No life is the same to-day as it was yesterday; and the passage of a
year necessarily makes many changes, though they may not be noticed by
the careless observer. Thus to all her friends Adriana Filmer's life
appeared to be precisely what it had been when Harry first brought her
to their pretty home near Central Park. But there were many vital
differences, though they were not readily detected. Adriana herself
had become still more grave and tender. She had been down into the
Valley of the Shadow of Death for her first-born son; and such a
passage cannot be made without leaving traces of its danger and
suffering. Physically, it had perfected her beauty; her face had some
new charm, her attitudes and manner were informed with a superb
dignity; and spiritually and mentally, it had added to the serious
strength of her fine character.
Harry was also changed. He yet loved with a sincere devotion his
beautiful wife and child, and he loved none other with the same noble
affection. But Adriana knew that there were lesser loves--flirtations
with reputable ladies who liked to drive with him--who enjoyed his
society on a pleasure yacht or a race course--who thought it quite
respectable to send him little messages, to accept from him small
services or such transitory gifts as flowers or sweetmeats. And Harry
liked this kind of popularity. Without consciously wronging Adriana,
he loved to sun himself in some beauty's smile, to be seen with some
young married siren, or to escort a party of gay girls to a
merry-making.
Usually he told Adriana of these affairs, and she was too wise to show
the pain the confidence gave her. Her state of health, as well as her
principles, kept her from many social functions, and if Harry did not
feel compelled to respect her condition and scruples, she knew that it
would be impossible to fret or scold or even reason him into sympathy.
She had been aware of the diversity of their tastes when she married
him; how, then, could she justly complain of circumstances which she
foresaw and accepted by the very act of marriage? Only once had she
spoken, and it was to her wise father. She could have gone to no more
loving and prudent guide; and Peter's answer was but the echo of her
own feelings.
"In marriage, Yanna," he said, "there is a tie besides love--it is
patience. There is a veil for faults better than blind admiration--it
is forgiveness. There is a time for everything, so if you have
patience and forgiveness, your hour will come."
Thus the first eighteen months of her married life had passed not
unhappily away; and she lived, and loved, and hoped for the time when
Harry would put from him entirely the gay, dancing, playing, flirting,
immature existence, which was so unbecoming to his domestic and civil
honor as a husband and a father. Indeed, he was himself beginning to
be aware of the incongruity; for he said to Adriana one evening at the
close of October:
"I saw Cousin Alida to-day. She is in town for the winter."
"What did she say, Harry? When is she coming here?"
"She will call to-morrow. She hoped I would not compel her to go into
the gay places of the world this year. I do believe the old lady went
out so much last season just to watch me, just to make me wait upon
her, and so keep me out of temptation. Fancy Miss Alida as my
chaperon! It was very good of her--but fruitless."
Adriana smilingly asked: "What did you say about the gay places,
Harry?"
"I told her I was going to have my fling this year, and after this
year you and I would settle down to a sensible career. I told her,
indeed, that I intended to go into politics."
"You have a great ability for politics, Harry. Professor Snowdon says
you are a natural orator. How I should like to hear you make a great
political speech!"
"Well, pet, some day perhaps you may have your desire. I think of
taking lessons in elocution this winter."
"Do not, Harry. Your own speech and gestures are better than acquired
ones. I am sure you will make a great debater."
Harry was much pleased. He cleared his throat, and straightened
himself, and quite unconsciously struck an attitude. Then he kissed
his wife tenderly, and said: "If I am a little late to-night, do not
mind, dear. I have to preside at a supper given to our new opera
stars. I will come home as soon as I possibly can." And she smiled him
out of sight, and was ready to give him the last smile when he turned
at the door of the lighted hall for it. But he did not see her fly to
her boy's cradle and lift the child to her breast, and with tears
welling into her eyes, comfort herself with its smiles and caresses.
The season thus inaugurated proved to be one of great temptation to
Harry, and of much sorrow to Adriana. Vague rumors reached her through
many sources, some friendly, and others unfriendly. Miss Alida's
visits were suspiciously frequent; and her manner was too protective
and sympathetic, and Adriana could not help wondering after every
visit what fresh wrong her cousin had come to comfort her for. But
hitherto the comfort had been inferred; Miss Alida had never said one
definite word against Harry, and Adriana would have disdained under
any ordinary circumstances to complain of her husband.
One morning in December, however, she was compelled to listen to a
positive accusation. Mrs. Henry Filmer called at a very early hour
with it. There had been an apparent reconciliation between the two
households; but neither on Mrs. Filmer's nor yet on Adriana's side was
it very real, for Adriana had in truth some honest grievances against
her mother-in-law. She made constant demands on Harry's purse, and she
was still more unreasonable about his time. Often when Adriana's state
of health particularly demanded a husband's sympathy and society,
Harry had been compelled to leave her in order to escort his mother to
some dinner or opera party. "Your father is so busy, and inefficient
in company, so, dearest Harry, you must give mother just one hour
to-night." Such messages were very frequent, and if Adriana thought
Harry only too ready to answer them, there are many desponding women
who will be able to pity her. Indeed, his mother's influence over
Harry was great and never used for a kindly end. Every occasion when
Harry was with her was also an occasion to drop an evil thought
against Harry's wife; and such a conversation as the following, varied
slightly with varying circumstances, was the usual trend of their
discourse:
"I suppose Adriana made a fuss about your coming to me for an hour,
Harry?"
"Indeed, she did not! She is quite alone, and she let me off very
cheerfully."
"Ah! she does not appreciate you as she ought to do! I grudge every
minute you are not with me. I only live the few-and-far-between
moments we are together."
"My dear mother!"
"I dare say that old maid has managed to put all kinds of ideas into
her head about your sinfulness--and you are your old mother's dear
naughty boy after all. What is this that I heard concerning pretty
Cora Mitchin and Harry Filmer?"
"_Hush_, mother! I hope you put a stop to any such rumors. I would not
have Yanna hear about Cora for the world. Yanna is not very strong
lately."
"She will nurse her child, and she goes on about it as if it were the
only child in the universe. People say all kinds of things about her
secluding herself because she has a baby. Her behavior is a tacit
reproach on every mother who condescends to do her duty to society."
"She is as foolish about little Harry as you are about me."
"She is quite incapable of feeling as I feel. She is a mere marble
woman. I wish she could feel, for then she might understand what I
suffer in your desertion. Oh, dear! If in anything she would act like
other women! Every one pities you!--you, that have always been the
very flower of courtesy and of all that is socially charming!"
"No one need pity me, mother. I consider myself the most fortunate
husband in New York. And you ought not to permit people to talk in
that way. It is a great wrong to me."
"I do not, Harry. You may be sure I stand up for you."
And such conversations, even if Harry did not repeat them, were
divined, either from his manner or from some unguarded remark he let
fall. It required all the strength of Adriana's broad character to
prevent her divinations from finding a voice--to bear patiently wrongs
she could not permit herself to right--and to wait with unabated love
for that justification sure to come to those who leave it to the
wisdom of their angels behind them.
On this December morning Mrs. Filmer's visit was unexpectedly early.
She met Adriana with a worried face, and barely touching the fingers
of her outstretched hand, said, "I have a letter this morning, and I
think you ought to know about it, Adriana. It concerns your brother. I
am sure it has been the most wretched thing for my poor Rose that she
ever met the man."
"That statement would be hard to prove," answered Adriana.
"You need not draw yourself up like a tragedy queen because I feel so
bitterly the mistake my daughter has made. Rose has been a miserable
wife from the first day of her marriage, and there is no use in
denying the fact. And if her misery has led her to unwise ways of
seeking relief, she is hardly to be blamed. She says, too, that she
has never had a day's health since the birth of her baby. And you know
what a stern, unsympathetic man her husband is."
"I know that Antony has a heart of infinite love and forbearance. Few
men would have endured what he has borne without a complaint. Rose is
unreasonable, petulant, and, in fact, unmanageable. Several people who
saw her last summer have told me about her caprices. They can only be
accounted for on the supposition that she had been 'seeking relief.'"
"I have no doubt Antony is as bad as she is."
"Antony is absolutely temperate in all things."
"Antony is, of course, an angel."
"I think he is. Certainly he has had more than mortal patience with
and love for a most ungrateful woman."
"All the Van Hoosens are angels; nevertheless, no one can live with
them."
"Mr. Filmer is a Van Hoosen, and you have managed to live with him.
Harry is a Van Hoosen, and I find it very delightful to live with
Harry."
"Oh, I can tell you that Harry is no saint. I wish you could hear
society laughing at the way he deceives you."
"There is nothing for society to laugh at; consequently you are
mistaken."
"You blind woman! You poor blind woman! Everybody knows that Harry
never stops with you one hour that he can help. He is devoted to that
lovely Cora Mitchin."
"Madam! if you came here to insult my husband, I will not listen to
you."
"I came here to enlighten the stupidest woman in New York."
"I know all I want to know; and I know nothing wrong of my husband.
There is no happier wife in America than I am. I believe in Harry
Filmer. It is beyond your power to shake my faith in him. Good
morning, madam."
"Stop one moment. Rose is coming back. We must all, every one
connected with Rose, do our best to surround her with proper
influences. Miss Alida helped to make the unfortunate marriage, and I
shall expect her to countenance and stand by Rose."
"You must tell her so. I am sure she will do all that she conceives to
be right for her to do."
"I want you to tell her that she ought, that she must, give a party to
welcome Rose back. Indeed, she could get Madame Zabriski to be the
hostess if she likes, and she should do so."
"Why should she do so?"
"Madame Zabriski's favor would silence all the false and ugly reports
people have brought from the other side. I look to you, Adriana, to
carry this point."
"I prefer not to interfere with Madame Zabriski's entertainments."
"You owe Rose something."
"I owe Rose nothing but anger for the way she has treated my good
brother. Poor Antony! My heart bleeds for him."
"Poor Rose! It is Rose that is to be pitied. But you are an immensely
cruel, selfish woman! It used to be Rose here, and Rose there, until
you had stolen Rose's brother. Now you will not even say a word for
Rose; though a few words from you might get her into the best
society."
"I do not think society is the best thing for Rose, at this time.
Will you kindly excuse me? I hear the nursery bell. My son wants me."
"My son! Yes! One day some woman will take him from you."
"When that day comes, I pray God that I may have wisdom, and love, and
justice enough, not to treat that woman as you have treated me."
"Harry is my son yet."
"Harry is my husband. And a man shall leave his father and his mother,
and shall cleave to his wife. That is the Word of God."
"I shall tell Harry of your temper! I shall!"--but she found herself
talking to an empty room, and she picked up her fallen gloves and went
away.
It was evident, however, when Harry returned to his home in the
evening, that she had told Harry many things that had annoyed him. He
was silent, unresponsive, and had an air of injury or offence. Adriana
was only too familiar with this particular mood. Her first thought was
to defend herself; her second reminded her of the hopelessness of the
effort, or at least of its imprudence. Mrs. Filmer was not above the
common tactics of talebearers; and she had before accused Adriana of
being the informant, when, on the contrary, she had been mercilessly
subjugated to information she had no desire either to hear or to
discuss.
Therefore, if she told Harry that his mother had come to her with the
tale of Cora Mitchin, and Mrs. Filmer had already told him that
Adriana had been complaining to her on the same subject, whom was
Harry to believe? The presumption was in his mother's favor; but any
rate, it put him in the miserable position of deciding between his
mother and his wife. And she remembered that on one occasion when she
had proved her innocence beyond a doubt, Harry did not appreciate the
removal of the doubt; he had worn an air of annoyance and depression
for some days afterwards, and had been specially attentive to his
mother, as if her conviction required his extra sympathy to atone for
it.
So they had a wretched dinner, the only subject on which Harry was
inclined to talk being the illness and the return home of his sister.
He had caught the tone of Mrs. Filmer, and her commiseration for Rose;
and he spoke of her only as "the poor dear girl" and "the sad little
girl," while his silence with regard to Antony was one instinct with
disapproval and almost anger.
"Mother thinks I had better look for a house," he said. "Rose asked
mother to attend to the matter, but she seems to be worn out, and
unfit for the work."
"Is it to be furnished or unfurnished?" asked Adriana.
"Furnished, if possible. And it must be very large and handsome. They
are going to build, but in the meantime they must rent. Can you not
look for what is required, Yanna? Mother came to ask you to help her
this morning, but she appears to have had but scant welcome in my
house."
"I am not able to endure the fatigue of house-hunting, Harry; and baby
is very poorly and cross. He has a high fever to-night."
"Mother told me I would find you unwilling to do anything."
"She did not ask me."
"She had no opportunity. You left the room."
"If she told you so much, Harry, I hope she was honest enough to tell
you _why_ I left the room."
"Well, Yanna, if you will listen to idle reports, and then fret
mother about them, you cannot expect her to join you in complaints
against me and my conduct. She at least trusts me!" Then Harry, with a
magnificent air of being wrongly accused, rose; and Adriana saw that
he was about to leave the room.
"Harry," she cried, "was that really what mother told you? How could
she? How could she?"
"I shall not return until late. Do not wait for me."
And so, with this evil impression--without caring for her
explanation--Harry was gone. He had evidently been inspired with a
sense of wrong, and he showed it; he had been led to believe that
Adriana doubted and complained of him, and he was determined to make
her feel that he resented her complaining. And oh! how bitter were the
hours she sat alone, pondering the cruel situation in which the
wickedness of others had placed her! Nor could she help a feeling of
resentment against Rose. In every crisis of her life this girl had
interfered to bring her sorrow. "She is my evil genius," she said
angrily, "and not only mine, but Antony's also. Poor Antony! He has to
suffer like me every wrong and injustice, and yet to hold his peace."
And her heart was heavy, and she felt a dark despair and a fretful
anger striving with her prudence and affection, and urging her at all
risks to set herself clear in Harry's eyes. "But to what purpose?" she
asked. "He does not believe--that is, he does not want to believe me.
My patience has brought me only injustice; and in vain, in vain, have
I washed my hands in innocency."
But youth finds it possible to hope that such dark hours must be
followed by day, and after a sleep Adriana thought, "Things will wear
themselves right by to-morrow." They did not. It was an unfortunate
time for a dispute. Harry was looking for a house for Rose, and was
nearly constantly with his mother, and all his sympathies were
enlisted for his "poor dear sister." He was working for her comfort,
and therefore he loved her; and nothing was in his heart or on his
tongue for the following week but Rose, and a house for Rose, and when
it was secured, the preparations necessary to make it suitable for her
habitation.
As the time approached for the arrival of the steamer, it was a
continual sending and looking for telegrams. Mrs. Filmer was in a
fever of expectation. She spent the last day in doubting, fearing and
watching, until she was almost hysterical. That she had a husband who
ought at such times to be her stay did not seem to enter her mind; and
Harry was kept at his mother's side, or sent off to the dock or the
shipping office, continually.
"The steamer is expected to be at her dock about ten o'clock, and you
had better be at Rose's house to welcome her there," said Harry, as he
took his early and hurried breakfast, and kept every one fidgety by
his haste.
"I cannot do that and do my duty to my own house and child, Harry. The
doctor will not call to see baby until eleven."
"The doctor and the nurse are surely enough for one morning. I shall
feel it to be a great slight to Rose if you are not there to welcome
her."
"Very well, if you wish it, I will leave baby and go to Rose."
"And do try and be kind and sympathetic, and let the dear girl feel
that she is welcome home again."
"I shall not fail, Harry."
Then he came back and kissed her; and she smiled with a sad pleasure
as she took her way to the nursery, and went over and over to the
woman in authority there the symptoms to be detailed and the questions
to be asked when the physician arrived.
Then she dressed herself with care, and drove to the house which had
been prepared for Mrs. Antony Van Hoosen. It was large and in a
fashionable locality, and there were fires in all the splendid rooms,
and a full staff of servants in possession. Adriana disturbed their
elaborate breakfast, and they were inclined at first to be impertinent
and injured. But her manner soon convinced them of her authority, and
she occupied the waiting hours in altering this cushion, and that
picture, and in trying to give an air of home to mere upholstery and
bric-a-brac.
She expected the travelers by noon, but some delay occurred, and
it was two o'clock when they came up the silent Sabbath street,
with carriages and express wagons, and a certain clatter and _eclat_
which brought every one, far and near, to their windows. Antony was
the first to alight, though Harry immediately followed. Harry
assisted his mother, Antony took Rose on his arm and tenderly helped
her up the low, broad steps. They were both greatly changed; Antony
looked ten years older, and also as if grief, and not age, had robbed
him of his youth. Rose was still beautiful, but her face had lost
its childlikeness, and gained something more dominant. She was thin
and restless; but quite the woman of the world. As soon as Antony
had placed her on a sofa he went back rapidly to a third carriage,
and took from the arms of a French nurse within it a little bundle of
white silk and swan's-down.
His gentleness and care, his encircling arms, his face bent with such
infinite love, made Adriana's eyes fill with tears. She went to meet
him, and, with inexpressible pride, he withdrew the veil that covered
the small face. "Oh, what a lovely child!" This was the exclamation
from every one present. Indeed, the babe was exquisitely beautiful, as
it lay smiling in Antony's arms, dimpled and rosy, with large blue
eyes full of heavenly memories, and soft little rings of golden curls,
lying like sunshine on its brow. Mrs. Filmer cried over the beauty of
the infant, and Harry kissed it again and again; and Adriana felt her
heart swell with tenderness. And while they were all doing homage to
the infant, Mr. Filmer came in; and he let slip all his acquired
restraints, and forgot every other consideration in the child. He
would have it in his arms. He would kiss its tiny hands and its rosy
mouth, and he said it was "the loveliest image of humanity he had ever
seen!"
And in spite of herself, all this enthusiasm depressed Adriana. Her
own child had never been much noticed, she thought even Harry had
given Rose's baby more admiration than he had given his own. To be
sure, little Harry was not lovely, as little Emma was lovely; but
Harry was a boy, and also he had in his sturdy, large-limbed babyhood
more resemblance to the Van Hoosens than to the more refined Filmers.
Being a mother and a woman, she could not avoid feeling these things;
but having a nature thoroughly just and loving, she speedily put down
all thoughts that were not unselfish and worthy to be entertained.
Rose's attitude also pained her. She was indifferent and even proud,
and she seemed to take a pleasure in snubbing Antony before her
family. So Adriana made her adieus as quickly as possible, and
hastened back to her child; for he was just then cutting his teeth at
the peril of his life. Never had the little one been so precious to
her. She did not permit her lips to utter a complaint, but there was a
great unspoken sense of injustice at her heart; and she was hardly
comforted by Harry's return to dinner in high good temper; for he
could talk of nothing but Rose, and Rose's baby, and the beautiful
presents she had brought for every one.
This was but the beginning of a life which did not promise anything
but a constant trial of patience to Adriana; for Rose had that power
which some women possess of engaging every man they know to do them
service. "There is only Harry that can help me in arranging my social
affairs," she said. "Antony employs his whole time in nursing me and
the baby. Sometimes I wish for a reasonable husband, such as you are,
Harry. How Yanna must enjoy being left to herself sometimes!" she
cried; and then, with a cunning little laugh, "Mamma tells me you are
just as naughty as ever! For shame, sir!" And Harry laughed back, not
unpleasantly; and then he offered to help his sister in any way he
could.
