The Magnificent Spinster by May Sarton Read Free Book Online

Maude, a great gossip who asked, “Who is that pretty girl you have with you, Maurice?”
    He explained that she was Jane Reid, “I am her surrogate uncle, this afternoon.”
    â€œOh?” Aunt Maude lifted an eyebrow.
    â€œShe’s just fourteen, Aunt Maude—now, come.”
    It is the instinct of society to spoil everything, he thought as he turned away. He would not brook teasing about Jane. He wanted to guard her and himself, to guard something precious that he did not even want to define. And when he slipped into his seat beside her, he felt at home. They did not have to talk, to make small talk. How much he enjoyed being with a girl who didn’t have to flirt or ask some response from him to herself, a girl who could lose herself completely in an experience beyond them both.
    But in the last act, the agonizing waiting for Armand and his arrival like a touch of warm wind at last, as he handed Jane a large white handkerchief, her mother’s small one having been soaked, and saw the tears flowing down her cheeks, he wondered if all this was a little much for her.
    â€œOh Maurice,” she whispered when the lights went on and the applause, rising in wave after wave, shattered the illusion and shocked Jane back into the theater, and made her cover her face with both hands.
    â€œWe’ll stay a while,” he whispered, “till they’ve left.”
    â€œI can’t bear it to be over.”
    But it really wasn’t over because they had the long drive back to Cambridge and could talk about it all, and remember each gesture and intonation. Jane, who had been, as she said herself, “a wreck” a half-hour before, was sparkling with all she wanted to share and discuss, and astonished Maurice with what she had taken in even while being so deeply moved. They agreed that the actor who played Armand was rather a bore and simply did not have the passion in him required by his part. “I think it’s not easy to do,” Jane said thoughtfully. “But I would have done some things differently myself.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œI didn’t feel he really looked at her at the end … looked into her face, saw that she was dying.…”
    â€œCould you do that?”
    Then she laughed, “Of course not.… I just like to imagine.”
    They sat then in a companionable silence for some time, until they were on Brattle Street and nearly home.
    â€œI can’t bear for it to be over,” Jane said again.
    â€œWell, Hampden is coming in Cyrano de Bergerac after Christmas. How would you like to see that?”
    â€œOh Maurice!”
    It was dark when they drove up to the door. There on the doorsill, Jane flung her arms around Maurice and kissed his cheek, “Thank you,” she said, just as Mamma opened the door.
    â€œCome in, come in, Maurice … and tell us all about it.”
    But he made an excuse of work to do, paid the cabbie, and walked over to the Square. Somehow he wanted to keep the Jane he had taken to the theater to himself, not be present as she was swallowed up by the family.
    Much later, when the tale had been told in every detail at supper, and when Snooker came to say goodnight to the girls, she asked, “What was he like, dearie?”
    â€œPerfect, just perfect,” Jane said. “He understands everything. He didn’t make me go out in the intermission. He gave me a big handkerchief when I needed it terribly, and we sat in the theater till everyone had gone.”
    â€œMmm,” Snooker said solemnly, “it’s a wholly characteristic definition of perfection, a young man who does everything you want.”
    â€œOh,” Jane said, blushing with the shame of it. “But Snooker, I think he understands me. We’re friends. Can’t you see?”
    â€œI’m teasing, dearie. You’re much too high up in the air to be teased right now.”
    â€œI’m happier than