NEWS FOR VIVIAN.
“Am I mad that I should cherish
That which bears but bitter fruit?
I will pluck it from my bosom,
Though my heart be at the root.”
--TENNYSON.
“Everybody is talking about your flirtation with the handsome Essex,
Viva. Why don’t you put the poor fellow out of his misery, or say ‘No’
at once and give the rest of us girls a chance at a rich husband?”
“Eve, for mercy’s sake, is it any business of yours?” cries Diana.
“My dear sister, yes; I am vitally interested.”
“Well, please do not pull all the hair out of my head! Ouch! how it
hurts! Viva, do not mind her, my dear. Flirt as much as you please.”
It is a month since the disappearance of Madame Orne, and the three
girls are together in Miss Kingsley’s room, where the mysteries of
dressing for dinner are at their height. At least Diana is making
preparations. Eve stands at the back of her chair, combing and plaiting
those “lint-white” locks and keeping up a running fire of small-talk.
They are not in any haste, for the gentlemen are in attendance on a
bachelor dinner-party and the girls are indulging themselves in loose
white wrappers. Viva, in a dainty robe of white mull and Valenciennes
lace, is in a low seat at the window.
“I’m sure I never flirt, Di,” she exclaims.
“Why, my dearest girl”--Diana pulls her hair out of Eve’s merciless
grasp and faces around to look squarely at her cousin--“I hope I
may never see more decided flirting than you have kept up with the
gentleman in question--if you intend to refuse his hand!”
“No girl in her senses would do that, I’m sure!” cries Eve. “Mr. Essex
is conceded to be the best catch in Richmond--the handsomest mansion on
Franklin street and the finest team in the city. The girl is blessed
who has a chance to accept all that splendor.”
Vivian only laughs at her rhapsody.
“All you think of, Eve, is a fine catch--in other words, plenty of
money. The man that represents it is entirely secondary, I suppose.”
“Certainly, my dear. The money is the main thing. But in this case
Earle Essex is really an addition to his wealth--handsome, cultivated,
well-born, as good a chance as you will ever have, my little country
cousin. I hope you will have sense enough to jump at it.”
“I certainly shall not, then,” cries Vivian vexed, but laughing in
spite of herself, and Diana, who prides herself on being too dignified
to flirt, rejoins:
“You have been too cordial with him, then, and given him reason to
anticipate the acceptance of his suit.”
“Yes, indeed,” affirms Eve, and Vivian’s dark eyes grow troubled at
their verdict. After a moment’s hesitancy, she says earnestly:
“Indeed, Di, I have meant no more than simple courtesy to my brother’s
friend and guest. To tell you the truth, girls, I should not like to
marry Mr. Essex, anyway, for I have noticed that he drinks much more
than is usual at all times, and I know positively that he has come in
twice from those bachelor parties so much under the influence of liquor
that the servants had to assist him in retiring. I should not like
to peril my happiness in the keeping of a man like that--should you,
Diana?”
“I should not hesitate a moment on that account,” Diana answers
carelessly. “It is a mere bachelor habit of which you can easily break
him after marriage, since you are so punctilious about it. For my part,
I should not object to my husband drinking in a moderate way. All
gentlemen drink.”
“Except Max Verne,” laughs Eve maliciously. “And that reminds me, Viva,
that I have some news about your Max. But perhaps he has told you
himself--you correspond, do you not?”
“No,” Vivian answers, turning her face away.
“Well, I had a letter from a girl in Richmond yesterday--full of news.
She says there is quite a sensation in society. Mr. Verne--is about
to marry. She has not heard the bride’s name, but it must be a sad
mesalliance, for his uncle is furious, and has disinherited him. But
here is the letter--read it if you like.”
Eve tosses it into Viva’s lap, and she and Diana look curiously at
the white face and the unsteady little hands. Slowly Viva scans the
perfumed sheet with its sketchy report of the light gossip afloat about
the Vernes--uncle and nephew. The mistake is quite natural, considering
the weak foundation on which rumor always rests. The writer has
supposed it is the younger Verne who is about to commit matrimony. Of
course the reader thinks the same.
“Well, what do you think about it?” queries irrepressible Eve.
“I am surprised, Eve, and sorry, too--not about the marriage, of
course--but that his uncle will disinherit him.”
“You don’t care about the marriage, then?”
“No, why should I care? We were only friends,” the proud head held
high. “But, really, I must go and dress.”
She is gone, and the sisters look significantly at each other.
“How could you be so cruel, Eve? You know she secretly cares for Verne.”
“But they have quarreled, and she ought to know as soon as possible
that she can never make it up with him any more. Perhaps she will take
Earle Essex now.”
“I thought you wanted him yourself.”
“I did, sister mine, but our lovely cousin was completely mistress of
the situation before I came. What use to fight against overwhelming
odds? So I have made a friend of the ‘eligible’ instead of a lover, and
actually promised to plead his cause with the obdurate fair one--first
bridesmaid, and pearl necklace by way of reward, you know. And I have
made a discovery, too.”
“What is it you have found out now? I should think you would remember
what Charlton said about your curiosity, and quit finding out things.”
“A fig for Charlton! What do I care for his silly jargon? Come closer,
Di, and listen.”
“Hasten, then,” impatiently.
“It is this Di. I am sure, quite sure, that Earle Essex knows something
about Madame Orne, and might furnish the clew to her remarkable
disappearance if he chose.”
“That is a grave charge, Eve.”
“I don’t care. It is a true one. Oh, I don’t charge him with murder or
abduction, Di. I have a better opinion of him than that. But a little
accident made me suspect him, and I’m certain he knows more about
Madame Orne than he chooses to tell. I shall do all I can to get a clew
to what he is hiding.”
“Well, do so if you can, Eve. I know you will not rest until the secret
is in your possession. But do be cautious, and don’t get us both into
trouble with your prying ways.”
“Oh, I shall be discreet. I am too anxious for _la belle cousine_ to
marry my lord to drop a hint of suspicion.”
“There is the dinner bell,” says Diana, and they meet Viva dancing
through the hall with a song upon her lips. Eye and smile have been
tutored to indifference, and she has put on woman’s mask of pride along
with her dainty dinner dress.
But under the careless smile Viva’s heart is beating in anguish, and
she does not pretend to eat her dinner.
“I have no appetite,” she says, and both comprehend the reason. But no
word of sympathy can be spoken--Viva is too proud for that. She can
suffer in silence:
“It was only a woman’s heart, so unsullied and tender and gay,
Wronged and fretted and broken by ruthless neglect and delay.”