My Gratitude

What I ought to feel, I've felt for you
And for each word I am so thankful.
You have released my tears.
You raised my disposition.
You calmed my spirits.
My thanks I convey,
My smiles I bestow
Upon the one
Who ever
caressed.

Not Your Creation

For had I been as silent as you claim
I never should have said a word
I still spoke in search of my reward...
Suppose I'd stood in my place
I still would have whispered my name.
Lest I should be forgotten, I shouted
So no one would forget my face...

If I were as odd as you say
I would have stood out long ago,
You see, I am never the same, I change
And this is no peculiarity. So pay
My respects to your wit, thus I forego
Your idea that I should be strange.

I am not what your imagination
Has been too kind to consider
Nor am I a single drop of hesitation
To supply sweetness when bitter
I am not what you imagine
I am not by far your folly
Still by farther am I foreign
To your attempt to adorn wholly
Not what your mind, while boring
Has decided to create.
No, I have a better fate.

If Only I Could...

If only I could refrain my words and leave yours be
My only wish is that I would no longer seek a plea
Though my sincerest thought will never part with me
If only I could challenge myself, if only I could see.
One day, I will stop running, I'll have fled enough;
Rapturous scene - what I'll find I will have sought
Miracles do happen, at least so it seems, I'm led
To the vicin barrier of limitless and unsaid.

Through dreams so inadequate

And reality estranged

I reach for my castle

In clouds of change.

In fate is confidence

By the sky I stand
Everything's afar

My past I amend.

Time stood never

I reached for the gate

I caught the waters

My knights were late.

My sincerity I've lost

Nothing I can say

Your ears are shut

But I shall still pray.

In faith I stand

Confidence in the air

Power through everything

Never to end.

About to Come

It's time we saw them coming, is it not?
Down and up that hill we see
Look how late it has unknowingly got,
Quick, prepare the things for tea.

I wonder if they still know the act
Undoubtedly they've forgotten their lines
Mayhaps they won't even show up, in fact
But let's hope they'll give us signs.

What is the matter, why don't they appear?
They should have come already, so it seems
They've forgotten their promise, still I caught a glimpse
Last time I saw them, when I had them near.

What am I saying, of course they're on their way!
Look, their carriage is approaching; there!
In vain have you fancied their emptiness of word
But they knocked already; at least so I heard.

Night is Just Another Day

Everything is good, I am convinced still
And there's no poison, only trials for us
There is no harm in anything, if you thus feel
Then we are alike, one day we'll meet.
There is no question to those who have the answers
But those who know nothing are still asked
It's sad and torturing to twist emotions
To drown them, hide them, wear a mask.
We all know it, for it's inside of us,
Night is just another day.
Pain is just happiness, in disguise
I am a liar, though I long to change
I want forgiveness, I need it so
Night is just a darker day.

Goodbye, November

Take my revenge and envy with you,
Unchain my horror, begin my story anew
Let me sink, follow your deep voice
Goodbye, November, go and rejoice.

My sweet delay of grinding use
Away from falling apart, set loose
Waving at the wind, pouring air
Tears are all I can wear.

It's cold, black; but it's really just white.
November, how do you manage to leave
And undo what I so desperately long to weave
My story, my army, my mission, the fight.

Mirrored Glass

Only that in you which is me can hear what I am saying.

This is your beginning, a positively imaginary image. Indeed, I know what you have become, and also what you were once. I know, because I created you. Nothing is impossible in one's mind, and I had no rest until I turned my own mind into an impossible to understand one.

This is my ending, a positively ordinary object. No doubt that you wonder how you got here. Do you know your story? Will you ask me to share it? Will that eagerness with which I gave you shape be present in your voice, when the time comes to face me? Will your blue eyes sink in my own, and will your little white hands cover your both ears, when I begin my tale?

Will you recognize me in you? And will you betray me? Will you claim your superiority and say your age is twice mine?

Whatever your reaction is going to be, I will keep silent. For my aging will neutralize yours, and we will become one. That is my beginning. That is your death.

Will you become the talented young lady I taught you to be? Will your mind be as sharp as I imagine, and will you find him? Does he exist, even? This is my inquiry; I now demand my answer. Since I surrendered to your portrait, I've become insensitive and absent. As long as I knew you would be there, I could hide wherever I wanted.

If I could ask you and receive your vivid response, I would - will I ever be you? Shall my person ever give the outstanding impression that you now give? Will I persist in my own memory? Will I forget myself? Will I last?

But no one will ever know your story but me. I created you, and I want you to become real. But not now, you are not needed at the time. For the characters in my mind are not here - so you must not either. Will you remember me, dear self? My time is here, yours is away. Do not turn away - I still need you! My time is filled with your sentiments, plans and achievements. Do not wander off, I beg!

And now, to conclude, I ask you this: will you still be me, so that you can hear what I am saying?

My Memories, so crushed

The past, that once was my present,
And this present, that then was emerging
You, never present even, nor ever existing,
You, come and gone, so quickly dismissed.

This rapid change of nothing, this silence I was left
This gift from no one, which I heartily accept -
This scary mind, which I can't control
The hope of nothing, the hope for all.

You, a vanished part of me now
These hidden portraits, which I here bestow
Your face, my light, but now it's dark
As I materialise you with this remark...

Accept my excuse, my humble sorrow
Nothing reasons me while hollow -
As I keep away from their real world,
As I wonder if your heart's become cold.

I can't remember, I'm sorry for it
You are now grey, but then my eyes were lit
What can I say, no and yes,
Is it more... is it less...?
Should I ask myself if you had been true,
Never doubt me
Never have I,
But how could I not,
I am sorry.
...I never meant to forget you.

Time

...How it dreads its own moves,
And how it struggles to keep behind,
But how it dares fall apart each time,
And how no one approves,
And how its arms stretch too wide,
And how its seconds run out of time,
When will it stop moving at all?
One step after, two before.
Never, may it be so, but how can I tell?
How can I see the one that winds it,
How can I see the one, will we meet,
How can I picture myself in this light,
How can I see the wrong instead of right,
Where is the peace, the solitude,
What do I now thus conclude?

Once Again

Great is my patience,
Still greater it is not.
Once again I've begun
Telling a story long gone.
Is it a loss, or a gain
Being so very vain,
In need of fellows badly
Which I am, sadly.
Once again I've made use
Of anything I could abuse;
Whether I afford it or not,
I still enjoy it more than a lot.
To possess true meaning
Out of nowhere - no one's winning
This is my story, this is my word,
Whether this I'll ever afford.
Telling a story long gone,
Great is my patience,
Still greater it's not,
Once again I've begun
This poem read by none.

Me?

Tragically defeated, my face, so long before I raised it,
You forever blamed me for another's failure,
So happy I was, when you decided to beat
The last glimpse of peril that you saw in me,
Tragically defeated, and never admitted.
My dear, your disappearance caused no panic,
For none believed that one was weak,
None considered your absence severe,
Until you decided to once again appear,
To continue what was once left beside;
Thus you found in me guilty misery,
But what you did, it was your own creative spirit
That made you indulge my sadness and overlook it.

Poem I

Am I a so called poet, with these words that rhyme,
These thoughts found never in any time,
This horror I inspire within no soul,
This mad character I made, that plays no role?

Am I a so called poet, if I place words
Not knowing where I'm heading towards,
Not knowing even anything at all,
Being a character that plays no role?

Is this right perhaps, and am I wrong,
Are you weak, and maybe am I strong?
Is there any joy I might find,
In winning a prize, if one of the two was blind?

Is it me, or is it another,
Do I struggle, or don't I bother,
Should I, could I, did I, will I
Face the lies I now imply?

Is it love, or may it be not,
Is this seen, and felt, or not,
Should I be among those, pray,
Is this strange, stays in my way...?

Loss

I lost my companion...

In this battle I had never understood
I thought I couldn't, and yet I could
So easily alienated, so little time wasted
As if... yes... no...
As this was nothing but so impishly hasted.

And I did nothing to keep them,
No, I did anything but keep them,
I ran away, so avid in my chase,
That I couldn't remember to keep


their pace.

Back then I was so naive, and it seems that -
no, it is only a day since I lost them,
But maybe they'd begun to fall apart
from me,
behind me,
without me,
earlier than I know now,
Which hopefully I'll forget, forgive and leave
In the hands of someone else,
while I am so...

...deceived.

Fair

Who am I?, and why do I wander
In this rigid creation, and will I ever admit,
That I am not the leader of anyone
Nor the companion of someone
Nor the reason to bleed tears
Nor the cause to chasing dreams
Nor the vain object of someone's wish?

But as hard as I try to end this,
Nothing comes out, I am aware.
Everything is hollow, and mean, lost its light
And nothing is shining, no stars in the night
And nothing awaits me, and even so,
My blame it is entirely, I can't say it though
And desperate I am not, but I should be
But how can I hate me,
When I'm not a rescuer
Nor the last link of sorrow
Nor the first object of tomorrow

Nor everything others are,
No, I am not,
And I deserve no such thing as mercy,
I know,
For curtains are reaching the floor,
No one applauds, I am aware -
I'm not a delight, not close to fair.

Radiant Solitude

It is rather easy to verify why lonely beings have not the slightest predisposition to get acquainted directly with others. And since I am significantly lonelier than others, which are of course among those who are not lonely at all, I am eager to define once more what cannot be defined by even the sharpest mind of all times.

Which is, usually, not precise, for several minds compete and try to surpass each other in the battle of nothing.

The two main ways to enter life and the world, as a general notion, are different - evidently. The first, easiest way is that of letting oneself float in something untitled, until, finally, one reaches the point of no return - maturity.

The second way, my way, that is, relates somehow to the retirement of wildlife when conditions are no longer, let us say, pleasant. While some prefer not to bother themselves with ethical stuff and common sense, and would rather lose themselves than fight, I try to pass without even touching this critical stage of life. Boring, I know, yet quite true.

For me and others that have the same way of thinking. To others, I wish you turned your eyes from these words, for I write them so that you cannot get a strong idea about this.

But I am tired, and it is not long before I've run out of twisty words, and maybe there are more genuine people out there than I think there are, and perhaps I am only lying and persuading myself with this stupid nonsense which I prefer to call rational statements.

Either way, I was just trying to express why I keep myself away from others.

Watching them grow, and loving them in my own way, which I believe is right, and not having to explain myself, and occassionally finding indeed a way to explain myself! Just as Miss Gloom once said, if only I could stay away from the play and never have to give reasons for watching it, this is my point.

But no, I have a shape, and a name, and I have to justify everything I do in front of the others, but what they do not understand is that their actions give them so shining a shield, that I would rather lose myself in watching them, than act like a fellow character in this play called life.

Come Out

Am I such a bore, and so heavy a burden to everyone,
Whenever I say
Words that are as impertinent as they're outdone?
Why would anybody walk away?

Am I that cold and distant, or loving and warm
That everybody should avoid my eyes
Or tell others what I can't confirm
That inside I fight with lies?

Am I that defeated and unworthy to claim
My own sense in this whole game
And will I ever come out of it all?
After all, I do have a soul.

The Song

"What is it that I hear? Whose song it is,
And why is it me it has to tease?
Where is it coming from, why is it here
Why does it stop beside my ear?"

"Is it the wind? ...yes, all around the place,
Will it ever rest and end its chase?
Am I too far away to cradle in harmony?
Or is it just another ordinary melody?"

Daring Trial!

Once in a while I sit and join my thoughts in words
And words through pen are united, which is close
To a somewhat point of delusional mistake I make
Once in a while, as I sit and write to wake.
Once in a while, I compete my own powers
And powers are not for such cowards
From my growth to an everlasting truth
To uninjured ways of youth.
Once in a while I sit and think it over
Across the night, still in disclosure
Once in a while I break unitary fragments
And put them back in perfect alignments.

Miss Mary Campbell

My aunt, Anne Edwards, while delighting herself with some of the finest poems of the English literature in her cosy apartment in London - a very nice one, a great deal of expensive furnishings and a warm fire to keep her company in those wintry days - was struck by a strange idea. Her own, single niece, Mary Campbell; pray, forgive me, Miss Mary Campbell, had not seen her since the Christmas of 1814. Last Christmas that is, of course; and it had been almost a year since she had heard that sweet voice of mine, or so she explained herself when calling on us all of a sudden and alarming both my parents and my other brothers.

"Helen," she cried at my mother, her sister - in a very hurried tone, and that made me doubt her sincereness and determine me to ask her later about it - "I am so startled at my unawareness! So long a time has passed without seeing the children! You see, I have no excuse for that, and I have been thinking over and over about it, and..."

"Dear Anne," my mother interrupted her. "I am sure they haven't felt your absence that much, as to be vexed at it! So please, be seated -" after seeing that no sooner had she entered the house, than she started talking. "And why don't you tell us the real reason for your coming?"

My aunt hesitated - she was a single woman, of five-and-forty years of age, and her solitude, there, in London could have made the perfect reason. But it was not one of the times she had the permission of being selfish. Several variants crossed her mind, - you see, I could distinguish from my seat near the window how her lips moved in all sorts of directions before answering, (rather disengaged and in the I-am-just-saying tone I was so intimate with) "oh, it is Mary I actually have come to see."

My mother was not late with a reply. "You have come to see Mary?! Where is she, somewhere in the room I think! Mary?! Come out of your little haven!"

Hearing the call, I immediately revealed myself from behind the curtain I had used to hide and brightened my countenance. "Aunt Anne, you at last came!", and ran to her for a quick embrace.

My aunt, Anne Edwards, was my most intimate friend. Yes, we used to meet quite rarely and barely spoke - we let my mother do it, she was comfortable while speaking. But we were very close when we were alone.

"Mary, my dear, aren't you a gorgeous young lady! How old are you, fifteen? You have grown a lot since I last came around!"

"Yes, yes, she impresses me more and more! With every passing day!", mother intruded.

"Aunt Anne, you disappoint me - I am turning sixteen in less than three weeks!"

"Oh dear, yes, your birthday is right after Christmas... well, now that you are so fabulously looking and so gracious, I think you shouldn't wear your hair loose. Why don't I show you some very pretty hairstyles for a young lady like you?"

I turned to my mother, waiting for her response. Her eyes seemed to nod at first, but then the answer left her lips in a complete different direction. "Yes, of course, she is ready for this... I am inclined to believe it is so."

"Thank you," I whispered and turned to my aunt to respond to her next inquiry.

"How are the violin lessons going, Mary? I would like to hear you perform sometime!"

My mother did not let me answer the question, stating very quickly, even hurriedly, "oh, Mary wants to put her violin aside and study the harp. Why should she do that?, either way, I hope you can make her change her mind. We have invested a lot in her lessons," and she finished with her eyes upon me. "You are scolding me, mother, again!", I thought.

"Oh, Helen, let her do whatever she wants to; you cannot force her to continue in her studies! Though the violin is a much more appreciated instrument than the harp. You should consider this aspect when making your choice. ...Now, let us carry on to a merrier subject! I know Christmas is approaching, and your birthday as well, so, dear Mary, I need to ask of you something. Will you be so kind, as to accept my invitation to join me to London?"

This somehow truly amazed me. Would I be that kind? Of course, just ask me and it's done, I always say. After all, it was London; and my aunt, Anne Edwards, rarely found greater pleasure than in my presence. I spoke my answer and she was so flattered that she could not talk about anything but that.

"Thank you, dear Mary! Oh, we shall have a great time!"

So there I was - in London. My birthday happened to pass as unnoticed as it came and the only substantial present was this unexpected invitation to London. I was a little worried at first whether I should go to balls or stay at home, but my aunt - very eager to introduce me to the world, as every aunt ever existing is - waited no more and took me to the most expensive shops in town. There I bought myself all the little, meaningless, worthless objects a young lady needed to possess and then she taught me how to act like one.

"Mary, do keep your head high - and do not stand so rigid. No one likes to think you are untouchable. You know, you might want to be taken seriously, so you should curve your lips a little - there, it is perfectly arranged now. Look at people's faces, but just a quick glance, do not stare at them! You are making a great deal of progress, dear."

My childish behaviour was turned into a grown-up's - I had a hard time succeeding, but alas, I managed to - and likewise, my garments and choice of jewelry were replaced.

My aunt was very keen on keeping a list of aspects that I should pay a lot of attention to - my position at a dining table, not near any of the ends, but somewhere in the middle; my table companions should be mostly women, so I could easily converse - no laughing at jokes, just smiles and a little giggling were permitted - and, when at a ball, I should keep in mind that invitations from gentlemen over thirty should be denied. No one would ever want to see the opposite thing happen.

My introduction to the society happened one Thursday evening, when a ball was given to a young man's birthday. I remember his name, it was John Gates. He was young indeed, and I had hoped he would be handsome as well. My guess was ruined by the fact that he was rather plain. Yet he was a great companion to all the young ladies that stood by his side (through the entire ball!) He made them laugh and I then wondered, while my aunt asked me, 'why did I not go and sit by his side? Perhaps he might not be good-looking, but he surely possessed a large income and very happy prospects ahead him!' I was rather naive and immediately accepted my aunt's proposal. I left her in the company of two or three ladies of her own age, and set off towards the small group gathered around Mr Gates. I had supposed the girls that were listening to him knew each other, but I was soon to discover they knew not their names even! "Interesting," I persuaded myself to believe.

Mr Gates was speaking about his recent trip to France, an amazing country, as he named it - I had never been there, so I could not relate to his opinion and judge it. His tone was very pleasing, and his choice of words gave us evidence of his well-breeding and exceptional education.

