loves you." 
 
 Polly looked so worn when she said 
 this that I was relieved when the 
 Woman-in- White appeared, and her 
 patient obediently swallowed the cupful 
 of Benger's Food that was her present 
 occasional martyrdom. 
 
 "Quarrelling?" Nurse asked, with 
 her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Mr. 
 Herrick, I cannot give you a diploma 
 for nursing my patient looks fever- 
 ish." 
 
 "Want the thermometer?" I said, 
 flippantly. "Oh, I forgot you al- 
 234
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 ways carry it with you, don't you - 
 'to be well shaken before taken.' I 
 must be a worse character than I imag- 
 ined! I made a bad patient . . . 
 and now I am to be equally a failure 
 as a nurse!" 
 
 "Go over and see Herr Lindt," 
 Polly suggested, weakly. "And Max 
 . . . if you could delicately con- 
 vey the idea that even full diet does not 
 mean a huge fowl a day, you would save 
 my feelings, and his purse good old 
 soul that he is." 
 
 But it was just at that moment he 
 appeared, a capacious Panama hat on 
 his curly head. 
 
 Now it was always pretty to see 
 
 him with Polly I watched them with 
 
 an odd tightness at my heart. For she 
 
 is such a shadowy sweetheart as yet. 
 
 235
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Off went the Panama, and the Herr 
 Professor made a low bow. 
 
 "My Lady," he said, under his 
 breath. "Oh, but you are too ezzerial 
 . . . you vill fly avay ! " 
 
 "I never felt less like flying, Herr 
 Lindt!" 
 
 "Ach! Zat ees so. Ze leetle crea- 
 ture must eat many fowls ees eet not, 
 my good voman? " with a glare at Nurse 
 - of whom he is more than half in awe. 
 "And much good, red beef. Ze poor 
 professor has missed ze leetle lady all 
 zis sad time he has shed tears 
 . . . many tears." 
 
 Polly lifted her weak, little hand, and 
 touched his softly. 
 
 "Did you cry, really? How lovely 
 of you. I shall never forget that. I am 
 quite sure Mr. Herrick did not cry." 
 236
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Now what spirit of evil entered 
 into her that she should say that? 
 The good fellow's feelings nearly gave 
 me away. 
 
 "My Lady, eet ees not zat all can 
 relieve ze feelings by ze tears. Zere are 
 ozzer vays. My Herrick yesh, he 
 tramp up and down viz his face as 
 vhite as paper, and hees eyes, zey 
 alvays ask somezing al-vays. And 
 ve tell him, ' See, she vill soon be better.' 
 But he shake his head, and he vill not 
 speak ve are as ze good God made 
 us. Leetle creature ... if you 
 had not come back, my Herrick I do not 
 know vat he vill do at all." 
 
 "Herr Lindt," said the Woman-in- 
 White abruptly, "I had a letter from 
 a friend of mine who is abroad, yester- 
 day. He has heard Fraulein Elsa sing 
 237
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 in Wiesbaden. He says her voice is 
 very brilliant." 
 
 And then the light flooded the clever 
 face. 
 
 "Ach! but you should hear her 
 seeng!" he said, softly. 
 
 And the tension was relaxed. 
 
 The Professor was lost in reflection. 
 
 "Since she vas von leetle child I have 
 faithful been," he said, dreamily. 
 "Beeg, long plaits of hair each side of 
 her head you do not see zem so in 
 zis country. Ze colour of flax. And her 
 eyes like ze blue lakes calm calm. 
 But zey sparkle for ze poor professor, 
 and some day he vill go back. Not?" 
 
 "Soon," said Polly, with conviction. 
 " She will be so happy " 
 
 "My Lady, I have ze deep love; she 
 vill not forget." 
 
 238
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "No, she will not forget." 
 
 He bent low over her hand, and 
 touched his lips to it. 
 
 "Eet ees a leetle lady of snow," he 
 said, sorrowfully: "but ze roses vill 
 come back eh, my Herrick?" 
 
 He went down the path slowly, and 
 a few minutes later we heard his 
 'cello. He was playing Handel's "Lar- 
 go" with his heart in the long, drawn 
 out notes. 
 
 "How do you know she will not 
 forget?" I asked, Polly and I being 
 alone once more. 
 
 "I have heard bits of her letters. 
 She loves him," said Polly, simply. 
 
 "How do you find these things out 
 'leetle creature'?" 
 
 She laughed roguishly. 
 
