Semanticate

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 				<p>Stella has since sworn the girls liked it. I suspect in this statement a certain parsimony as to the truth. They giggled too much and were never entirely free from that haunting anxiety concerning their skirts.</p>
 				<p>We danced together, Stella and I, to the strains of the last Sousa two-step (it was the “<span epub:type="se:name.music.song">Washington Post</span>”), and we conversed, meanwhile, with careful disregard of the amenities of life, since each feared lest the other might suspect in some common courtesy an attempt at⁠—there is really no other word⁠—spooning. And spooning was absurd.</p>
 				<p>Well, as I once read in the pages of a rare and little known author, one lives and learns.</p>
-				<p>I asked Stella to sit out a dance. I did this because I had heard <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Lethbury⁠—a handsome man with waxed mustachios and an absolutely piratical amount of whiskers⁠—make the same request of Miss Van Orden, my just relinquished partner, and it was evident that such whiskers could do no wrong.</p>
+				<p>I asked Stella to sit out a dance. I did this because I had heard <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Lethbury⁠—a handsome man with waxed mustachios and an absolutely piratical amount of whiskers⁠—make the same request of Miss Van Orden, my just relinquished partner, and it was evident that such whiskers could do no wrong.</p>
 				<p>Stella was not uninfluenced, it may be, by Miss Van Orden’s example, for even in girlhood the latter was a person of extraordinary beauty, whereas, as has been said, Stella’s corners were then multitudinous; and it is probable that those two queer little knobs at the base of Stella’s throat would be apt to render their owner uncomfortable and a bit abject before⁠—let us say⁠—more ample charms. In any event, Stella giggled and said she thought it would be just fine, and I presently conducted her to the third piazza of the hotel.</p>
 				<p>There we found a world that was new.</p>
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 				<p>“No, I’m a precious angel,” she composedly responded, with a flavour of quotation.</p>
 				<p>“Well! it is precisely the intervention of the Dragon, Gladys, which proves the story is literature,” I announced. “Don’t you pity the poor Dragon, Gladys, who never gets a chance in life and has to live always between two book-covers?”</p>
 				<p>She said that couldn’t be so, because it would squash him.</p>
-				<p>“And yet, dear, it is perfectly true,” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hardress. The lean and handsome woman was regarding the pair of us curiously. “I didn’t know you cared for children, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Townsend. Yes, she is my daughter.” She carried Gladys away, without much further speech.</p>
+				<p>“And yet, dear, it is perfectly true,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hardress. The lean and handsome woman was regarding the pair of us curiously. “I didn’t know you cared for children, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Townsend. Yes, she is my daughter.” She carried Gladys away, without much further speech.</p>
 				<p>Yet one Parthian comment in leaving me was flung over her shoulder, snappishly. “I wish you wouldn’t imitate John Charteris so. You are getting to be just a silly copy of him. You are just Jack where he is John. I think I shall call you Jack.”</p>
 				<p>“I wish you would,” I said, “if only because your sponsors happened to christen you Gillian. So it’s a bargain. And now when are we going for that pail of water?”</p>
-				<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hardress wheeled, the child in her arms, so that she was looking at me, rather queerly, over the little round, yellow head. “And it was only Jill, as I remember, who got the spanking,” she said. “Oh, well! it always is just Jill who gets the spanking⁠—Jack.”</p>
+				<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hardress wheeled, the child in her arms, so that she was looking at me, rather queerly, over the little round, yellow head. “And it was only Jill, as I remember, who got the spanking,” she said. “Oh, well! it always is just Jill who gets the spanking⁠—Jack.”</p>
 				<p>“But it was Jack who broke his crown,” said I; “Wasn’t it⁠—Jill?” It seemed a jest at the time. But before long we had made these nicknames a habit, when just we two were together. And the outcome of it all was not precisely a jest.⁠ ⁠…</p>
