THE FIRST DISILLUSION
"BUT you can't mean, Anthony, that you positively refuse to do what I
ask?"
It was a little after midnight and Betty and Anthony were up-stairs in
their own apartment. Betty had on a blue dressing gown and her hair was
braided and hung over her shoulders. But her cheeks were flushed, her
gray eyes dark with temper and her voice trembled in spite of her effort
to keep it still.
Undeniably Anthony appeared both obstinate and worried. Moreover, he was
extremely sleepy and yet somehow Betty must be made to understand before
either of them could rest. Never before had he dreamed that she could be
so unreasonable.
"I don't think that is exactly a fair way of stating the thing, Betty,"
the young Governor answered gently enough. "You see, I have tried to
explain to you, dear, that I can't give positions to friends just as
though running the affairs of the state was my private business. I could
afford to take risks with that if I wished, but you know I promised when
I was elected Governor only to make appointments of the best men I could
find."
If possible, the Governor's wife looked even more unconvinced. She was
sitting in a big blue chair almost the color of her wrapper, and every
now and then rocked back and forth to express her emotion, or else
tapped the floor mutinously with the toe of her bedroom slipper.
"You talk as if there was something wrong with John Everett," she
answered argumentatively, "and as if I were asking you to give a
position to a man who was stupid or dishonest. I am perfectly sure John
is none of these things. He has been unfortunate in business lately, of
course, but that might happen to any one. Really, Anthony, would you
mind telling me exactly what you have in your mind against John Everett?
Of course, I remember you never liked him when you were boys, but I
thought you were too big a man----"
"See here, Betty," the Governor interrupted, "can't we let this subject
drop? I never knew you to be like this before." He had thrown himself
down on a couch, but now reached over and tried to take his wife's
reluctant hand. "I've been explaining to you for the past hour that I
have nothing in the world against John Everett personally, except that
he has no training for the kind of work I need men to do. He has been a
Wall Street broker. Well, that is all right, but what does he know about
prison reform, about building good roads for the state, or anything else
I'm after? Just because he is your friend--our friend, I mean--I can't
thrust him into a good job over the heads of better men. Please look at
this as I do, Betty. I hate desperately to refuse your request and I
know Meg will be hurt with me too and think I'm unfaithful to old times.
Heigh-ho, I wonder if anybody thinks being Governor is a cheerful job?
Good-night, Princess."
Plainly meaning to end their conversation, Anthony had gotten up from
his sofa. He now stood above Betty, waiting to have her make peace with
him. But Betty looked far from peaceful, more like a spoiled and angry
little girl thwarted in a wish which she had not imagined could be
refused.
Of course the Princess had always been more or less spoiled all her
life. Her friends in the Camp Fire Club and her family had always
acknowledged this. But she was usually reasonable with the sweetest
possible temper, so that no one really minded. Nevertheless Betty was
not accustomed to having her serious wishes denied, and by her husband
of all people!
Really she would have liked very much to cry with disappointment and
vexation, except that she was much too proud. Moreover, even now she
could not finally accept the idea that Anthony would not eventually do
as she asked.
But she drew back coldly from any idea of making friends until then.
"Good-night," she replied indifferently. "I don't think I shall try to
go to sleep." Her voice trembled now in spite of all her efforts.
"Really, Anthony, I don't know how I can tell Meg and John that you
have declined to do what I have asked you. I wonder what they will
think? Certainly that I haven't any influence with my own husband! Do
you know, Anthony, perhaps I am wrong, but I thought I had helped you a
little in your election. I've made a good many sacrifices; you have to
leave me alone a greater part of the time because you are too busy to
spend much of your time with me. Well, I have never thought of
complaining, but somehow it does seem to me that I have the right to
have you do just this one thing I ask of you. I'm afraid I don't find
being a Governor's wife so very cheerful either."
While she was talking Betty had also gotten up and was now standing near
the doorway. As her husband came toward her she moved slowly backward.
"I say, Betty dear, you are hard on a fellow," Anthony protested. "Of
course I owe my job to you and anything else that is good about me. But
you can't want me to do wrong even for your sake. Maybe you may see
things differently tomorrow."
However, instead of replying, the Governor's wife slipped outside the
room. In the nursery she lay down by Bettina. But she slept very little
for the rest of the night.
For in her opinion Anthony had not been fair; he had not even been kind.
A few hours before, when she had assured John and Meg of her sympathy
and aid, she could not have believed this possible. This was the first
time in their married life that her husband had refused her anything of
importance. Surely she had been wrong in suggesting or even thinking for
half a second that his old boyish dislike and jealousy of John Everett
could influence Anthony now! It was an absurd idea, and even a horrid
one; and yet is one ever altogether fair in anger?
Down-stairs, in spite of his fatigue, Anthony Graham walked up and down
their big room for a quarter of an hour. If he only could have
reconciled it with his conscience to do what Betty asked him, how much
easier and how much more cheerful for both of them! She was right in
saying that he owed something to her. He owed everything. It was not
just that she had helped him since his marriage--most wives do that for
their husbands--but she had helped him from that first hour of their
meeting in the woods so many years before.
Nevertheless he had given his word to keep his faith as Governor of the
state. He had promised to give no one a position because of pull and
influence. Naturally he had not expected his wife to have any part in
this, but only the politicians and seekers after graft. Yet even with
Betty misunderstanding he must try to keep his word.
Sighing, the young Governor turned out the lights. He did look too
boyish and delicate for the weight of his responsibilities tonight. For
there had been other troubles in his office which he had wished to
confide to his wife, had she only been willing to listen. However, he
finally fell asleep somewhat comforted. For he was convinced that Betty
was too sensible a woman not finally to see things in the light that he
did. When he had the opportunity and she was neither tired nor vexed
with him he would explain to her all over again.
An uncomfortable spirit, however, seemed to be brooding over the
Governor's mansion this evening, for in another part of the big house,
there was another argument also lasting far into the night.
Angel and Faith sat on either side an old-fashioned four-poster bed,
often talking at the same time in the way that only feminine creatures
can.
In her white cashmere kimono over her gown, with her pale hair unbound,
Faith Barton looked like a little white saint. But alas, and in spite of
her name, the little French girl bore no resemblance to one!
Angel's dark hair was extraordinarily heavy and curly but not very long,
and now in her uneasiness she had pushed and pulled at it until it was
extremely untidy. Moreover, her black eyes now and then flashed
resentfully at her friend and two bright spots of color burned in her
cheeks. When she was not talking her lips were pressed closely together.
"Faith, it isn't right of you; you know it isn't. You should not have
made me promise to keep your secret before telling me it. How could I
ever have guessed such a dreadful thing! I simply must, must tell Betty
if you are not going to confide in Mrs. Barton. Then Betty can do what
she thinks best and it will be off my conscience."
Certainly Angelique Martins was not speaking in an amiable tone, and yet
her companion seemed not in the slightest disturbed.
Indeed, Faith began quietly brushing her long, straight hair.
"Don't be a goose, Angel, and don't have so much conscience for other
people. Of course, I am sorry I told you. Kenneth said it would be wiser
not to speak to any one for the present, but I had to have some
confidant. Now you are trying to spoil my first real romance by wanting
me to get up and proclaim it on the housetops. What I like most about
being engaged to Kenneth is that no one knows of it and that we can see
each other without a lot of silly people staring and talking about us.
Of course, when we begin to think about being married I shall tell Rose
everything. Then I know she will understand. But we are not going to be
married for a long, long time, I expect. Kenneth says that nothing would
persuade him to marry me until he could give me everything in the world
I want. Oh, you need not look so superior, Angel; I understand you don't
approve of that sentiment, but I think it is beautiful for a man to feel
that way about a girl. You simply can't appreciate Kenneth." And Faith
looked sufficiently gentle and forgiving to have tried the patience of a
saint.
"Perhaps not," the other girl answered shortly. "Anyhow, Faith, you are
right in believing I don't approve of the things you have told me. The
idea of your being secretly engaged to a man whom you have only known
about two weeks! It is horrid! Naturally you don't either of you know
whether you are really in love; but then I don't think you ought to be
engaged until you are willing to tell people. Besides, what do you know
about Mr. Helm's real character, Faith? He is the kind of fellow who
makes love to almost every girl he meets."
Almost under her breath and with her cheeks flaming the little lame
French girl made this last speech. Nevertheless her companion heard
her. Still Faith did not appear angry as most girls would have been
under the circumstances, but perhaps her gentle, pitying expression was
harder to endure.
"Is that what troubles you, Angel? I am so sorry," Faith returned,
ceasing to brush her hair to smile compassionately at her friend. "You
see, Kenneth warned me that you did not like him very much. He was too
kind to explain exactly the reason, only he said that you seemed to have
misunderstood something about him. I suppose he was kind to you once,
Angel, because of course he would be specially kind to a girl like you.
But, there, you need not look so angry! You have a dreadful temper,
Angel. Even Betty Graham thinks so in spite of being so fond of you."
With pretended carelessness Faith Barton now glanced away, devoting all
her energy to plaiting her long hair. Really her speech had been more
unkind than she had intended it. But somehow she and Angel were always
having differences of opinion and it seemed to Faith that it was
usually Angel's fault, because she never quarreled with any one else.
Besides, ever since her first meeting with the little French girl at
Sunrise Cabin she had been the one who had tried to make and keep their
friendship. Angel never seemed to care deeply for any one except her
mother and now Mrs. Graham and her babies, and was always getting into
hot water with other people.
However, it certainly did not occur to Faith that her own amiability
came partly from a lack of interest in any one except herself and partly
because her own whims were so seldom interfered with.
Curious that Rose Barton, who had been such a sensible guardian and
friend to her group of Camp Fire girls, had been so indulgent to her
adopted daughter! But very few persons understood Faith Barton. She
seemed to be absolutely gentle and loving and to live always in a world
of beautiful dreams and desires. How could any one guess that she was
often both selfish and self-willed?
"There is no use talking any more on this subject, Faith, if you think I
wish to interfere because I am jealous of you," Angel declared, and
finding her cane slipped down from the bed. "Besides, you know perfectly
well you are doing wrong without my saying it. Anyhow, I believe that
something will happen to make you sorry enough before you are through."
With this parting shot Angel marched stiffly out of the room, too proud
to reveal how deeply her friend had wounded her.