Wait, you might think of me as uneducated or in knowledge of very little. But I must redirect your opinion and mention that by the age of sixteen, I had already read more than one hundred and fifty volumes of prose, poetry and theatre. Added to that were my violin lessons, and with that it came my upper-average level of painting, sketching and drawing. Though these talents of mine - which I am very proud to express, or to brag about - had never been discovered by major audiences, everyone could see upon my face even, that I was a very cultivated girl. Correction - young woman.

But let me continue with Mr Gates and his speech.

"And you must visit Paris, it has no equivalent in the world! And I have seen much of it; in my journeys to Italy, Belgium and Germany, few cities ever impressed me so. Paris is, indeed, a place you must go. And I did not tell you, ladies, about my -"

Thus was his speech ended. A group of young men approached us and cried at Gates:

"Well, well, Gates, you could not refrain from telling all the young ladies about your adventures, could you? Ladies, this gentleman is very unusual at times!"

The intervention was ignored by the majority of the audience and John Gates continued his account of his countless trips all over Europe.

I left the joyful group though, and returned to my aunt. When finding her engaged in a conversation with her friends, I decided I should walk around, just to notice the faces around me.

But I had no acquaintance amongst them, and no figure managed to capture my attention. What I did not notice then, but I am sure about it now, is that my own face attracted many looks. Therefore it came as a surprise when being asked to dance the first three dances (three dances!) with a good-looking man. One could not say, but my aunt was an expert in the sort of things, and she realized soon that the respective gentleman could not have been under thirty years of age. A small shake of head and his invitation was denied. I was under the influence of my aunt, so I took her opinions as rules.

Another one came, this time he was far too tall for me. Almost twice my height, I suppose! So I declared my unwillingness to dance at that moment.

Needless to say that I encountered two others that were both uneducated and made me regret a little my decision - well, my aunt's, that is! - to come to that particular ball at all. All night I hoped that a very handsome, and well-bred, and maybe rich, and of course, young gentleman would come to me and ask me to dance. But I was asked no further and my disappointment was dismissed by my aunt.

"Mary, my dear girl, you must not be sad about it! I am sure London has to offer many other opportunities. Come, we must hurry, the carriage is waiting to take us home."

My stay in London was of undetermined length; each day, I awaited a letter from home to call me back. Yet none came, for quite a while.

I quickly captured the pace of things in London. A ball was given every week - well, not necessarily a ball, but a gathering, or maybe suppers at my aunt's extensive acquaintances - alas, every week there was an

event that I would attend accompanied by my aunt Anne Edwards, and every week there were opportunities for me to be introduced to new people. I met the acquaintances of countless girls of my age, very different in temper, and some of them even rivals!, which would have seemed an outrageous thing had I not been warned by my companion of it. She also told me, quite indifferently and strangely, while walking one morning:

"Mary, you must have noticed how quite the majority of the young ladies you have met so far, that is, quite obsessively even!, develops affection for a specific gentleman; that should not disturb you, for they are hardly in the right of being called enemies to each other - just a temporary state of distant conduct from one of the parties to the other - well, how can I name it, girls your age, or even older, are in need of conquest; and they usually find it in a gentleman's person. So do not alarm yourself if you happen to find yourself in this situation. Temporary, remember."

I understood very little from this twisted speech, for my aunt was not a bright orator - but the main point was clear.

If only there had been someone to be obsessed with! Whenever I tried to express this discomfort to my aunt, I only received a kind "All the good things to those who wait, dear Mary." Sometimes her answer provided more meaning, as "You have not come here to marry, after all, have you, Mary?!"

Of course, coming to London was a birthday gift to me and a Christmas one to her. But as the weeks passed, my regret took bigger and bigger proportions, and as a whole month had passed, I started to worry that I would never complete my search - after all, I had come there to marry! Had it been otherwise, I wouldn't have been that disappointed.

And my aunt's standards were highly pretentious! Young, rich, handsome, charming, well-bred and pleasing. I started considering (without telling my aunt about it, for I had my own mind, after all!) which aspects were too exaggerated and which should stay in place.

This was my deduction:

The range of age was too limited. Should I've changed thirty to five-and-thirty? Oh, no, my possible suitor would be seen as my father rather than a husband! Therefore, thirty it remained. I added a minimum limit - twenty-five. Not too old, and not too young. I considered myself very clever for it! Imagine, at sixteen, it was a most impressive accomplishment to impose my own standards.

Wealth, wealth and wealth. I could not marry cheaply, but why marry a baronet? Was it really necessary? Plus, my aunt's satisfaction was found in that - bringing her favourite niece to London and getting her to marry well. Strange. I refrained myself to an average income. After all, I had mine as well.

How intelligently thought, I recall I believed! One word to describe me then: 'silly.'

Looks - hm, quite a problem. Personality surpassed looks, but why had it to? The aspect was not changed.

Manners, conduct and relations. I needed an amiable husband, even deserved one! While meditating upon the subject, I was already convinced that he would knock at the door that very moment. A strange thing - I stood up and went to the mirror, so I looked at least presentable when meeting him.

Yet he did not exist - yet.

But why spoil the happiness with reality? All of the time I stood in front of the mirror, smiling at my appearance, and suddenly my aunt entered the room waving a letter in the air.

"Mary, Sir Gates invites us to dine with him and his family this evening! I shall write him straight away and accept it. You should wear your red muslin gown, it suites your face well."

I stopped her halfway to the door, at first mumbling, and then quietly asking her, "Sir Gates...?"

She stared as if I had said something so very outrageous. "Why! Sir Gates, whose son's ball we were invited to - remember, Mary, shortly after your arrival? You cannot have forgotten, it only happened a month ago!"

"Oh, yes, yes, I do remember. I suppose that by his family you mean his son and wife?"

My aunt widened her eyes as she spoke. "Mary, you can't have missed his other two sons and his daughter at the ball, can you? They were there all along - I saw them, and I am quite certain that you did as well. Let me see..."

She searched in her memory for the moment that we both could see the other Gates children. It was quite a while, though, for my aunt was very bad at remembering things as well as at speaking about them. At last, she said:

"I remember we were sitting separately; I think you were dancing, or - oh, no, indeed, I had sent you to listen to John Gates - a lovely young man, but not so fortunate in appearance. You were right beside him, when his two brothers and another young man, which I believed to be Frank Benton - but that is another matter - alas, they came to him and called him 'Gates'. I clearly heard that, and the other ladies that were sitting with me heard it too. Then we started a conversation concerning that young man, Frank Benton. Now you remember his brothers, do you not?"

I nodded as an approval, and she smiled and turned away. But I stopped her one more time, asking about Miss Gates.

Aunt Anne hesitated - I supposed she was not aware of her presence at that respective ball - but then she answered breathlessly:

"She is married to a gentleman somewhere in the countryside. But I should not spare a second more; I need to reply to the letter. You are coming dear, aren't you?!"

I rolled my eyes and said, "how dare I miss it?"

"Not at the ends, find one in the middle. Not by a son, but by the daughter, if present. If not, stick with Aunt Anne. Keep head high, look for a tiny second at the others. Exchange occasionally meaningful looks with Aunt Anne. Behave properly. Do not yawn. Do not sneeze. Do not lean your head onto your arm. Do not place elbows upon the dining table. Do not -"

"Good evening, Sir Charles!", said Aunt Anne.

"Welcome, Miss Edwards. You brought your lovely niece this evening," he replied. "I believe we have not found a chance to meet, Miss."

I looked confusedly at my aunt, and then at Sir Charles. He was in his fifties, had a pleasant countenance and presented, to be sincere, very little interest to me. I was more eager to meet his younger relatives, the three brothers. Not that I was expecting much from them, since John Gates had proved himself not so good-looking, but what I could afford to hope for was their amiable company.

My first thought surprised even me - what a large table!, thought I when entering the dining-room. I had thought of only six places, but surprisingly, there were seven. Then I remembered that the daughter might have been invited as well.

But wait, Mary!, she should have come accompanied by her husband! Strange, indeed. So the daughter was not there.

Surprisingly, we left the dining-room before I had time to wander my eyes around. What I captured, at least, was the expensive furnishings that somehow reminded me of home.

We were introduced to a larger room - probably the sitting-room, where I saw not three, but four figures welcoming us. I recognized the face of John Gates, but the other three gentlemen presented me no clue as to their identities.

"Miss Edwards, Miss Campbell, I believe you know my youngest son, John; and these other three young fellows are my other two sons, George and Charles, and my godson, Frank Benton."

The cordial bows and common courtesy lines, "pleasure to meet you," "how delightful," "likewise," etc., etc. were completed and we were seated by the fire - all of us, except Sir Charles, who sincerely apologized for being kept away with some administrative papers.

I cannot imagine how I would have managed without my aunt. The four gentlemen were sitting impassibly and watched the logs crack through the flames, and I was then determined to join their activity, when my aunt exclaimed:

"A lovely ball you had, Mr Gates! That is, at your birthday, this year. My compliments to everyone involved in its organisation!"

At first, the three gentlemen turned their looks at the same time to her; only Frank Benton remained with his eyes upon the fire. Then, the youngest Mr Gates recognized himself as the actual receiver of the praise and said, loudly and merrily:

"Thank you, Miss Edwards! I was quite undecided whether to travel or throw a ball, but my brother Charles persuaded me to remain at home. I was going to plan a journey in France, my beloved France; I have been there once, and I must confess..."

I had already heard his account of France, and used the minutes to take a closer look to the other guests. Indeed, guests, for only John Gates was living with Sir Charles, since he was only nineteen. The other two - what I am about to relate was unknown at that time, yet I find it important to mention it now (still not that important whatsoever) - had finished studies at Cambridge - both lawyers, with very fine incomes, and were of these ages: Mr George Gates, the middle son, four-and-twenty, and Mr Charles Gates - seven-and-twenty. What I could distinguish was their common nose shape, firstly, and secondly, their love of making fun of each other.

And there was Frank Benton, I assume by his full name Francis Benton, a mysterious figure to me. Tall, dark, very intriguing eyes, a deeply moving tone when he spoke, and a large income, and manners, and a broad knowledge of literature. And perhaps, I wondered, his age was between twenty-five and thirty years.

I witnessed how John Gates described Paris and France all over again - sadly, yes; and how his brothers interrupted with a 'stop bragging, John' and 'we all know that.' His stories continued at dinner, where I found myself between George Gates and Charles Gates, on one side, and Aunt Anne, John Gates and Frank Benton on the other, while Sir Charles sat at the end. I was facing the youngest son, who was joyfully relating another trip of his, which I found very interesting, since Venice appeared impressive and intriguing in my opinion. In this conversation I engaged myself, at least in this one, I thought!, and discoveries were made amongst both parties. I found out that Mr Benton was very silent, and he only watched the speaker when they were talking, but apart from that, he looked only at the paintings in the room, at least the only he could notice, the ones hung behind me. The other party, the one formed only of gentlemen, discovered that I was very bright and - contrary as my aunt told me - they found a wide range of subjects to discuss with me. So she stood silent for the rest of the evening, while I expressed my wishes and plans, opinions and feelings, choice of music, art and poetry.

This evening - it remained imprinted in my memory - was that of February the 8th . A cold day, and still a colder night. We parted rather early, at half past nine; in the carriage, I had time enough to think upon the recent events. My aunt was tired, as I deducted, and would be silent all the way home.

John Gates had a rigid imagination; no creativity, and a longer time spent in his company meant the same tales repeated over and over again, told with little distinction added. (That was my own opinion of him, therefore it could not be entirely true.)

George Gates was agreeable, good-tempered, at times too good-spirited, especially when joking about his brothers - but he made quite a good conversation partner.

Charles Gates was too sober in his conduct, rarely did he laugh, or even smile, giving, or at least trying to give the impression of being a very cultivated gentleman. He was a lawyer, after all, and he must have known a lot more than he really showed us.

Frank Benton spoke very little - he had been much more intrigued by the paintings on the wall than our vivid conversation. But at times he laughed, revealing an impeccable smile and beautifully laid features.

This was my complete account that evening, while reaching Aunt Anne's front door and stepping out of the carriage. I would have forgotten of my principles and standards concerning the perfect suitor, had I not seen myself mirrored and smiled at my reflection.

The morning of the following day found me deeply dreaming. I woke up later - at least half an hour later than my usual routine - but everything I had dreamt was blurry and shapeless.

The following is a short extract from the conversation held between Aunt Anne and I.

"Mary, how did you like dinner at the Gateses?"

"Quite pleasant."

"Quite? Why is that?", asked she, throwing confused looks at me.

"My intention is by no means that of ruining your good account of it, yet... I found Mr John Gates storytelling quite a bore. And Mr Benton spoke very little; in fact the only pleasures I found were in the meal, in Mr George Gates's person, and in Sir Charles's. Therefore, it was quite pleasant. But very interesting, I cannot deny that."

"I see...", and then, reflecting upon what she had heard, said, very distractedly, "would you mind if I took you out today to purchase a couple of ribbons?" Then returning to her classical high-spirits, "You know you haven't found one for the peach gown, and you own some bonnets that you cannot wear because of the absence of ribbons."

"Yes, Aunt Anne, ribbons are of major importance. Should we set off right after breakfast?"

"Indeed, a clever idea. And we can be back home just in time for lunch."

Ribbons?! I had expressed my opinion about the previous evening, and all that she could come up with was ribbons?! Oh, well.

There was a lovely shop called Larson's, that stocked all kinds of cloths, fabrics and, of course, ribbons. It was not very far from our apartment, so a morning walk was possible. That particular morning was unusually sunny, and our eyes were prevented from ever seeing anything because of it. Only when hearing a rather unknown voice call us we realized we had run into an acquaintance of ours. It was a gentleman, and it took us long enough to realize that it was none other than Mr Benton.

"Good morning, Miss Edwards, Miss Campbell," he said bowing.

After acknowledging his identity, we replied in the same fashion. "Mr Benton," I started, "what a delightful circumstance that we should meet at this moment! What a joyous weather; it is unexpectedly warm and bright."

"Indeed, Miss Campbell."

He joined us in our walk, although he had been walking in the opposite direction. Inevitably, we stood silent for quite a long time. Gladly, I had Aunt Anne beside me to keep us talking.

"Mr Benton, how did you like dinner last evening?"

He thought for a while, seeming he wanted to avoid speaking, but finally replied:

"Quite pleasant, I hope you had a good time as well."

"...Quite - quite pleasant, did you say? How peculiar," she said lowering her voice. We entered then a shadowy portion of the pavement, and then I had the chance to actually look at Mr Benton.

He was far more handsome than I had stated before.

But I could not stare at him as I had planned to, for he caught my eyes and I had to withdraw my looks. "And tell me, Mr Benton -" I tried to continue, "Sir Charles is your godfather?"

"No, in principle, he is my brother's godfather. But my brother died as a child and he took me under his protective wing. You see -" and he stopped. I wanted to express my sorrow then, but I stomped upon a middle-sized rock on the pavement and almost fell. I was too scared at that point to notice the rigid hand that held me from crashing, but I did accept with a frightened smile Mr Benton's offer to take his arm.

Quicker than I was able to notice, Mrs Simon appeared in front of us. Mrs Simon was a friend of my aunt's, and she was very pleased to meet us 'so early in the day.' She was soon introduced to Mr Benton, but wasted no time with common courtesy and broke the news to my aunt.

"Dear Miss Edwards, I was heading towards our mutual friend's place, Mrs Norton's. She invited me yesterday to a little morning refreshment and asked me to bring someone else with me. I could not find anyone in time, so I set off this morning all by myself. Yet I see that you are just strolling around, and would not mind accompanying me. Will you join me to Mrs Norton's?"

My aunt, surprisingly, forgot all about the true reason we were out - and that of ribbons - and exclaimed, "Why, I am sure we can spare a few hours in your company!"

I looked at her in amazement and almost whispered, while still struggling to make my voice sound determined:

"But Aunt Anne, have you forgotten about the ribbons? And Larson's is right at the corner of the street." Then, reflecting upon it, I added: "I can be left behind for a couple of minutes. I shall hurry and complete my purchase as fast as possible, and you may go. I am sure I will catch your pace."

I withdrew the arm that Mr Benton was sustaining me by and went ahead. It was only until I heard his voice that I realized I could not be left alone. (How dare I imagine I could?!)

"Miss Edwards, I believe your niece should have a companion while shopping. I can join her, and then we may come to Mrs Norton's as quickly as we can."

I was not facing the party, therefore I did not see this scene. My aunt stuttered for a second, and then replied: "Why, yes. That should be of no consequence."

Mrs Simon was so kind as to give Mr Benton the address of our destination - I used the time to consider my situation. Although Mr Benton was exceedingly good-looking and gentlemanlike, he emitted the general impression that he was too timid, or very discreet, or even proud and arrogant. I can't name it, but he spoke too little for his age. And speaking of which, I did not know it.

So, in my present state, I felt pity for myself. His presence was delightful, and overwhelming - at the same time. He began the conversation in a friendly manner; I unwillingly replied to his inquiries indifferently - a few times I was close to telling him that I was not in the mood to converse. But every time I tried to give an at least reasonable answer, he smiled and that completely erased my intentions.

"You do know that dark colours suit you, Miss Campbell, do you not?" he once said.

"I guess it is true, yet I cannot see how a man can give pieces of advice of this sort," laughed I.

"And I truly cannot see how a young woman cannot accept them, Miss Campbell." He added another charming smile to his countenance - but that happened too late, for I had turned before he had the time to react to his own words.

"But shouldn't young women avoid dark colours? They seem too sober, rigid, and that is I think something specific to the old ladies."

He thought a little before he gave shape to his belief: "Miss Campbell, your eye-colour is distracting, indeed, but not enough - you see, not anyone possesses this rare shade of light blue that you proudly own. Wearing a dark blue ribbon should emphasize the colour of your eyes so much, that no one will ever dare to look away from you."

I thanked him for this great inspirational speech, yet I added: "Mr Benton, I am at a greater ease when wearing my favourite colours - amber, peach and light pink. Yet I thank you once more for your compliments."

We finally set off towards Mrs Norton; while I was meeting her acquaintance, I realized she would make a great companion. She was the main gossiper in the circles that my aunt and I moved around in, therefore she would provide us the newest information available. Of course, my deduction was a little wrong. She was in vast knowledge of others indeed, but she could not refrain herself from telling that in public. As an example, I shall mention a few statements of hers.

"Miss Edwards, I am aware that Miss Mary is your favourite niece, and your only, for that matter... But as Mrs Terry and I were talking about random sorts of things, we came across the subject. Are you never going to bring your other nephews to London? Pray, excuse my impertinence - but it seems rather odd that you should bring repeatedly the same relative here."

My aunt turned red - then white. Finally, when her colour changed to yellow, she replied - very slowly, so that she could be understood by everyone present:

"Mrs Norton, I believe you are not entitled to call me partial. You do not have any siblings, therefore no nephews - nor nieces. You are not entitled, I repeat, so let us move on."

I looked at Mrs Norton - and then I turned to Mrs Simon. At last I remembered of Frank Benton's presence opposite me and I sent him a quick glance.

Only then I realized he had been watching me the whole time.

And I reflexively turned my head and my colour changed into red. My countenance returned to normal after a few moments, and I finally was able to encounter my aunt's look.

"I apologize, Miss Edwards; so, Mrs Simon, I heard your daughter-in-law planned to throw a numerous gathering. Is it true?"

This inquiry left Mrs Simon silent. Her face expressed that she had no clue about any future event, and not even about her daughter-in-law's coming to visit her soon. Which was, of course, just a belief of mine. I again asked for support from my aunt, support in my belief, that is, and, involuntarily, I looked one more time at Mr Benton.

But this time, to my sad and unexpressed disappointment, he had been distracted by something happening outside. He stood up and went to the window, so as he could look closer at his interesting discovery. I, very discouraged by his abandon, sighed and turned my eyes to the three ladies. Mrs Simon was about to reply to Mrs Norton's question, when the latter opened her mouth and cried:

"Mr Benton, why did you leave us? I was just about to ask you a few questions - you know, the usual sort of things - your birthplace, siblings, age - 'did she say age? Finally!', I interfered within my mind - come and sit with us - or have we bored you so much that you cannot suffer us anymore?"

He turned a little, so as he could capture us with the corner of his eye, and replied, "Yes, I shall return in a moment."

I avoided his look - silly, I know - but he at last returned to his seat and smiled in my direction. I could not but reply to it, and my response broadened his smile and brightened his eyes. Then our little exchange of meaningful looks was put to an end by Mrs Norton's intervention:

"Why are you so smiling and happy, young ones? Will you share it with us?"

I remained silent, while still looking at Frank Benton, which sent me one last glance before turning to the host:

"Mrs Norton, I believe you want me to answer some questions."

She looked puzzled at him, while the other two looked puzzled at me - for they knew me better - and then, the conversation continued.

"Yes, yes - well, where were you born?"

"In London."

"Any siblings?"

"None at all."

At this he looked at me for a moment, but before I had the time to catch its meaning, Mrs Norton resumed with her inquiries.

"And what is your age?"

"five-and-twenty."

"Five-and-twenty?!", thought I.

"Indeed, indeed. Mr Benton, I have no further questions."

"I am glad," he replied, "that I was able to satisfy your ...avid curiosity."

Mrs Norton frowned a little - almost saying, "how rude"; but she abstained from that, as I noticed.

Our visit ended quite soon after this, and we parted ways with Mrs Norton, Mr Benton and Mrs Simon.

My aunt and I talked very little on our way home - Mrs Norton's carriage took us there, so we arrived to the apartment quite fast.

Many social calls were made from that day on, yet my eagerness to receive an invitation from Mr Benton grew with every day it did not appear. Or at least that, if only I could meet him and invite him to dinner! But he would not appear anywhere in town. So I assumed then that he had left.

My aunt made this opinion even more convincing, whenever she told me:

"Do not wait for him to return, Mary; there are other gentlemen in London that wish to meet you. After all, you already are acquainted with the three Gates brothers. I am sure one of them is at least the equal of your Frank Benton."

The first time she said this, I did not respond, considering it merely a joke. And I had heard this for more than ten times, when I finally cried:

"Stop it, Aunt Anne! I am not interested in Mr Benton, for I consider him nothing more than a friend!"

And when I finally reached the end of my patience, I received a letter from home.

Dear Mary,

Forgive me for delaying my letter to this point - I have quite forgotten about you, but do not blame me for that!

I have some excellent news to share! Your brother, Jonathan, has returned from his studies. He says he is willing to find a suitable young woman and move out, but first of all, he needs to see his beloved sister. Right at the time being, he is telling your father how much he misses you. You have not seen him for the last three years! And we, the others, have not seen you since January. And that is an enormous period of time, three months! You see, your visit is coming to an end, sadly, I know, but what can we do about it? As your mother, I must persuade you that home is the best place you will ever be at. So, Mary, do understand my reasons, and your brother's - and please explain it to your aunt, Anne; tell her you are urgently needed at home.

I am writing so little for I have not too much time to spend with this activity. But do send me an account of your latest accomplishments. I am sure that, with your new garments, you shall be the most elegant girl here.

I truly hope your health is unaltered, and that your spirits are good as usual.

Your loving mother,

Helen Campbell

This letter brought me tears of unfounded sadness - although it was clear why I felt thus; the first letter was undoubtedly B and the last N - and it also brought many complaints from my aunt.

"Why must you leave now, when the weather is so very fine, and the richest gentlemen arrive in town?!"

Clearly, my aunt's single purpose was that of finding me a suitable husband. She was more eager to succeed than my very own mother! Alas, I let her grieve for my departure, but not before I was invited once more to dinner by the Gateses.

That evening left a bittersweet impression upon me, for everyone's efforts to cheer up both my aunt and myself were eliminated by someone's absence - easy to guess whose absence I am referring to.

But two mornings later I left, with tears in my eyes - three months in London, for nothing. That was truly disappointing. But at least I widened my acquaintance to that point that, after arriving home, I received twenty-two letters from my friends I had left in town.

I was received at home with great cheerfulness. My brother Jonathan looked better than I had imagined, even more good-looking than he had left three years before.

Oh, dear me - I forgot to say - my other siblings - letting Jonathan aside, are three: Benjamin, Thomas and Edward. I am the second child, after Jonathan. Quite distressing, I think - my brothers would ask me the most insignificant inquiries and demand I gave them a logical answer that would satisfy their curiosity.

But as expectedly, I was their favourite sibling - my eldest brother had left home quite early for them to know him, and even so, I was far more understanding and patient than him.

My return home was a great event, and I had supposed long before I arrived that I would be greeted warmly. Yet how could I have imagined that, in my family's rather large sitting-room, there would be thirty-five neighbours, awaiting my coming?

Yes - the party gathered to welcome me home, yet I could distinguish from the first moments that no one had come to see me, but my brother instead. That did not bother me that much, for my family, and especially my little brothers, were very, very eager to hear my stories.

And so my life continued unchanged, every now and then receiving a letter from my aunt.

My aunt, Anne Edwards, had been terribly sad because of my departure, and could not believe that she had let her favourite niece go. Thus, she invited me repeatedly to return to London - every letter I got from her mentioned this aspect - and, just as a little specification, she also added several times how everyone I had left in London missed my company - even 'the strange, quiet and unusual Mr Benton.'

"Oh dear, I added to myself, can it be true?"

But Mr Benton was only once brought up, and my aunt soon found a strange pleasure in praising Mr John Gates. He would always say kind words about me, and every time in my aunt's presence. He would mention my excellent skills, and my outstanding remarks, and everything about my person that had made an impression upon him. He even wondered - as my aunt pointed it out - whether I would like to join him in a short journey in France. Here I could not demistify a certain tone in my aunt's writing; perhaps she was just joking when thinking that. Either way, by May 1816, I had already had my mind full of this Mr Gates. And that is much, for it had only been a month since I left London.

Just for the reader's knowledge, I continued taking violin lessons, but it proved pointless after a short period of time, for I knew almost everything I could know and I even surpassed my teacher at times. Yet my mother insisted I went on with studying it, and I began thinking, "let it be as you want, mother."

Aunt Anne began sending me - from the very lengthy ones, stuffed with detailed accounts of Mr John Gates and, occasionally, of her friends, Mrs Norton and Mrs Simon - letters filled with things of an insignificant importance to me. Her newest gowns, hats, - the story of her favourite, silk gloves that tore one evening at the Gateses - dear me, loads of information I did not need at all. I even considered stopping writing her!

In this monotony I continued my existence, until one lovely day in August, when my brother, Jonathan, announced some news that we rather found alarming.

"Mother, father, dear Mary," he started after coming in, as we were sitting in the drawing-room, each developing different activities, "I can now declare my wish of finding a suitable young woman fulfilled."

My mother dropped her work to the ground as she understood the great sense of his words, and cried, after a while, "Why, John, you must tell us who she is! Is she handsome? Good-natured? John, pray, tell us!"

My father smiled to himself and said in a low voice, "Helen, let the boy breathe; John, do not hurry."

He then took a deep breath, and replied, his eyes glowing very brightly, "Miss Jane Williams."

My mother's smile turned into a frown as she uttered: "That Jane Williams? The daughter of Michael Williams? ... But dear John, she is poor!"

My brother stuttered for a moment, but ended up saying: "Yes, mother, and we are rich. ...But it is father's blessing that we need -"

" ...John, have you already proposed to her?", my mother interrupted him.

"Yes, mother, and she was exceedingly happy and wasted no time before accepting."

"My son, you must bring her to dinner, so we can get acquainted with her ways and manners. Only then I can give you both my blessing."

My mother angrily turned to my father, and cried: "Mr Campbell, how can you say that, when you know as well as I do that Miss Williams is unsuitable for our John?! Compare her to Mary - you have met her, so go ahead - does Jane Williams play an instrument as flawlessly as our daughter? And are her garments as fashionable as our Mary's? I believe we both have the answer!"

My father smiled. He told her calmly: "My dear, you speak as your certain wish is John marrying Mary. Yes, I am aware our daughter is special, and very accomplished, indeed, but we cannot expect every other young woman to be her equal! And do not worry, for Miss Williams is very accomplished herself. You may not know, but her father frequently joins us on Thursday evening at Ronson's - you know, the gathering, when all of the gentlemen meet to play cards - and every time he praises his daughter like no other."

My mother calmed down as she began feeling keener on listening to him, and asked him to exemplify Jane Williams' achievements. After learning that she virtuously played the piano, and that she painted well, - yet not as good as I did - in fact, I was her superior in every way - as my father added, so as to please his wife, alas, my mother agreed that Miss Williams was an intelligent young lady, with not so pleasing prospects, which could however be improved by marrying well. "Well, then, Jonathan, you may tell her she is invited to dinner - tomorrow evening," she concluded. My brother sent a smile on my way, and then turned away.

How alarming, indeed, Jane Williams' arrival to our house proved itself to be! Although our comfortable home surpassed her own, and our delicious meals were outstanding, the title she had been given, John's-wife-to-be, put my mother especially in a very strange position.

But once the guest arrived, bringing her parents with her, as planned, my mother's nerves found some rest in the delightful and relaxing company of the Williamses.

Though their fortune was not large, their good temper soon won my mother's respect for them, and, consequently, her approval of the match.

Though the visit reduced her low opinion of them to nothing, it raised Miss Williams' will to call on us whenever we were able to receive her. (And that, of course, equalled most of the time). So the two of us had several chances to get better acquainted. I found two important things about my new friend: she considered me a great model, despite the fact she was older than me, and she believed everything I told her.

Our intimacy had little time to grow, for the wedding took place a couple of months later - the newly-wedded Campbells left and the remaining party continued a quiet existence.

Only until my aunt appeared at our door once again, imploring for a renewed acceptance of the invitation to London.

"Aunt Anne, I cannot just declare my answer - the matter must be thought upon, and of course, my father must be announced! You know I cannot leave -"

"Yes, yes, how can I forget it, Mary!," she replied hastily while sitting into a comfortable chair - uninvited, even, yet, for being Anne Edwards, no invitation was needed to be seated at the Campbells. "But, my dear girl, you are needed more in town than here. Think of it, everyone misses you so much in London!"

"Anne, what a pleasure to receive you here," my mother said as she entered the room, throwing looks at me. "You could have at least sent a note to warn us upon your coming... Well, how can we change that... Tell me, is there a cause for your sudden call...?"

Anne Edwards cleared her voice: "Yes, dear Helen. Remember last year when I arrived unexpectedly, out of nowhere? The same reason this time as well! I imagine how dear Mary is to you, but I am sure that the three other lovely boys can spare you the pain caused by her absence for a fortnight or so... cannot it, dear sister?"

My mother stuttered. She looked at me - then back at my aunt - then she turned to me again - and seeing the answer in my eyes - which was, of course, 'I am not sure', she replied, calmly, very loudly: "Anne, I appreciate that you care about my girl, but she has only been home for six, seven months! You cannot take her away that soon, really!"

My aunt surprisingly added, in reply to my mother's words, "Does it mean that Mr Benton will be urged to wait a whole year to see the girl?!"

This left both my mother and I speechless. Aunt Anne smiled, admitting her victory, "Yes, I guess it does... Unless Mary changes her mind upon it... will you come, Mary? You know how he loves your company!"

Did I really know that? I was not even aware of the reason I was so desperate to hear from him! But as my colour changed, I answered timidly that I should at last go and stay with my aunt - just for a fortnight.

So there I was again - after a long, long, long journey that lasted five days - quite a lot, if you ask me! - I entered the fine apartment of Miss Edwards. Quite unusual to see the improvements that had been made. My aunt had afforded to replace the furniture, adding even more pleasantness to the air, and I had even been arranged my own chamber! (So I concluded my stay would last more than a single fortnight.)

" ...And after you have taken care of your luggage, we can take a walk and perhaps go to Larson's - there were some very fashionable fabrics last month, oh, and you should consider new gowns and dresses, also. I know a very fine seamstress that should make you the most beautiful garments in London. Mary, I have quite forgotten - your birthday is in less than two months! We should extend your visit to that period, so everyone can attend the ball given in your honour."

After this not so eloquent speech, I remained silent. "A ball?!", I thought. Well, things happen too fast for me, usually. But this time I was completely exceeded by the amount of information I'd been given. I only nodded, adding a smile.

"We should call on Mrs Norton. She was very eager to meet you when I last visited her," she also said right before we exited the building.

I had expected to find Mrs Norton, my aunt's very curious friend, alone. Yet we had barely passed the door when we heard several voices talking upstairs.

"Aunt Anne, does she have company at this time of the day...?"

My companion rapidly glanced at a wall clock, and, realizing that it was just ten past five, she smiled indifferently: "Yes, I believe there is a tea party in progress... either way, we should be welcomed in, everyone comes uninvited."

And so it was - except not everyone had come without a proper invitation. There were the magnificent Gateses brothers, gathered around Mrs Norton - and another three ladies, which, I recall, had amongst them Mrs Simon ...the other very curious friend of my aunt's.

How my presence enlightened everyone's countenance, is needless to be mentioned. "Dear Miss Campbell, you are back, and so soon, how delightful!," one lady cried.

"Miss Mary Campbell, so pleasing that you are here!," John Gates cried.

"Do be seated, both of you," the host concluded. "Right here, by the fire. A dreadful day for the time of the year, is it not? So draughty these days... well, we were just debating upon a very intriguing subject. Mr John Gates plans on gathering a small group of amiable people and organizing a short journey to France. Do continue, Mr Gates!"

The chairs had been arranged as to form a small circular shape, so as everyone could face every each guest. Despite my seat's location, near the fireplace, I was rather seated close to the window. Also, Mrs Norton had a very specific type of curtains, which were very thick, and dark-coloured, to match the furnishings. Therefore, I had been placed in a very shadowy corner of the room. My main idea is, I could see everyone without troubling myself to be seen.

Which I soon after discovered, was that there were ten seats, of which only nine were being occupied at the time. I could not but bring the matter up.

After Mr Gates finished his, well, boring narrative about France, I entered the conversation.

"Mrs Norton, tell me - are you expecting someone else?"

"Oh, no, dear - I mean, I was not expecting you both, and nor was I expecting Mrs Simon and Mr George Gates, yet I made sure I had a couple of spare seats available."

"Miss Campbell, I have heard your brother got married, do accept my sincere congratulations to the young couple," Mrs Simon started.

"Thank you, ma'am, that is so kind."

"Indeed, indeed... I suppose the young lady is of good fortune, and of a very respectable family?", the very intrigued Mrs Norton interrupted.

Without any delay, I responded: "Yes, it is an exceedingly suitable match."

"Really?", another lady commented. "I heard that she was of poor family... or I may be mistaken."

"Pardon me, your source was wrong in stating that."

"Oh, let me tell you all - there is a ball on Friday evening, you know, given by a very rich family called... dear, I quite forget the name - either way, a lady I know (very fortunate herself) has been invited by a member of the family itself and she invited me to it. Of course, how can I be of better use to my friends than extend my invitations to them? I am not yet sure about the location, yet - Good Grief, is that a carriage that I hear, stopping by us?", the host exclaimed. She quickly ran to the window to have a look at the tenth guest, but without her dear spectacles, little could she see.