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 				<p>“Is it another woman? I won’t mind. I won’t be jealous. I won’t make scenes, for I know you hate scenes, and I have made so many. It was because I cared so much. I never cared before, Jack. You have tired of me, I know. I have seen it coming. Well, you shall have your way in everything. But don’t leave me, dear! oh, my dear, my dear, don’t leave me! Oh, I have given you everything, and I ask so little in return⁠—just to see you sometimes, just to touch your hand sometimes, as the merest stranger might do.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>So her voice went on and on while I did not look at her. There was no passion in this voice of any kind. It was just the long monotonous wail of some hurt animal.⁠ ⁠… They were playing the “<span epub:type="se:name.music.song">Valse Bleu</span>,” I remember. It lasted a great many centuries, and always that low voice was pleading with me. Yes, it was uncommonly unpleasant; but always at the back of my mind some being that was not I was taking notes as to precisely how I felt, because some day they might be useful, for the book I had already outlined. “It is no use, Jill,” I kept repeating, doggedly.</p>
 				<p>Then Armitage came smirking for his dance. Gillian Hardress rose, and her fan shut like a pistol-shot. She was all in black, and throughout that moment she was more beautiful than any other woman I have ever seen.</p>
-				<p>“Yes, this is our dance,” she said, brightly. “I thought you had forgotten me, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Armitage. Well! goodbye, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Townsend. Our little talk has been very interesting⁠—hasn’t it? Oh, this dress <em>always</em> gets in my way⁠—”</p>
+				<p>“Yes, this is our dance,” she said, brightly. “I thought you had forgotten me, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Armitage. Well! goodbye, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Townsend. Our little talk has been very interesting⁠—hasn’t it? Oh, this dress <em>always</em> gets in my way⁠—”</p>
 				<p>She was gone. I felt that I had managed affairs rather crudely, but it was the least unpleasant way out, and I simply had not dared to trust myself alone with her. So I made the best of an ill bargain, and remodeled the episode more artistically when I used it later, in <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Afield</i>.</p>
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 				<p>“In London for the season. And why is your wife rushing on to Paris, John?”</p>
 				<p>“Shopping, as usual. Yes, I believe I did suggest it was as well to have it over and done with. Anne is very partial to truisms. Besides, she has an aunt there, you know. Take my advice, and always marry a woman who is abundantly furnished with attractive and visitable relations, for this precaution is the true secret of every happy marriage. We may, then, regard the Hardress incident as closed?”</p>
 				<p>“Oh, Lord, yes!” said I, emphatically.</p>
-				<p>“Well, after all, you have been sponging off them for a full year. The adjective is not ill-chosen, from what I hear. I fancy <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hardress has found you better company after she had mixed a few drinks for you, and so⁠—But a truce to moral reflections! for I am desirous once more to hear the chimes at midnight. I hear Francine is in Milan?”</p>
+				<p>“Well, after all, you have been sponging off them for a full year. The adjective is not ill-chosen, from what I hear. I fancy <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hardress has found you better company after she had mixed a few drinks for you, and so⁠—But a truce to moral reflections! for I am desirous once more to hear the chimes at midnight. I hear Francine is in Milan?”</p>
 				<p>“There is at any rate in Milan,” said I, “a magnificent Gothic Cathedral of international reputation; and upon the upper gallery of its tower, as my guidebook informs me, there is a watchman with an efficient telescope. Should I fail to meet that watchman, John, I would feel that I had lived futilely. For I want both to view with him the Lombard plain, and to ask him his opinion of Cino da Pistoia, and as to what was in reality the middle name of Cain’s wife.”</p>
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 				<p>“Yes, only I was the slave, I think, and you⁠—er⁠—I mean, there goes the roof, and it is an uncommonly good thing for posterity you thought of the trapdoor. Good thing the wind is veering, too. By Jove! look at those flames!” I cried, as the main body of the Continental toppled inward like a house of cards; “they are splashing, actually splashing, like waves over a breakwater!”</p>
 				<p>I drew a deep breath and turned from the conflagration, only to encounter its reflection in her widened eyes. “Yes, I was a Trojan warrior,” I resumed; “one of the many unknown men who sought and found death beside Scamander, trodden down by Achilles or Diomedes. So they died knowing they fought in a bad cause, but rapt with that joy they had in remembering the desire of the world and her perfect loveliness. She scarcely knew that I existed; but I had loved her; I had overheard some laughing words of hers in passing, and I treasured them as men treasure gold. Or she had spoken, perhaps⁠—oh, day of days!⁠—to me, in a low, courteous voice that came straight from the back of the throat and blundered very deliciously over the perplexities of our alien speech. I remembered⁠—even as a boy, I remembered.”</p>
 				<p>She cast back her head and laughed merrily. “I reckon,” said she, “you are still a boy, or else you are the most amusing lunatic I ever met.”</p>
-				<p>“No,” I murmured, and I was not altogether playacting now, “that tale about Polyxo was a pure invention. Helen⁠—and the gods be praised for it!⁠—can never die. For it is hers to perpetuate that sense of unattainable beauty which never dies, which sways us just as potently as it did Homer, and <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Faustus, and the Merovingians too, I suppose, with memories of that unknown woman who, when we were boys, was very certainly some day, to be our mate. And so, whatever happens, she</p>
+				<p>“No,” I murmured, and I was not altogether playacting now, “that tale about Polyxo was a pure invention. Helen⁠—and the gods be praised for it!⁠—can never die. For it is hers to perpetuate that sense of unattainable beauty which never dies, which sways us just as potently as it did Homer, and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Faustus, and the Merovingians too, I suppose, with memories of that unknown woman who, when we were boys, was very certainly some day, to be our mate. And so, whatever happens, she</p>
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 					<p>
 						<span class="i1">Abides the symbol of all loveliness,</span>

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 				<p>“And why should you be living,” I said, in half-conscious absurdity, “when she is dead? Why, look, Bettie! even that fly yonder is alive. Setebos accords an insect what He grudges Stella! Her dying is not even particularly important. The big news of the day is that the President has started his Pacific tour, and that the Harvard graduates object to his being given an honorary degree, and are sending out seven thousand protests to be signed. And you’re alive, and I’m alive, and Peter Blagden is alive, and only Stella is dead. I suppose she is an angel by this. But I don’t care for angels. I want just the silly little Stella that I loved⁠—the Stella that was the first and will always be the first with me. For I want her⁠—just Stella⁠—! Oh, it is an excellent jest; and I will cap it with another now. For the true joke is, I came to Fairhaven, across half the world, with an insane notion of asking you to marry me⁠—you who are ‘really’ sorry that Stella is dead!” And I laughed as pleasantly as one may do in anger.</p>
 				<p>But the girl, too, was angry. “Marry you!” she said. “Why, Robin, you were wonderful once; and now you are simply not a bad sort of fellow, who imagines himself to be the hit of the entire piece. And whether she’s dead or not, she never had two grains of sense, but just enough to make a spectacle of you, even now.”</p>
 				<p>“I regret that I should have sailed so far into the north of your opinion,” said I. “Though, as I dare assert, you are quite probably in the right. So I’ll be off to my husks again, Bettie.” And I kissed her hand. “And that too is only for old sake’s sake, dear,” I said.</p>
-				<p>Then I returned to the railway station in time for the afternoon train. And I spoke with no one else in Fairhaven, except to grunt “Good evening, gentlemen,” as I passed Clarriker’s Emporium, where Colonel Snawley and <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Jeal were sitting in arm chairs, very much as I had left them there two years ago.</p>
+				<p>Then I returned to the railway station in time for the afternoon train. And I spoke with no one else in Fairhaven, except to grunt “Good evening, gentlemen,” as I passed Clarriker’s Emporium, where Colonel Snawley and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Jeal were sitting in arm chairs, very much as I had left them there two years ago.</p>
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 				<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>