"Mamma says that Yanna refused to ask that old maid to get me into her
set, but I would not be in her set for anything. It is too stupid, and
it is proper beyond endurance. We want something Frenchy and funny,
and just a little rapid; nothing wrong, of course, Harry, the proper
road; only a gallop, and not a crawl, on it."
On these lines dinner followed dinner, and dance followed dance; and
pretty Mrs. Van Hoosen became the leader in the set her ambitions
leaned towards. The giddiest girls, the young sporting men equally
frivolous, who lived only to have what they called "a good time,"
gathered round her. To such entertainments it was the merest form to
ask Adriana, and as her health was delicate, she had a suitable excuse
without bringing her principles forward to be made a matter of mirth.
But with Antony it was different.
"It is a long watch, and a weary one, for I am on guard day and night,
Yanna," he said to his sister one afternoon. They had met in a
fashionable store, where Rose was shopping; and standing a little
apart, it had been possible to answer thus Adriana's query, "Why do
you not come to see me, Antony?"
"Why do you permit----"
"Ask me no questions, Yanna. A doctor cannot prevent symptoms, he can
only watch for them, and be ready to fight danger when he sees it. I
am in that position, hour after hour. That is all."
"But it is misery for you."
"Yes; but I am watching for the soul of one I love better than
myself."
"How long is it to last?"
"God knows; to the end of my life, if needs be."
Then Rose called Yanna sharply, and both went to her side. "I am
coming to see you to-morrow, Yanna," she said. "I have something to
tell you, dear," and she spoke with the old bewitching smile; and
Yanna answered:
"Do come, Rose. You have never yet seen my baby."
Then at a word Rose turned to her purchases, and apparently forgot
both her husband and her sister-in-law. Adriana had no heart to buy
what she had come to buy. She passed out into the cold, dirty street,
and drove back at once to her home.
It was fully two weeks before Rose remembered her promise; then she
came suddenly one morning when Harry had gone away "queer" and the
baby was suffering and cross, and the whole house a little affected by
the tone of the heads of it. Rose was also cross, though she was
sumptuously clothed in green velvet and golden beaver. She looked
rather contemptuously round Adriana's parlor. "I wonder you put up
with this house, Yanna," she said. "Harry ought to be ashamed of
himself."
"I am very well pleased with my house, Rose; and very happy in it. You
have grown used to palaces abroad. And Antony is so much richer than
Harry."
"Harry could do better than he does. I do not understand how you
endure his behavior."
"Rose, if you love me, say nothing wrong of Harry."
"He behaves too badly for anything. Mamma says the money he spends is
dreadful! How do you bear it? I am sorry for you!"
"I am not the only one who has to bear. Constantly, I feel sorry for
Antony."
"What do you mean? What has Antony told you? At least Antony is true
as gold to me. I would not suffer a husband like Harry. I would
divorce him. Why, Cora----"
"Rose! You must cease at once, or I must leave you. You have nothing
to do with my husband."
"He is my brother, and the whole town talks of him."
Then Yanna left her sister-in-law, and in a few minutes she heard her
carriage go clattering up the street; but she sat still and tearless
in the little low chair which stood by the nursery fire. Her boy was
taking a drive with his nurse, and she was quite alone in the room
sacred to his innocent life. She kept the anger in her heart behind
her closed lips, but she reflected that patience might cease to be a
virtue; and that the time had come to demand from Harry some
explanation of the rumors and accusations that had reached her.
"Mr. Van Hoosen is here, ma'am, and wishes to see you," said a
servant.
Adriana thought of her brother with a sense of comfort. She felt that
she could open her heart to him. But it was not Antony, it was
Antony's father who came towards her with outstretched hands, and a
blessing that fell like rain upon her hot heart.
"God has sent you, father," she said solemnly; "for I am in a strait,
in such a strait as no one but you can help me out of." Then she told
him all her sorrow; and it was evident to Peter that the sting of her
grief was her husband's frailty. "If Harry were only good!" she cried
despairingly. "I could bear the loss of his love."
"But, Yanna, my dearest one! what man is good? Was any one ever exempt
from sin but the Son of the Virgin?"
"Oh, father!" she cried passionately, "will you be like the rest of
the world, and take a man's view of this question, just because you
are a man?"
"My dear one, neither must you take a woman's view just because you
are a woman. The common law and the social law may regard sex; the
commands of God are issued to man and woman alike; though our merciful
Creator, no doubt, will judge us according to our circumstances and
our temptations."
"If Harry wrongs me, or I wrong Harry, the sin is the same against
God."
"It is. But it is not the same against each other. Harry could never
wrong you as you could wrong Harry."
"Oh, father! How can you say such a thing?"
"Think a moment. The infidelity of a husband injures a wife's good
name far less than the infidelity of a wife injures her husband's good
name. In one case the wife is only visited by the pity of her
acquaintances, in the other case the husband is an object of derision;
yes; in every age the world has thought the deceived husband worthy to
be derided and sneered at. Socially then your sin would hurt Harry
worse than his sin could hurt you. Between a man and his Maker, and a
woman and her Maker, the cases are to judge; but between a man and his
wife infidelity to marriage vows is not as hard on the wife as it is
on the husband. I am speaking now, Yanna, as the sin affects daily
life."
"Oh, what must I do? What must I do?"
"You must be patient and forgiving. If the Holy One, in whose sight
heaven itself is impure, can bear with Harry, can you not also bear?
Have you fulfilled the seventy-and-seven times given for a brother's
forbearance, and was there any limit given for a wife's forbearance?
Has Harry yet done a wrong that your pardon cannot reach? Are you more
strict to mark his offences than his Maker is? To be sure, you are
blameless where Harry is guilty, but, oh, Yanna! is chastity the only
conjugal virtue? Where are charity, patience, sweet temper,
cheerfulness? In these pleasant home virtues have you never failed? My
dear one, there is an egotism of wifely sorrow that drives a man to
sin. Your mother made me unhappy very often with just such jealous
affection."
"You are very hard, father. I thought you would stand by me."
"Not yet, not yet, Yanna! You must stand for yourself; stand on your
own merits, your beauty, your rights; stand on Harry's love for you,
and your great, patient love for him; stand on your faith in God, your
desires for the happiness of others, and your measureless charity for
all. Oh, Adriana, when a wife cannot lean on her husband, she must
stand alone until she can! Interferers only bring sorrow."
"It is all so dark and void and lonely, father."
"Put your hand out into the darkness, and you will find _The Hand_
that you can safely clasp; that will lead you and Harry into confident
and satisfied affection. There is much good in Harry; there are many
years of great love and happiness in store for you both, if you,
Yanna, do not get weary in well-doing. Is there any sin for which a
man may not be pardoned? Is not the Gospel built on unlimited
forgiveness?"
As Peter was speaking Miss Alida entered. She looked at him, and then
at Yanna, and shrugged her shoulders with an understanding glance at
the pale, troubled woman. "Well, Cousin Peter," she said, "I am glad
to see you; but I doubt if you are the best adviser for Yanna, at this
time. Suppose you leave us a little. I have some words for my girl
that I do not want you to contradict until she has had time to think
them over." Then Peter went out, and Miss Alida set her chair down
with a vigorous little thump close to Yanna's side. "I called on Rose
this morning," she said, "and I heard from Antony that she had come
here, so I guessed what she had come to say. Now, Yanna, we are going
to have some straight, sensible talk, and then, if you make a little
fool of yourself afterwards, it will not be Alida Van Hoosen's fault.
Rose told you about Harry's fondness for certain society?"
"Yes."
"And made more of her information than there was need to--that of
course. What have you been telling Cousin Peter?"
"I said to father that Harry would make a great complaint if I behaved
with certain gay men as he behaves with certain gay women. I told him
I thought the sin in both cases just alike, and that I was tired of
bearing wrongs which would send Harry to the divorce court."
"Hum--m--m! What did your father say?"