"Oh, I am getting so old these days, aren't I? I can barely see anything within five yards!"

The mystery created by the arrival of the unexpected visitor was soon forgotten when Mr Frank Benton entered the room, very good-humoured.

"Mr Benton, do be seated!," the host cried.

Mr Benton was seated opposite me, yet I was protected by a dark shield of shadow thanks to my position near Mrs Norton's curtains. Therefore, it took him long enough to realize I was there. But the look he adopted after noticing me quite surpassed my expectations. His eyes widened amazingly, and his general conduct expressed pleasure to see me there.

About an hour later, the party separated, and I found myself walking home, out of nowhere I think, surrounded by Anne Edwards, Frank Benton and Mr George Gates, the middle brother of the three. Pointless to say that I was the main attraction of the group, for my aunt could not refrain from praising my outstanding achievements, and the other two gentlemen could not but agree and congratulate me in return.

" ...Mary has always been musically skilled, yet now I can truly see - not only me, I guess, but everyone that meets her - must notice how truly talented she is, and as I was stating at Mrs Norton's, I... "

I stopped listening to her, for I knew that she would exaggerate in everything concerning me, and looked at Mr Benton, who was strolling in my right. Oh, such disappointment I had never felt before! I had thought he would smile back at me, and send me an expression of understanding compassion, but what was I about to find? He wandered his eyes on everything but me. I turned my face from him, and continued listening to my aunt's very affected account.

"And she is so very great at drawing, too! But I guess everyone knows that, already... Nevertheless, Mary is quite unique - and she always..."

"Dear aunt, do hear my request - let these two gentlemen breathe, for I am sure that they are already willing to get rid of me as soon as time allows them!"

"Miss Campbell, why would you say that? You are a very intriguing person, indeed!," George Gates replied. The others remained silent, and so did I; after all, why would I be the one to start a conversation?

But no one did, and, after accompanying us home, the two parted ways themselves, each of them taking different directions.

"Mary, you must choose someone before you leave home - you simply cannot go without getting engaged to one of them!"

"Dear aunt, I will make my choice, but you cannot expect me to make it at the moment. I have just arrived."

"Oh, we forgot to stop by Larson's! Mind if we go back?"

And thus I ended up with six new gowns - all in dark shades of purple, blue, green and brown - after all, Mr Benton gave me a good piece of advice that day.

Two days passed before we were properly invited to that ball of nobody knew whom - and we found out that the family's name was Webster, which proved to be a very unimportant piece of information, since we did not meet the hosts at all that evening. I had supposed they would come and greet every party that would enter the ballroom, yet Mrs Norton expressed herself, "oh, dear, I sent you the invitation on behalf of them - they are all such busy fellows; but that must not alarm you, for I am sure they will come to you and meet your acquaintance."

But they did not. However, I found to a large extent entertainment in Mr Benton's company, who happened to have been invited as well. Actually, he was the only one that I knew in that large crowd - perhaps more than five hundred people had come.

We danced more than four consecutive dances, two of which were Quadrilles. Added to his good-looks and eloquent speeches was his outstanding dancing - I had never thought I would dance so much with only one man!

Then, while we were outside, and I was hoping that no further invitations to the dance would be made - for I was so very fatigued!, he started:

"Miss Campbell, I wish to invite you and your aunt to dinner."

"What, so short an invitation?!", I then thought. "Why, yes, I am more than happy to accept your invitation... sir."

"Because I am to leave London very soon, and I would like to express my good-byes to you privately."

"By 'you' does he mean only me or both my aunt and I?! And what about this sudden departure?!"

Then, after a short pause, "to you both, that is."

We walked a little longer, and then I stopped and turned to him. "Why must you leave, Mr Benton?"

Maybe I put too much energy in the question, as my eyes turned wet - unintentionally, of course. My spoiled mind had of course expected him to do the same, but he smiled. Evidently, unconcerned by my slowly descending tears.

"Dear Miss Campbell, I am indeed a great loss to the society," and here he raised his hand and wiped my already fallen tears off, "but I have to go; my father is very ill, and... well, I need to go."

I did not really notice his hand touching my face, nor did I see that his eyes gleamed in the darkness, so I continued: "...When are you to leave?"

"Soon. Now come, we must return." And very great was my surprise when I observed that, after uttering this answer, he took my hand in his and led me until we got indoors. Then, stopping and turning to me, he whispered: "Good night, Mary."

Oh dear, that was so unexpected! I was excessively overwhelmed by his behaviour towards me to say anything, or even to move'; it took me several minutes to decide what to do - he had left before I made up my mind, and God knows where he had left!, and so I once again parted with him; without knowing the certain details of his invitation to dinner.

I began walking, very slowly, trying to concentrate on the figures around me, but they seemed so strange, I could barely distinguish shapes around me; and all of that because of Mr Benton!

Alas, while approaching my aunt, this thought came to me: "He only needed a false reason to tell me he was leaving, there is no invitation... after all..."

"Mary! Where have you been?! I was so worried, what have you been doing? It is getting late, I believe... do you still want to dance? The dances with Mr Benton must have exhausted you! Come on, take this seat beside me." My aunt put on a compassionate smile and continued. "Tell me, Mary, has he proposed?"

"Proposed?! What in the world...?", I thought.

"No, Aunt Anne, he left earlier. Why should he propose, anyway..."

"Anyway?! Well, it was not hard to see that he was madly in love with you - four dances, Mary! You know, when I was young, many gentlemen came and invited me to be their partner - yet I have never danced with the same person four dances! Even if we attended several balls, no one would come to me and ask me! Once, however, Mr Farrell asked of me the first three dances - but the future Mrs Farrell was always interfering between us... but that was quite a long time ago... twenty-five years ago, I guess... Oh well, Mary, I am a very boring old woman, aren't I? Dear, dear, it is half past one already! It is so late, I guess it is time we left. Just let me say good-bye to Mrs Norton and we can go."

My single wish at that time was to meet him once again and demand the certain explanation - the explanation explaining nothing I knew about at the time, which however was steady in keeping me away from it.

My aunt, as usual, did not sense my change of temper and she repeatedly reminded me of Mr Gates. Every each of them, indeed, for they all were very amiable and eligible. In my behalf, be them as they wish!, I was mortified by something else instead - Mr Benton and his so quiet departure. His father may have been sick indeed - anything was likely to happen, for I barely knew him, perhaps we should have been called rather strangers than friends - oh, well, how could I help it? Some things find us helpless - shame on us.

One particular day, two weeks before my birthday, I received a curious unexpected letter with the one from my family. It was a short letter, however, so I assumed it was urgent. I wasted no time in opening it, and, to my great surprise, I found the following content.

Dear Miss Campbell,

I know that my departure left, if not negative, then at least peculiar an impression upon you. A little explanation I know you demand - and I shall not spare you of it.

Firstly, I must express my regret for alarming you so, and for giving so evasive an answer to you inquiry. My behaviour was not that gentlemanlike as expected, and my good-bye not even close to what I had pictured it to be. My single excuse is that I was not fully prepared to meet your eyes. I wish I had announced my leaving to the whole gathering, but I knew that there was no such being as caring and compassionate as Miss Mary Campbell. I know you are thinking now of my godfather, Sir Charles, but it is widely known that our acquaintance is not one of the finest, and you must have already heard this.

Therefore I apologize heartily for spreading my actions too far and I do hope that I will be forgiven for my impertinence. You are most likely to recognize a point in this.

I hope this letter finds you well, unalarmed and generally high-spirited.

Yours faithfully,

Francis Benton

I placed the letter in a drawer quietly and proceeded with the reading the one from home, which barely expressed my brothers missing me and my parents' wish to see me soon. Then I left my room and joined my aunt.

"Mary, there you are! How is your Mr Benton doing?"

I remained puzzled - how could she know?, I wondered. And then, yes, I remembered: nothing ever escapes her eye.

"Nothing, really, just asking about our health..."

"That is good, it is indeed! Have you heard, Mr Gates - the youngest I suppose, is calling on us soon; I received a note with your letters, telling me this. It did not mention which particular Mr Gates would come, but I am very sure it is the youngest of the three. Tell me, how do you like him?"

My face erased every expression or hint of a feeling, and I only uttered: "Pleasant."

"Really? You do not seem to be enjoying his presence whenever you are around him! Why then pleasant?"

"Aunt Anne, I am sure he is the owner of a great deal of outstanding qualities, but he talks a bit too much about France. You cannot have missed it! Each time I hear him, he is talking about France and how dear it is to him. And why do you have that look?", I stopped, watching my aunt. She surely did not believe me, and only considered me foolish and naive. I was exactly the opposite of all that, or at least I thought so. "Do you still believe I will ever marry him?!"

