The Count and the Wedding Guest

One evening when Andy Donovan went to dinner at his Second Avenue boarding-house, Mrs. Scott introduced him to a young lady, Miss Conway. Miss Conway was small and unobtrusive. She wore a plain, brown dress. She lifted her diffident eyelids and shot one perspicuous glance at Mr. Donovan, politely murmured his name, and returned to her mutton. After the introduction she did not speak to Andy Donovan. Mr. Donovan bowed with the grace, and forgot Miss Conway almost at once.

Two weeks later Andy was sitting on the front steps enjoying his cigar. Suddenly somebody came out. Andy turned his head – and had his head turned.

Miss Conway was coming out the door. She wore a night-black dress. Her hat was black, and from it drooped and fluttered a black veil. She stood on the top step and drew on black silk gloves. Not a speck of white or a spot of color. Her face was plain, but it was now beautiful. Her large gray eyes gazed above the houses across the street into the sky with an expression of sadness and melancholy.

All black, and sad, faraway look, and the hair shining under the black veil…

Mr. Donovan threw away his unfinished cigar, and quickly stood up.

“It’s a fine, clear evening, Miss Conway,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Mr. Donovan, but not for me,” said Miss Conway, with a sigh.

“I hope none of your relatives – I hope you haven’t sustained a loss?” ventured Mr. Donovan.

“Not a relative,” said Miss Conway, hesitating, “I have no friends or acquaintances in this city. But you have been kind to me. I appreciate it highly.”

“It’s tough to be alone in New York,” said Mr. Donovan. “Would you like to take a walk in the park, Miss Conway – don’t you think it might chase away some of your troubles?”

“Thanks, Mr. Donovan. I’d be pleased to accept your invitation.”

They walked through the open gates of the old, downtown park, and found a quiet bench.

“He was my fiancé,” said Miss Conway, at the end of an hour. “We were going to be married next spring. He was a real Count. He had an estate and a castle in Italy. Count Fernando Mazzini was his name. My father objected, of course, and once we eloped, but father overtook us, and took us back. Finally, father agreed, and said we might be married next spring. Fernando showed him proofs of his title and wealth, and then went to Italy to prepare a castle for us. My father is very proud, and he never let me take a ring or any presents from him. And when Fernando sailed I came to the city and got a position as cashier in a candy store.

Three days ago I got a letter from Italy, saying that Fernando was killed in a gondola accident. That is why I am in mourning. My heart, Mr. Donovan, will remain forever in his grave. I guess I am poor company, Mr. Donovan. Perhaps you would prefer to walk back to the house?”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Mr. Donovan, gently. “No, we won’t walk back to the house just yet. And don’t say you have no friends in this city, Miss Conway. I’m sorry, and I want you to believe I’m your friend.”

“I’ve got his picture here in my locket,” said Miss Conway, after wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. “I never showed it to anybody; but I will to you, Mr. Donovan, because I believe you to be a true friend.”

Mr. Donovan gazed long and with much interest at the photograph in the locket that Miss Conway opened for him. The face of Count Mazzini was a smooth, intelligent, bright, almost a handsome face – the face of a strong, cheerful man who might be a leader among his fellows.

“I have a larger one, framed, in my room,” said Miss Conway. “When we return I will show you that. They are all I have to remind me of Fernando. But he ever will be present in my heart.”

The sympathetic but cheerful friend was the role Mr. Donovan played; and he played it so successfully that soon they were sitting in a café, eating ice-cream, though Miss Conway’s large gray eyes were sad.

When they came into the hall of the boarding-house she ran up to her room and brought down the framed photograph of the man. Mr. Donovan surveyed it with inscrutable eyes.

“He gave me this the night he left for Italy,” said Miss Conway.

“A fine-looking man,” said Mr. Donovan, heartily. “May I ask you to give me the pleasure of your company to the theatre next Sunday afternoon?”

A month later they announced their engagement. Miss Conway continued to wear black.

A week after the announcement the two sat on the same bench in the downtown park. It was a fine clear night. The moon shone brightly on the green leaves. Everything around them was very nice. But Donovan was silent all day. He was silent.

“What’s the matter, Andy, you are so solemn and grouchy tonight?”

“Nothing, Maggie.”

“I know better. What is it?”

“It’s nothing much, Maggie.”

“Yes it is; and I want to know. I’ll bet it’s some other girl you are thinking about. All right. Why don’t you go get her if you want her? Take your arm away, if you please.”