 "I am going to quote Nancy Stair. 
 239
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 ' They come and then Nancy's head- 
 dicks' ... do you remember?" 
 
 We both laughed. But, oh, Nurse, 
 were you altogether wise? For it is 
 not a child's soul that looks out of 
 Polly's beautiful eyes ... it asks 
 a question . . . and I want to 
 answer ! 
 
 Might it not help her on the long road 
 if we went side by side, and I lifted her 
 over the rough places . . . and she 
 knew that my heart was hers for 
 keeps? 
 
 For Polly and I were meant for each 
 other. 
 
 She is going to forward this with 
 the others. Tell me what you think 
 . . you who have passed this way! 
 Your puzzled, 
 
 MAX HERRICK. 
 240
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 Give the Man-from-the-Mallee my 
 respects, and good wishes. More power 
 to him, and Winsome. 
 
 Please answer by return. You have 
 arrears to make up, you know. Sample 
 lot will do, with more to follow. 
 
 I have been thinking back. It is 
 only a little over six months since 
 you were as hazy as an undeveloped 
 film on a No. 2 Brownie. And now 
 . . . ? 
 
 You will consider yourself rung up. 
 Are you there . . . ? Who is 
 speaking . . . ? 
 
 241
 
 XIX 
 
 FROM THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 But men are men; the best sometimes forget. 
 Othello, Act II., Scene 3. 
 
 243
 
 DEAR SIX-FOOT-ONE-VERTICAL! 
 
 You are almost as persistent as a 
 woman. Polly is right you are ex- 
 ceedingly greedy. Let me entreat you 
 to beware of cupidity. Of course, long 
 before you receive this you will have 
 blurted the whole story out. You say 
 Polly and you were meant for each 
 other . . . ! But, what a long 
 time it has taken you to find that out! 
 There was first the Parma violet girl 
 and then . . . 
 
 And now Polly is background, and 
 foreground, and middle distance. And 
 the next? 
 
 I am wondering. Allowing for the 
 overflow of sentiment, this looks like 
 245
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 the real thing. Make sure, you dreamer 
 of dreams make quite sure before you 
 tell her. 
 
 I am sorry for your time of strain. 
 But perhaps, if it helped you to find 
 yourself you may be thankful for it 
 some day. I wonder ? 
 
 No, I didn't take diphtheria. 
 
 I am afraid that you are decidedly 
 less respectful since I have ceased to be 
 "an undeveloped film on a No. 2 
 Brownie"! The very idea . . . 
 Apologize at once ! 
 
 Indignantly yours, 
 
 THE DREAM GIRL. 
 
 I have given Polly permission to tell 
 you about me. Are you satisfied now, 
 Sir Arrogance? 
 
 246
 
 XX 
 
 FROM MAX HERRICK 
 
 Tis not enough to help the feeble up, 
 But to support him after. 
 
 Timon of Athens, Act I., Scene i. 
 
 247
 
 You DEAR GIRL: 
 
 I have made quite sure. And if you 
 dare to mention Parma violet girls 
 again, I'll execute summary vengeance. 
 She has promised to be my sweetheart, 
 for keeps, but it seems to me that she is 
 almost as. doubtful as you are as to my 
 stability. I deserve it, of course. But 
 that wistful expression of hers cuts like 
 a knife. It isn't good to feel that her 
 trust in me will have a struggle. 
 
 Of course she cannot realize what 
 those awful days meant . . . and 
 I cannot tell her. I want to shut off 
 the memory . . . but ... if 
 I ever fail her! 
 
 Something is troubling her I am 
 249
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 sure of that. Of course I may be out 
 of it, as usual, and it may be only 
 weakness that makes her droop at 
 times calls the shadow into 
 her beautiful eyes. ... I wish I 
 knew. 
 
 It is good to know that I have won 
 her . . . but, oh, Dream Girl 
 . . . can you tell me how to bring 
 back the old Polly? If you can . . . 
 you have done so much, that this seems 
 possible . . . send along the pre- 
 scription by return of post. It shall be 
 carried out to the letter. 
 
 I am . . . sure she cares, you 
 know . . . though she has said 
 so little. Just one startled look 
 . . . but I understood. 
 
 I didn't say much either. If my life 
 doesn't tell her . . . but it shall. 
 250
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 She would distrust protestations, this 
 Polly of mine. 
 
 Do you know, I can't settle to writing. 
 Strange, isn't it? I want the Polly who 
 used to snub me and scold me the 
 Polly who has seized my heart relent- 
 lessly, and holds it by right of posses- 
 sion. 
 
 And ... in spite of her eyes 
 . . . her promise . . . there is 
 something between us. 
 
 So you see, we need you, Girl, 
 to sweep away some cobwebs. 
 I think you could convince her 
 that this love is abiding for all 
 time. 
 
 And some day soon she will come 
 in laughing softly, and you will be with 
 her. And she will say in that whim- 
 sical fashion of hers . . . 
 251
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "This ... is the Dream Girl, 
 Max!" 
 
 Till then, 
 
 Your impatient, 
 
 MAX HERRICK. 
 
 Herr Lindt has taken passage by the 
 Bremen. He has come in for a fine 
 little property in Germany ... an 
 eccentric friend of the family has 
 gone aloft! He was over last night, 
 saying good-bye, and his face was a 
 picture. 
 
 "I shall hear her seeng soon," he 
 kept saying, over and over again. 
 "Ach! but you do not hear such music 
 in zis country. You vill breeng ze 
 leetle creature to Germany some day, 
 my Herrick . . . ees eet not so? " 
 
 And I promised, of course. Polly's 
 eyes seemed to hold the wish. 
 252
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 When he went, his face was flushed 
 with genuine emotion at leaving us. 
 
 To-day he sails, and we shall miss 
 him, and the 'cello. 
 
 This isn't the sort of letter you ex- 
 pected me to write, is it? But Polly's 
 face comes between me and the page 
 so often. And I wonder . . . 
 
 M.H. 
 
 253
 
 XXI 
 
 FROM POLLY CARROL 
 
 Love, that hath us in his net, 
 Can he pass, and we forget? 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 But nature never framed a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 255
 
 MAX . . . MY DEAR: 
 
 Yesterday we dreamed dreams and 
 saw visions. And to-day I am wonder- 
 ing how I shall tell you. How you will 
 take it. But oh . . . don't forget 
 that Polly loves you . . . and for- 
 give her if you can. 
 
 Max, there is no Dream Girl 
 there never has been. All the letters 
 that have meant so much to you have 
 been written in this room by the little 
 "everyday girl" Polly. 
 
 It is rather an impossible situation, 
 isn't it? And you will want to take a 
 good, long breath before you go on. 
 
 Sometimes I wondered that you did 
 not see through the whole, pitiful sham 
 257
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I got frightened halfway, 
 and wanted to turn back, more than 
 once. But, by that time, the thing 
 that was entered into to while away 
 a few, weary hours, had grown into 
 something more . . . something 
 that seemed necessary to you. That 
 is my excuse. 
 
 You will of course be angry just 
 at first. That is why I am writing, 
 instead of telling you. You may even 
 find it hard to forgive ... I shall 
 not blame you. But the dread of 
 having to write this letter has pressed 
 heavily lately. More heavily since I 
 knew that you cared. 
 
 For I realize what she has grown to 
 
 be to you . . . this girl who never 
 
 existed. Max ... it is a little 
 
 hard on me, too! When you have read 
 
 258
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 this, you will answer your Dream Girl 
 for the last time and she will know. 
 
 For there has been some truth hi 
 her after all. Perhaps she has just 
 been showing you another side of her- 
 self Polly, I mean. And you liked 
 that side, Max. I can't forget that. 
 You must judge which is the real 
 Polly . . . the one you were meet- 
 ing and crossing swords with . . . 
 or the one who wrote to you. 
 
 And whichever one you decide on 
 will be wrong ... for she is both! 
 
 And now what do you think of her? 
 
 I have been reading your letters over 
 again. ... I almost know them 
 by heart. They thrill me, and they 
 hurt at one and the same time. But 
 I got to know the real Max through 
 them . . . the Max I hoped was 
 259
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 there. I wonder whether, through hers, 
 you got to know the real Polly? 
 
 Oh, yes, I have cared . . . ever 
 since the day they brought you here, 
 and I thought you had come back to 
 die, or were facing invalidism. And 
 at first, you did not want to live. 
 
 My one thought was to rouse the Max 
 Herrick who was dormant. You had 
 been looking on at life . . . and it 
 hurt. For I am sure I always saw 
 what you were capable of being. 
 
 Think . . . dear. . . . 
 
 And one night you had been utterly 
 listless and apathetic the idea came 
 that I carried out so successfully. 
 I wanted to give you an interest right 
 away from this place take you into 
 another world. 
 
 I could not show you in real life the 
 260
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 side I revealed in my letters . . . 
 it would have been dangerous. For 
 I knew then, that the last thought in 
 your mind was love for me. You - 
 all but told me so, you know. I was 
 good for making jolly fires, and singing 
 to you. And I was your chum. 
 
 But it has helped you, Max? Roused 
 you to a more vital hold on life. . . . 
 If you are tempted to be angry, you will 
 remember that, won't you? 
 
 It ... wasn't altogether easy 
 for me, you know, as we got on. To 
 know you were writing to your Dream 
 Girl as if she were the stranger she 
 seemed to be, and to read some of the 
 things you said about me. Do you 
 remember? I have been going through 
 the letters to-night with an odd pain at 
 my heart. 
 
 261
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 "I am not in the least in love with 
 Polly . . . not in the very least." 
 
 And I was to read that . . . 
 
 Sometimes I felt tempted to let the 
 whole thing slip it hurt too cruelly. 
 But I could not. 
 
 It became a sharp pain in more senses 
 than one, too. For it was all true 
 . . . only it had happened years 
 before I knew there was such a man 
 in the world as Max Herrick. 
 
 And on those close, stuffy nights 
 when you scolded me for writing so 
 late, I dreamed myself back into the 
 happy days when Grannie and I my 
 parents died when I was almost a baby 
 lived our lives by Stony Creek. 
 
 Often, I have taken my hands from 
 the keys, my heart aching with a 
 physical pain as I thought of the 
 262
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 mountains, and the garden that was 
 literally Fairyland. 
 
 Yes. . . . It was all real . . . 
 even the Man-from-the-Mallee and 
 Winsome . . . and the diphtheria. 
 
 knowlne kevxkepL lunxainp^up alme 
 
 When you wrote that time, begging me 
 to be careful, it seemed so strange. 
 And the letter in which I said I was 
 263
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 too tired to write more oh, Max, it 
 was so pitifully true. I was sickening 
 for that fever, and you were so per- 
 sistent. I was a bit light-headed, that 
 night, I think. I know the keys kept 
 jumping up at me, and I had to rest 
 between each word. 
 
 I don't know how I did it ... 
 and met you, every day. I manifolded 
 my letters, or I should have been in a 
 difficulty many a time. As it was, my 
 tenses got jumbled up, and I was afraid 
 you would guess. I wanted so badly, 
 to tell you that Winsome married 
 the Man-from-the-Mallee, and went 
 to England with him, and then 
 I remembered that I had not left 
 time. 
 
 I have gone through the letters you 
 wrote when I was ill. They say a 
 264
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 lot to me. They seem . . . real. 
 And now I have hurt you. 
 
 Dear ... I love you with my 
 whole heart . . . but we must 
 make very sure. It would be better for 
 Polly, as well as for the Dream Girl to 
 remain an episode, unless . . . 
 
 One letter made me very happy 
 or rather, the sketch that came 
 with it ... that one of the 
 Dream Girl that was an idealized Polly. 
 You . . . knew my face rather well, 
 didn't you, Dana Gibson the Second? 
 
 But oh I am puzzled. Perhaps 
 I have just crossed your path . . . 
 I ... Polly ... not the 
 Dream Girl! 
 
 Even if I only teased you, and fought 
 you, and . . . roused you Dear! 
 that was something? 
 265
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 It is only Polly, Sir Egotist a little 
 saddened with the battle of life, and 
 more than a little tired. And though 
 we have got to know each other rarely 
 well ... if I were to slip out of 
 your life. . . . No, that isn't quite 
 fair; is it? I did not mean to wound. 
 
 But oh, Max . . . wait . . . 
 I should still be the Polly who has 
 irritated you so often and perhaps 
 some one with a more clinging na- 
 ture. . . . 
 
 You must decide for both of us. 
 
 If you are too angry to forgive me, 
 I am still going to keep your letters. 
 They belong to the Dream Girl, and she 
 will take them away with her into the 
 clouds . . . and the purple dis- 
 tances. And sometimes you will re- 
 member, and wish the mists were not 
 266
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 quite so thick and that you could see 
 her once again with the "look of ex- 
 quisite compassion in her eyes!" 
 
 You were right ... I was jeal- 
 ous of her. Absurd, wasn't it? But 
 you will understand why. 
 
