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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
9
Such
was
Edwin
Einstein
to
whom
Gwendoline's
heart,
if
not
her
hand,
was
already
affianced.
Their
love
had
been
so
simple
and
yet
so
strange.
It
seemed
to
Gwendoline
that
it
was
but
a
thing
of
yesterday,
and
yet
in
reality
they
had
met
three
weeks
ago.
Love
had
drawn
them
irresistibly
together.
To
Edwin
the
fair
English
girl
with
her
old
name
and
wide
estates
possessed
a
charm
that
he
scarcely
dared
confess
to
himself.
He
determined
to
woo
her.
To
Gwendoline
there
was
that
in
Edwin's
bearing,
the
rich
jewels
that
he
wore,
the
vast
fortune
that
rumour
ascribed
to
him,
that
appealed
to
something
romantic
and
chivalrous
in
her
nature.
She
loved
to
hear
him
speak
of
stocks
and
bonds,
corners
and
margins,
and
his
father's
colossal
business.
It
all
seemed
so
noble
and
so
far
above
the
sordid
lives
of
the
people
about
her.
Edwin,
too,
loved
to
hear
the
girl
talk
of
her
father's
estates,
of
the
diamond-hilted
sword
that
the
saladin
had
given,
or
had
lent,
to
her
ancestor
hundreds
of
years
ago.
Her
description
of
her
father,
the
old
earl,
touched
something
romantic
in
Edwin's
generous
heart.
He
was
never
tired
of
asking
how
old
he
was,
was
he
robust,
did
a
shock,
a
sudden
shock,
affect
him
much?
and
so
on.
Then
had
come
the
evening
that
Gwendoline
loved
to
live
over
and
over
again
in
her
mind
when
Edwin
had
asked
her
in
his
straightforward,
manly
way,
whether--subject
to
certain
written
stipulations
to
be
considered
later--she
would
be
his
wife:
and
she,
putting
her
hand
confidingly
in
his
hand,
answered
simply,
that--subject
to
the
consent
of
her
father
and
pending
always
the
necessary
legal
formalities
and
inquiries--she
would.
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