A Quicksilver Cassandra

It was altogether queer, and Jingleberry to this day does not entirely
understand it. He had examined his heart as carefully as he knew how,
and had arrived at the entirely reasonable conclusion that he was in
love. He had every symptom of that malady. When Miss Marian Chapman was
within range of his vision there was room for no one else there. He
suffered from that peculiar optical condition which enabled him to see
but one thing at a time when she was present, and she was that one
thing, which was probably the reason why in his mind's eye she was the
only woman in the world, for Marian was ever present before
Jingleberry's mental optic. He had also examined as thoroughly as he
could in hypothesis the heart of this "only woman," and he had--or
thought he had, which amounts to the same thing--reason to believe that
she reciprocated his affection. She certainly seemed glad always when
he was about; she called him by his first name, and sometimes
quarrelled with him as she quarrelled with no one else, and if that
wasn't a sign of love in woman, then Jingleberry had studied the sex
all his years--and they were thirty-two--for nothing. In short, Marian
behaved so like a sister to him that Jingleberry, knowing how dreams
and women go by contraries, was absolutely sure that a sister was just
the reverse from that relationship which in her heart of hearts she was
willing to assume towards him, and he was happy in consequence.
Believing this, it was not at all strange that he should make up his
mind to propose marriage to her, though, like many other men, he was
somewhat chicken-hearted in coming to the point. Four times had he
called upon Marian for the sole purpose of asking her to become his
wife, and four times had he led up to the point and then talked about
something else. What quality it is in man that makes a coward of him in
the presence of one he considers his dearest friend is not within the
province of this narrative to determine, but Jingleberry had it in its
most virulent form. He had often got so far along in his proposal as
"Marian--er--will you--will you--," and there he had as often stopped,
contenting himself with such commonplace conclusions as "go to the
matinee with me to-morrow?" or "ask your father for me if he thinks the
stock market is likely to strengthen soon?" and other amazing
substitutes for the words he so ardently desired, yet feared, to utter.
But this afternoon--the one upon which the extraordinary events about
to be narrated took place--Jingleberry had called resolved not to be
balked in his determination to learn his fate. He had come to propose,
and propose he would, _ruat coelum_. His confidence in a successful
termination to his suit had been