“I’ll tell you then,” said Andy, wisely, “but I guess you won’t understand it exactly. You’ve heard of Mike Sullivan, haven’t you? ‘Big Mike’ Sullivan, everybody calls him.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Maggie. “Who is he?”

“He’s the biggest man in New York,” said Andy, almost reverently. “Well, Big Mike’s a friend of mine. Mike’s as good a friend to a little man, or a poor man as he is to a big one. I met him to-day, and what do you think he does? Comes up and shakes hands. I told him I was going to get married in two weeks. ‘Andy,’ says he, ‘send me an invitation, and I’ll come to the wedding.’ That’s what Big Mike says to me; and he always does what he says. You don’t understand it, Maggie, but if Big Mike Sullivan comes to our wedding, it will be the proudest day of my life.”

“Why don’t you invite him?” said Maggie, lightly.

“There’s a reason why I can’t,” said Andy, sadly. “There’s a reason why he mustn’t be there. Don’t ask me what it is, for I can’t tell you”.

“But you must tell me everything!”

“Maggie, do you love me as much as you loved your Count Mazzini?”

He waited a long time, but Maggie did not reply. And then, suddenly she leaned against his shoulder and began to cry, holding his arm tightly.

“What is it, now?”

“Andy,” sobbed Maggie. “I’ve lied to you, and you’ll never marry me, or love me any more. But I feel that I must tell you everything. Andy, there was no count in my life. I never had a lover in my life. But all the other girls had; and they talked about them. But nobody loved me. At last I thought of a plan. I look well in black. I went out to a photograph store and bought that picture. The photographer made a little one for my locket, too. And I invented that story about the Count, and about his gondola accident, so I could wear black. And nobody can love a liar, and you’ll leave me, Andy, and I’ll die for shame. Oh, there never was anybody I liked but you – and that’s all.”

But instead of leaving her, Andy’s arm was folding her closer. She looked up and saw his face cleared and smiling.

“Could you – could you forgive me, Andy?”

“Sure,” said Andy. “It’s all right about that.”

“Andy,” said Maggie, with a shy smile, “did you believe all that story about the Count?”

“Well, not all of it,” said Andy, reaching for his cigar case, “because in your locket it’s Big Mike Sullivan’s picture.”

Exercises

1. Choose the right variant:

1. Andy believed all that story about the Count.

2. Andy believed part of the story about the Count.

3. Andy did not believe the story about the Count.

4. Andy continued the story about the Count.

2. What was the Count’s name?

1. Andy Sullivan

2. Mike Sullivan

3. Fernando Donovan

4. Fernando Mazzini

3. Whom did Miss Conway really love?

1. Fernando Mazzini

2. Mike Sullivan

3. Andy Donovan

4. Fernando Donovan

4. Who gave Miss Conway the picture?

1. a count

2. a photographer

3. Mrs. Scott

4. a fiance

5. What is a fiancé?

1. a commonly used English honourific for men

2. a title in European countries

3. a well-known politician

4. a man to whom a woman is engaged to be married

6. What is a gondola?

1. a traditional, flat-bottomed Venetian rowing boat

2. a motor vehicle designed to transport cargo

3. a road vehicle designed to carry passengers

4. a wheeled motor vehicle used for transporting passengers

7. Choose the right variant:

1. Maggie stole the picture.

2. Maggie bought the picture.

3. Maggie painted the picture.

4. Maggie sold the picture.

8. How did Miss Conway look in black?

1. very well

2. she didn’t wear black

3. not well

4. friendly

9. Why did Miss Conway begin to cry?

1. She wanted to change her black clothes.

2. She cannot laugh.

3. She did not want to be a liar.

4. Her count died in a gondola accident.

10. Choose the right verb:

You’ve ___________ of Mike Sullivan, haven’t you?

1. had

2. been

3. heard

4. meant

11. Choose the right word:

“But you must tell me _____________!”

1. something

2. anything

3. nothing

4. everything

12. Insert the right prepositions:

about – on – from – of

1. My father is very proud, and he never let me take a ring or any presents _____________ him.

2. She stood on the top step and drew _____________ black silk gloves.

3. You’ve heard _____________ Mike Sullivan, haven’t you?

4. I invented that story about the Count, and _____________ his gondola accident, so I could wear black.

13. Complete the chart: