It was spring in London and love was pretty in the air! A young mouse skipped merrily down the newly flowered streets of Grosvensor Square. He seemed about twenty, if not slightly younger; passersby glanced at this creature as if some foolish-minded adolescence, but he took no notice, nor would he care to for he was lovelorn, delightfully lovelorn, as he danced and hummed about his steps. Wonderfully handsome he was, no denying the fact, with a finely graced nose, frank blue eyes, and crisp gold hair. All the candour of youth was there, as well as youth's passionate and innocent purity, as if he kept himself unspotted from the world.

He had the most splendid news to tell; it seemed as if he would burst if he did not break it to someone, though it was curious of why he chose this particular mouse. He would suspect that telling his best of friends of the news would be more appropriate, and yet the one soul he wanted to tell the most was nothing more than an acquaintance to him. Of course, he was a unique mouse...

Friends had warned against him, in fact, all of London warned against him. They say he was immoral, having a deadly evil influence to all those whom associated with him. The more and more he heard the wicked gossip about him, the more and more fascinating he became! The lad never met anyone evil before, he had a pure faith that all creatures are basically good underneath. Yet with all the numerous warnings, he did force himself to encounter the so-called "Cad of London."

Yes, he was immoral, but oh fascinating, like nothing he ever met! He was delightfully immoral, not only in public life, but in personal as well. He was a curiosity, a character of interest and he wanted to obverse his mysterious demeanour. It seemed like he had no emotions whatsoever, very stoned faced, as if his conscious was cold. He was a brilliant study! His study may not have much emotion, but was a spectator of a cesspool of emotional sensations by others surrounding him. Though others warned the lad of his dangerous experiment, observing and assorting with The Cad, as he was called; some say that it was not he who was studying him, but him studying he. How silly he thought they were, gossiping as they were, no one could be truly as evil as they say.

He finally arrived at the richly constructed house, with high pillars and ivy pressed upon the stone wall, and rang the bell to the door of the Lower Wing. He was lead inside by the butler into a lavishly decorated interior and to dining area where a mouse of about late fifties or so he came to call sat upon a large polished mahogany table, breakfasting on eggs and meat. His face was deadpan, curiously unemotional, with his thin black hair, small eyes which squinted a monocle, and sharp face. His name was Lord Edwin Wotton.

"So what was so urgent, Parker, that could wait until this after my breakfast," came Wotton, chewing boredly.

"Lord Edwin, I'm about to be married! Isn't wonderful?"

Wotton said nothing, but chewed on his meat, before he answered indifferently, "Damn woman can't cook properly, I better fire her before I'm poisoned by the mere look of her bad eggs." He wiped his mouth and stood up from his chair, walking away from the table with revulsion. "Come with me to the smoking room, I need a cigarette to get this appalling taste out of my mouth."

"Yes, yes," sneered Wotton. He waved his carelessly hand for his guest to continue and tucked it under his chin boredly. "I am listening. Talk."

The elder Wotton seated himself on a velvet lounger, as the young Parker seated opposite upon a armchair. Wotton removed a long, thin cigarette holder from a morocco case on the side of a marble-topped table. Lighting the end, and sucking the other, he laid back comfortably and blew a blanket of lavender smoke, then he droned, "Now what's all this nonsense about marriage?"

"I'm about to be married!" sang the lad, lending happily forward from his seat.

Wotton scoffed at the sentence. "Marry? Married or engaged? Don't confuse the two."

"Well, engaged then," shrugged he. "We haven't sent a date or anything."

"That usually is set before any meeting occurs, you know," the elder puffed. "Who is she?"

"An actress. A most beautiful and most fair of Shakespearean actresses!"

"That is a rather commonplace début. With your youth and good looks, really now, I would have expected better from you."

Parker rolled his eyes at his acquaintance's cynicism. "Would you just listening for a minute?"

"Yes, yes," drawled Wotton, with a sneer. He waved his carelessly hand for his guest to continue and tucked it under his chin boredly. "I am listening. Talk."

"A week ago, I found myself rather wondering around blind in a fog in a most terrible alley, you know, one of the vile slum areas of murders and drunkards prowl about. As frightening as the place was it was thrilling to be there, adventurous rather. I entered a small theatre-pub in hopes for some instruction of wear I was, and I saw Angela come on stage -- isn't that the most beautiful name, Angela? Anyway she was marvelous! She's beautiful! I've seen her every performance since that evening, one night she's Rosalind, the other she's Juliet. We've sat, we've walked, we've talked, we've kissed -- my God, what kisses! -- like life has been exploded into one perfect point of rose-coloured joy! Of course, our engagement is a dead secret. Neither of us has told our guardians, I'm sure mine will be furious, but I don't care. I have the arms of Rosalind around me, and have kissed the lips of Juliet."

Wotton scratched the side of his goatee chin, "At what particular point did you mention marriage to this girl during that week of bless?"

"Well, it was no business transaction, I made no formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she told me that she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy!"

Wotton smacked his lips for a moment, as the smoke wavered above him. "Women are so very practical, more practically than we are. In those situations, we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remain us about it. I asked you to say that you are engaged to be married, there's a great difference between married and engaged. I have a distinct remembrance of being married -- all four times, in fact -- but I have no recollection at all of being engaged in any of them. I have a theory that is always the women who propose to us, and not we to them. Except, of course, in the middle-classes, they never know what to do in anything, like cook for one thing. Damn woman!"

Young Parker chuckled amusingly, "So what do you think? I admit it does seem like a rush, but I know it will work. I have this feeling it will!"

"Will what?" he came solemnly.

"What do you mean 'will what'? I to be engaged to be married -- that's what!"

"Marry?" snorted Wotton, raising his thick eyebrows. "I think it is a silly thing, absolutely absurd! What a silly thing for you to do, it will be the waste of your youth like that! Quite stupid."

"What are you saying? Won't you wish me hope or happiness?"

"No, hope never exist in marriages," sniffed Wotton. "And nothing surprises me more than happy marriages. Marriage is a nuisance, particularly those to actresses."

"Why?" laughed young Parker. "To love an actress is divine, I never felt this way before. It's soaring! It's like a fantasy world! They are so intriguing!"

"Certainly they are intriguing," shrugged Wotton, "that is because they have secrets to hide. But once the secret is gone -- all the fantasy dissolved, the passion goes with it. They are nothing but paint and plaster; the falsity is charming for awhile, but later grows quite tedious."

"Well, how do you know this?" puffed the lad, trying to smile.

"Because I have already loved so many of them. Say you make this girl to your wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then become fascinated be another. So what's the point of your marriage, to scar your joy of youth? Silly, like I said."

"How can you say that? I love her, and she loves me. Our love has no limits!"

"If it has no limits then why is it still a secret?"

Parker was silence, and Wotton continued.

"You could have announced it to everyone that you, a rich classic mouse of society is to be marrying a penniless wretch of the slums."

"Don't say that about her!" he shouted, and paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts, "She's devoted to me, she said so herself!"

"Ah, then that turns to something different," answered The Cad. "I shall believe you there. I believe she is very devoted to you. In fact, I believe she is so devoted to you that you do not need to marry her."

"What are you considering?"

"A theory of mine."

"You and your studies!" Parker folded his arms, and pouted in his armchair.

"I am studying women at present and I am surprised to discover that the subject was less problematical than I first imagined. It is merely observing their erratic emotions and irrelevant actions. They are not as complex of creatures as we men perceive them to be, they are merely immaterial creations by nature. They have simple brains, and therefore can be analysed simply."

"Then pray what is your theory?"

"A test of devotion."

"Sounds so calculating."

"Merely a necessary to find the best reason possible to the situation in hand."

"I'm sure she'll prove you wrong!"

"You have not even heard me out yet, first," entered Wotton, calmly. "Ask her to your home, for example, or entertain her with dinner or something at your home. Then when she says it's late, ask her not to leave. She'll be surprised, of course, but insist upon it. If she stays, that just proves she'll love you, married or no, and has the great potential to be a loving mistress, remaining loyal to her end, or if she doesn't please you, or till when you bore of her and send her about her way. If she does not stay, it proves her love has limits, therefore you might as well marry her, if you don't have her now, you rightfully can't later."

"You are talking nonsense, what ugly things you say! You always have this vile way of twisting emotions and ideas to your bidding. I don't know how you do it, I'm beginning to dislike it now. I don't understand why I even told you about this."

"Well, consider it: If she does not give you any pleasure in company, why should she give you any later on? Better to check before it's too late."

"You are horrid! Horrid!"

"But nonetheless correct."

"I have nothing to say to you anymore," angered Parker, bolting up from his seat. "I have to meet Angela to-night and I shan't let you ruin my moods. Why can't you be more supportive?"

"I, a supporter of marriage?" snorted Wotton, callously. "I rather have a hot nail hammered painfully through my big toe than support some tedious, over-praised ceremonial event. It's an event that never satisfies the man, only the fickle and dreary notions of a desperate woman."

"Good-day, Lord Edwin," frowned Parker, as he headed of the room. "I don't care what anyone says, and as delightful as your cynical theories are, I have no time for them to-day. I'm going to marry her and that's final!"

Wotton sucked his cigarette hold, puffing languidly. "Do not be so certain that is final, young Parker."

Parker stormed out of the house and paced grumpily upon the streets, his hands buried in his pockets, his back hunched as his head sulked down upon his feet.

How can Wotton be so indifferent to such wonderful news? How could he be so heartless to womankind? He had a low opinion about them, he admitted it himself, but certainly if a mouse could be so disrespectful to the sex, how did he marry four times? Of course, it is rumoured that he is on the verge of another divorce, perhaps that is why he's so bitter this morning? Lord Edwin Wotton was an enigmatic fellow, unemotionally stale, you never quite know what's on his perverse mind until he tells you.

As he walked back home, young Parker first took little notice to Wotton's pessimistic comments. He pranced with a merrily footing down to Regent Street, daydreaming of his new future. What a wonderful life he'll have with Angela! To adore someone was a thrilling pleasure! He'll give her everything! The whole world is nothing to him compared to her!

And yet as he came nearer and near to his address at Bedford Square, Lord Edwin's views pecked and taunted in his mind, he began to question. He told her that his limitless love for her, and she did agree that she felt the same for him, and yet if their love had no limits, why was the engagement a dead secret? Angela was the one whom wished it to remain a secret, and it was her wish that he himself kept it secret from his own guardians. Why was it a secret? He admitted to himself that if the engagement has not a secret, he would have cheered it to the world, like Wotton said. Does her love for him have limits? Could such roaring passion in which he felt have limits? He was always told that love was undying, that love was unbountiful and had no limits! Perhaps her love is not unbountiful and unlimited to him? Could she turn unfaithful because of this?

In half an hour, he finally arrived home, confused and uneasy. He flung himself on his soft bed and stared at the ceiling of his chamber. He tried to sleep to ease himself, but he couldn't possibly. He tossed and turned upon the soft sheets, breathless and fearfully shaking. More questions sweltered in his head and filling his brain with unnerving panic. Perhaps she is not as perfect as he placed her to be? He fell in love with her secretiveness, how happy would the marriage be if it were gone? Did she really love with no limits or was she just after something? Perhaps it was some plotting scheme for wealth and not love?

But she was so fascinating! Actresses were so intriguing. Was it was wrong to take love out of lyrical verses and to find the perfect wife of Shakespearean plays? It was a fantasy world she lived in. But what happened when she had no more secrets to hide? It was the secrets about her that first attracted him to her, her mystery. Would she still be as charming and intriguing if the secrets were revealed? Secrets in an actress were necessary, aren't they? She would never reveal them, wouldn't she? Would he still passionately love her equally if they were revealed? Or would it vanish, like Wotton said it would? Was she really after money, not love and undying passion as she said? How could he love so blindly? Not to think ahead of any of all of this?

His mind twirled and pounded restlessly over all these questions! Such questions!

To-night he'll test it. He'll test her loyalty to him, test her limits! He'll prove Wotton wrong. She'll be loyal, like she promised him. She loved him with no limits, like she promised him she did. Angela will prove she was perfect!

CONTINUE ON TO PART TWO