My aunt rose from her seat and started pacing in the room. She turned at me, at last; and with joyful eyes, she answered:

"Yes, Mary, I still believe that. Why should I be wrong? It is not your choice to make, but his. You will not refuse his offer, for there is no answer supposed to come from you. This is how it happens in the world."

She sighed. Was it the real reason she had never got to marry?

"Then, Aunt Anne, if there is no answer for me to give, why then should he ask? He could simply come to me and state: 'you shall be my wife.' There is a choice for everybody. I cannot accept the first man that proposes to me. It can't be."

Aunt Anne smiled compassionately. "Dear, dear Mary, there are a lot of things you'll have to learn, sooner or later."

The last words were drowned in the sound of a knock at the front door.

"It is him, Mary! Pretend you have been reading, here, take this," she said rapidly, handing me a book.

"Why should I?", I answered frowning.

"Do not ask, do not answer, just do what I tell you to."

My aunt hoped at that time that Mr John Gates would enter the room and take out the wedding ring. I hoped that someone else would come and calm her spirit. The servant announced the guests. "Mr John Gates and Mr Francis Benton."

Thank God a chair was right behind me - otherwise, I do not know nor can I imagine what would have happened to me! And then, the door was fully opened. Into my aunt's drawing-room stepped Mr Gates, with his lively air, and Mr Benton, indifferent at everything that surrounded him.

"Gentlemen, what a surprise!", Aunt Anne started, pointing at two seats. "Come and sit by the fire, it is getting colder and colder..."

This was her standard line - everytime a guest arrived, she placed them by the fire. Always by the warm fire.

I remained in my seat, and when Mr Gates inquiried about my family, I looked quickly behind his back, where Mr Benton was standing, and, seeing his eyes were wandering towards the windows, as usual, I replied calmly that the state of my family could not get any better.

"I was just telling Mary that she should remain here at least after Christmas; you know, her birthday is approaching, we should be all by her side and congratulate her - you know she is turning seventeen in a fortnight, don't you?"

"Yes, I am quite aware," Gates said.

"Why does he stay silent like that?! Why doesn't he even look at me?!", I thought. I was angry with myself that I could not draw his attention from the windows.

"Mr Benton," at last my aunt addressed him, "your presence is most surprising, weren't you out of town?"

"I was, but I returned last night. The journey was longer than usually."

"Pray, where were you?"

"Home."

My aunt lost her smile as she heard his reply; she obviously was thinking he had been dragged there, without his consent. Then she decided to ease my 'pain', may I call it so, and assigned me to see if the tea things were ready. This was only to get me out of the room; I was just entering the kitchen, when a gentle hand grabbed my arm and turned me away. It was Mr Benton, which whispered, "may I talk to you, Miss Campbell?"

"I believe you received my letter, Mary. I hope I did not disappoint you."

"...Mary?! Oh well, it is time to play his game," I said to myself. "You should have at least given more importance to my state, since I am so compassionate in you eyes... Frank. And your conduct that evening! What were you thinking?," I continued, raising my voice while my emotions were getting more and more visible.

"You shouldn't be that obviously irritated by my silence - since you have read the letter and have acknowledged my apology -"

"What apology, pray tell me? Was I supposed to distinguish in 'you understand my point' an apology? And you must know that a decent letter uses words as 'sorrow', 'regret', and who knows how many other that you refuse to write!"

"I am sorry for being unable to fulfil your feminine letter-writing standards. But why are you so alarmed?"

I barely heard the last words he spoke, for I turned from him and closed my eyes, pretending I was not there.

"I don't know," I whispered.

The room was covered with silence, and at last I turned, facing him, smiling, piercing him with my eyes: "Come, Mr Benton, they shall begin to worry."

He exclaimed, flashing a smile: "true!"

Mr Benton soon found a surprising pleasure in visiting us - of course, he briefly answered my aunt's questions, but was very eager to engage me in a conversation whenever she was talking to someone else. Not that he refused anyone else's company but mine, yet his spirits were considerably brightened when I was around him.

My aunt could not but notice this, seldom throwing a quick look in our direction, and I could not but tell her how irritating I found this - whenever we were alone.

"But why, Mary? I am sure he is going to ask the great question - is it inappropriate for me to state that? I believe it's not."

"He has quite noticed it, Aunt Anne! I cannot explain your behaviour to him. It would be silly of me to tell him, 'oh, my aunt just thinks we will get married; ignore her!' So do put an end to these strange glances of yours."

"Very well, my girl..."

But she evidently did not respect my wish - after all, she was a single, respectable lady, and my situation was quite amusing. It was just as if she was watching a play at the theatre, only the characters were real people, with real principles.

Not that I had any, really. I had somehow created a vague opinion about the world - how my husband-to-be would be like, his appearance, fortune; yet from a time, my only standard was Mr Benton and his exquisite attributes.

Apart from his attention there was more. Once in a while, one of the Gates would come by and ask about our health; it was kind of them, as I always replied, smiling.

From a time, my aunt became very familiar with Frank Benton, and so she began calling him by his Christian name, which I inferred would mean I should do the same. Therefore, the young ones were no longer Miss Campbell and Mr Benton, but Mary and Frank instead. (Quite inappropriate, for some, considering my situation).

Then, my birthday knocked at the door. And, without expecting it, my aunt's apartment soon was full of presents for me - most of whom were from the amiable Mr John Gates, the very agreeable George Gates, his brother, and the good-natured Charles Gates. From the moment these gifts started pouring in, I imagined that at least one of the three would come and offer the congratulations in person. I guess I was wrong - none came. The eldest was out of town, with estate businesses on his mind, the middle brother had left for the University, and the youngest - dear, how could I have hoped it to be otherwise - the youngest, John Gates, was away, in France.

Consequently, there was no ball given in my honour.

Sadly.

Therefore my one desire was that at least 'Frank', as I had begun naming him, would call on us. At last, the evening of my eighteenth anniversary was filled with hope when Mr Benton was announced and, smilingly, entered Aunt Anne's sitting-room.

"My most sincere congratulations, Miss Mary, I truly wish you happiness in life..."

Still I heard him, but did not understand his words, for his liveliness, which was added to his warm voice and smiles, distracted my senses - it was some time before I noticed he had ended his speech, that I realised I had to thank him.

And, since our intimacy had grown to that point where I could tell him everything I was thinking about, I continued: "And I must confess, you were my only hope; it seems that I am so invisible to others, that I only deserve emotionless gifts." I took a deep breath, and stood silent afterwards. I wished I could have told him so much more, but there was my aunt, smiling at us, imagining that she could have been in my place, and sinking herself in novelties and how life could have been for her, had she been more... Oh well, no one really knew what she was guilty for, for not getting married.

My eyes were fixed somewhere in the room, and I did not observe his glance at my aunt, whose meaning was at once understood by her and she rose, saying something about refreshments.

"Mary," I heard him say, as he took my hand and dragged me to a seat, "I have known you for so short a time, and I can't even recall the moment I began considering you more than a friend, but I do - and now, as I am losing time with unnecessary and meaningless words, you are probably wondering what is the purpose of my coming. Aren't you?"

As I involuntarily looked away, I heard myself reply affirmatively.

"Therefore, I need to --"

"Wait," I interrupted him; somehow I began to feel a need to get rid of an appeasing burden, which I could not even define. "Wait, am I really your friend? I mean, do you really consider I am capable of keeping your most intimate secrets to myself, and -"

"Nonsense, Mary, how childish your behaviour is! Of course, friends tell their secrets to each other, and promise each other to keep them, and yes, not most of the time they do, but why should we be that kind of friends?"

"So we are friends, but not that kind of friends; so what --"

I sensed a change in his eyes, which preceded a quick smile, and then this:

"Oh, Mary," he continued breathlessly, "I am making such a fool of myself and you still wonder if we are even friends! Can't you see," he at last said, in a whisper, "what I mean?"

He began breathing more rapidly, but still I could not infer the meaning of his words. I replied with an innocent 'no,' and then watched him rise and go to the window.

He leaned his forehead upon the cold glass and looked outside, but I was somehow acquainted with the fact he did not really see anything.

Perhaps only I, in my head, heard it, perhaps he really said this: "Pray, do not ruin the outstanding opinion I have of you."

I am making such a fool of myself, he said, and I kept repeating this in my mind, trying to understand what he was doing so foolishly, that he told me that.

After quite a long time, I stood up and joined him at the window. I could not raise my eyes to meet his, and probably he could not lower his to meet mine, for the minutes had such an intensity and uneasiness, that we could not even look at each other.

But the reality was entirely different. As I could not see him, I didn't know exactly what he was looking at. He was staring at me so deeply, as though he wanted to read my thoughts. This is what I concluded when I turned to face him.

"No, Mr Benton - Frank," I rectified myself, "I can't understand what you are talking about."

At this, he did not move, only he began breathing even more hurriedly. At a point I thought I saw him roll his eyes, and then he surrounded me in an embrace and brushed his lips against mine.

"I love you, Miss Mary Campbell, and I want you to be my wife."