 I am not begging mercy at your 
 hands, Six-foot-one- Vertical ... I 
 do not feel in the least meek, or subdued. 
 It is I ... Polly ... and if 
 you do not want me . . . 
 
 I shall wave my hand at you and 
 vanish. The Chalet still belongs to me., 
 only, when Grannie died there was a 
 mortgage on it, and it suited me better 
 to put a tenant in, and typewrite here. 
 That was why I was working so hard - 
 though the writing at night was usually 
 ... the letter. It has its comical 
 side. 
 
 267
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 I cleared the mortgage at Christmas 
 and I can go back now. I shall, 
 if ... 
 
 And you may forget both Polly, and 
 that shadowy creature who signs herself 
 for the last time, 
 
 Your 
 
 DREAM GIRL. 
 
 Write your answer, Max, and slip it 
 under my door to-night. 
 
 268
 
 Doubt that the stars are fire; 
 
 Doubt that the sun doth move; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar; 
 
 But never doubt I love! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 . . . Now thy image doth appear 
 In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 
 Twelfth Night, Act V., Scene i. 
 
 269
 
 SWEETHEART: 
 
 I wrote something to the Dream Girl 
 once that you may remember. It was 
 when I thought I was going to lose you 
 - and I wanted you in my arms. And, 
 because I want that more than anything 
 in this life, I can't write, Polly. 
 
 Dream Girl . . . little everyday 
 girl . . . Polly . . . you, out 
 of the whole world . . . did ever 
 any unworthy man have so much given 
 him, I wonder? 
 
 Little love, you can't go now. I shall 
 never let you go again. I can't quite 
 take it in yet . . . have we gone 
 back to Fairyland, you and I? And 
 I nearly lost you ... so very 
 271
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 nearly. And it is life we are facing 
 not a dream world . . . 
 though we shall still see visions. 
 
 But it is beautifully real, dear heart. 
 And you won't despise me because my 
 first feeling was one of sadness. For 
 I think of the weary look that was 
 coming to live in your eyes . . . 
 and I see you those stifling nights 
 typing away for dear life to please a sick 
 idiot's whim. How did you manage 
 it all, Sweet? 
 
 It must be that I shall be a better man 
 for this. ... Do you remember 
 my telling you that between you both 
 it might be that I should develop into 
 something distantly resembling a man? 
 Do you, Polly darling? 
 
 I am planning . . . the Chalet, 
 and the inglenook, and the garden 
 272
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 and the myrtle in the bed of the creek, 
 and ... MY WIFE! 
 
 We two . . . and the world in 
 the distance. And a book to be written 
 in collaboration that shall mean some- 
 thing. You can never again taunt me 
 with imagination, you know. 
 
 Soon . . . Polly . . . you 
 won't keep me waiting long? I want to 
 hold away from you everything but 
 happiness . . . 
 
 More power to the Man-from-the- 
 Mallee, and Winsome. All the same, 
 I owe him a grudge over that diphtheria 
 business. If you had taken it, and I 
 had never met you! It doesn't bear 
 thinking of. 
 
 I shall write to the Woman-in- White 
 for congratulations. She had a great 
 deal to do with your recovery, but I 
 273
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 think my voice must have reached you, 
 and called you back. For my heart 
 was in it small love of mine. 
 
 And you are not 
 begging mercy at 
 my hands? That 
 was a flash of the 
 old Polly. Head 
 u p , eyes shining 
 . . . mouth mu- 
 tinous . . . my 
 
 girl! 
 
 And you'll come 
 to me when you've read this . . . 
 and I'll tell you all I can't write 
 . . . with my arms around you. 
 Your lover, 
 
 MAX. 
 
 274
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
 
 University of California 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 To: ECL4BAT 
 
 Subject: SRLF PAGING REQUEST *<, 
 Reply-To: EEJ5U31 
 
 
 
 Deliver to : UCI ILL 
 
 &) 
 Shelving # : A 000 124 898 8 
 
 Item Information 
 Hart* Gertrude. 
 
 The dream girl / by Ethel Gertrude Har 
 Item : 
 ORION # : 2988342MC 
 
 Requester Information 
 Unit : UNKNOWN 
 Terminal : 
 
 User Information 
 
 Name 
 
 Lib card 
 
 Phone 
 
 Address 
 
 STAT CAT 
 
 BJERKE, CAROLYN 
 GRADUATE 
 
 2345 MERTON #2O9, LOS ANGE
 
 A 000124898 8
 
 Un: