Trennahan in that first month thought little of Magdaléna. He hardly
knew whether he were happy or not; he certainly was intoxicated. Helena
was both impassioned and shy, a companion to whom words were hardly a
necessary medium for thought, and magnificently uncertain of mood.
Moreover, whether riding a donkey up the steep dusty grades of the
Yosemite, or half veiled in a mist of steam, reeking of Hell, or
standing with wondering eyes and parted lips among the colossal trees of
Calaveras, she was always beautiful. And Trennahan worshipped her beauty
with the strength of a passion which had sprung from a long and
recuperative sleep. That he was twice her age mattered nothing to him
now. Nothing mattered but that she was to be wholly his.
The morning after his return to Menlo he awoke with a confused sense
that he should be late for his morning ride with Magdaléna. He laughed
as his senses rattled into place, but he sighed just after; and both the
laugh and the sigh were Magdaléna's, grim as the former may have been.
That had been a time of peace and perfect content, and he could never
forget it, not though he lived long years of unimaginable bliss with
Helena--which he probably would not. A part of his life, limited and
stunted a part as it was, belonged irrevocably to Magdaléna. He
concluded, after some hard thinking, that it was his best part. He had
given her something of his soul, and he had no wish to take it back. He
had given her the reviving aspirations of an originally noble nature;
the sun of her had shone upon the barren soil, and the harvest was hers.
He was an unimaginative man, but he was inclined to believe that if
there was a future existence, Magdaléna would belong to him then and for
ever, that something even less definable than the soul of each belonged
to the other. For there was nothing to be ashamed of in his love for
Helena. She appealed as powerfully to his mind and heart as to his
passion. But there was something beyond all, and he had no name for
it,--unless it were that principle of absolute good as distinguished
from its grades and variations; and it belonged to the girl whom he
certainly no longer wanted in this life.
He wished that he had suggested to Helena to spend the summer in San
Rafael or Monterey. Menlo Park belonged to Magdaléna; he found himself
hating the thought of having a series of very perfect memories
disturbed, even by the most passionately loved of women. And so
Magdaléna had her first revenge.
He went reluctantly enough to Fair Oaks in the afternoon. The very
leaves whispered as they drove through the woods. He had protested, but
Helena must see 'Léna at once; she could never be entirely happy until
she had looked into 'Léna's eyes and convinced herself that they were
quite unchanged. And Trennahan must go, too, and have it over.
Trennahan, who only crossed her whims for the pleasure of making up with
her later, admitted that she was right, and went.
Mrs. Yorba was on the verandah receiving Mrs. Geary and Mrs. Brannan.
Magdaléna was upstairs in her room. The monotony of those afternoon
receptions had taken its place among the distasteful things of life, and
she was determined not to go down until she was sent for. Each time she
heard wheels she went to the window and looked out. The third time she
saw Trennahan and Helena. The very bones of her skeleton seemed to fall
upon each other; she sank to the ground with less vigour than a
shattered soldier. But in a moment she gave a hard gasp and pressed her
hands to her face. Then she heard Helena's voice,--that sweet husky
voice which was not the least potent of her charms.
"'Léna! 'Léna! Well, I'll go look for her."
Magdaléna scrambled to her feet and fled down the hall to her mother's
dressing-room. There, in a cupboard, was always a decanter of sherry;
for Mrs. Yorba, after her neuralgic attacks, was often faint. Magdaléna
filled a glass, drank it, and blessed the swift fire which shook her
will free and made a disciplined regiment of her nerves. She was so
delighted at her sudden mastery over herself that she ran out into the
hall, caught Helena in her arms, and kissed her demonstratively. Helena
burst into tears. "You are the best girl on earth," she sobbed. "And I
feel so wicked; but I am so happy."
Magdaléna dried her tears, a part she had filled many times. "You are
the dearest and most honest girl in the world," she said.
"Oh, I try to be honest, but I get so mixed up. I wish I could have a
new set of commandments handed down all for myself, and that I could
have made the rough draft of them. Then I'd be quite happy. But come
down and see Jack,--I couldn't stand John. He's awfully brown and looks
splendid."
Trennahan gave Magdaléna's hand a friendly shake and asked her what the
plans for the summer were.
"Papa has a frightfully economical fit and says we are not to entertain
any more. He doesn't even allow us enough water to wash the windows; and
if this supply of gasoline gives out before the end of the summer, we've
got to burn oil."
"Magdaléna!" gasped Mrs. Yorba. She wondered if her contribution to the
Yorbas had suddenly gone mad. But the sherry was in Magdaléna's head.
She was quite conscious of it, but recklessly decided to let it have its
way so long as it helped her to convey to Trennahan the information that
he was no more to her than the browning tuberoses on the lawn.
"It's only what everybody knows," she replied. "I am sure everybody in
Menlo has discussed him threadbare. Mr. Trennahan, you happened upon him
in the oasis of his life; you never could stand it to dine here now. We
can scarcely see to eat, and he never opens his mouth except to swear at
the servants."
Mrs. Yorba was speeding her guests. When she returned, she gave her
daughter an annihilating glance and went into the house. Trennahan
stared at Magdaléna. He saw her object, but could not guess the
motive-power behind. A sudden, sickening fear assailed him: Was
Magdaléna deteriorating? And he the cause? But Magdaléna was rattling
on. The sherry seemed to have a marvellous power over one's wits and
tongue. Why had she not known of it in the days when she had longed to
shine? But her mother did not approve of girls drinking wine, and she
had rarely tasted it, although until recently it had always been on the
table.
"You both look so well," she said. "You don't look so tired as most
engaged people do. I suppose you don't sit up every night until twelve
talking about yourselves, as they generally do, I am told. That must be
so fatiguing. Mr. Trennahan, you are actually stouter. You don't look as
if you had been climbing perpendicular mountains. Is it true that a man
stepped over the Bridal Veil backward? Do tell me all about it!"
Helena was staring at Magdaléna with her mouth half open. She was the
least obtuse of mortals, but although she knew that pride was at the
root of Magdaléna's extraordinary behaviour, she concluded that love had
fled, and marvelled, for she had believed Magdaléna to be the deepest
and most tenacious of women. But she was very glad.
"Well!" she exclaimed. "Something has improved you! You will be fairly
brilliant by next winter. And do for goodness' sake, 'Léna, give Don
Roberto to understand that he's not to have his own way. He's like all
bullies: he'd soon give in if you bullied him. I adore papa, and would
do anything on earth for him; but if he had been born a different sort,
and gave me trouble, I'd find more than one way of bringing him to
terms. Just flash your eyes at Don Roberto as you're flashing them at
us, and you'll see the difference it will make."
Has she ceased to love me? thought Trennahan. Thank God!--at least I
ought to.
When they had gone, the sherry had run its course, and Magdaléna felt
very much ashamed of herself. I overdid it, she thought in terror, as
she recalled her scintillating remarks and elaborate manner. He must
have suspected! I'll drink no more, and next time I'll be just what I
would have been if I had never laid eyes on him--if I die in the
attempt. And how I talked! What things I said! Great Heaven, I made a
complete fool of myself!
And the knowledge that for once in her life she had thrown her dignity
and pride to the winds put her other pain to flight, and she had at
least one night unracked by the record within her.