"He said Harry's sin towards God was the same as my sin would be in
like circumstances; but that Harry's sin to me was less than the same
sin on my part would be towards him. And he told me to pray, and
forgive, and hope, and wait, and so on," she added with a weary sigh.
"Good, as far as it goes. We are going further, and we must not look
in a one-eyed manner at the question. To begin at the beginning, none
of us supposed, not you, nor I, not yet your father, that Harry was
before his marriage to you, a model of morality. Before your marriage,
antecedent purity was not pretended on Harry's side; and your family
never inquired after it, I dare say. Unfortunately, though early
marriage is rare, early depravity is not rare; and I will venture to
doubt if one youth in one hundred struggles unpolluted out of the
temptations that assail youth. Whatever future obligations were
imposed on Harry by his marriage, nobody thought of blaming him for
the past."
"I do not permit myself to consider Harry's past. In our marriage he
was bound by the same vows and obligations as I was. When he breaks
them he is precisely as guilty as I would be if I should break them."
"Not quite so. The offence of a married woman changes purity to
impurity; the offence of a married man usually only makes what was
impure a little more so. That is one difference. Your father
pointed out the social difference--pity for the woman, scorn and
derision for the man. I will go still further, and remind you that
society in blaming the woman so much more than the man acts on a
great physiological truth, affecting not only racial and family
characteristics, but the proper heirship of large properties and the
successions to vast estates. The infidelity of the husband inflicts
no spurious children on his wife. If a woman has no other married
privilege, she has that of knowing her own children."
"That is not the whole of the question. A bad man may not be able to
impose spurious children on his wife; but that does not prevent him
from imposing them on his friend and neighbor."
"That is a case between man and man, not between a man and his wife;
and we have nothing to do with it. I am only trying to convince you
that Harry is not as bad as you think he is."
"And I say that it is wrong to expect purity from wives and not also
from their husbands."
"My dear Yanna, we shall have to call justice to our aid. There are
certain virtues that belong peculiarly to men, and others which belong
peculiarly to women. For instance, bravery is to a man all that
chastity is to a woman. The want of courage that disgraces a man is no
slur to a woman. If a ship is going to pieces, men postpone their own
deliverance until all the women have been saved; and if they did not,
they would be infamous forever in the eyes of their fellow men. In the
hour of death or danger, women faint and cry out, and it is no shame
to them, it is only womanly, and they are loved the more for it; but
if men were to so far forget themselves, what a measure of contempt
would be justly given them! Yet men do not complain of this apparent
unfairness; they know that being men, they must suffer as men, and not
claim the privilege of a woman's immunity."
"One sin cannot excuse another, Cousin Alida."
"It is not only one, there are many other points, which are just as
remarkable; for instance, there is the dishonor of being found out
cheating at cards. Men laugh at the fault in women; they call them
'pretty little frauds,' and go on with the game. But if a man is
caught in the same act, he is quickly sent to Coventry, or to Halifax,
or to some other shameful limbo."
"Women are proverbially weak, and men assume to be their superiors in
strength of character. They ought to prove it."
"Come, come, Mrs. Filmer! If a woman's weakness is an excuse, then the
vigor, the strength, and the temptations of men are a much larger one.
Their very excess of life makes them powerful to _do_, and impotent to
resist. It is clearly unreasonable to expect men to be both as they
are and as they are not. Simple justice demands that we should be more
tolerant with men than with women on the score of those offences,
which are the death-blow to a woman's good name. You see, then, that
each sex has a right to plead certain extenuations not permissible to
the other sex."
"I see that it is the privilege of the male sex to wound and to injure
the female sex; and the privilege of the latter to bear and to
forgive."
"Well, then, Yanna, to forgive is a noble privilege, a safe and
blessed generosity. And I can tell you, that I have known many pure,
chaste wives who were just as bad wives as you could possibly
find--cruel, selfish, spiritually-proud, intolerant women, filling
their husband's days with the bitterness of their tempers, or else
giving way to an egotism of despair and weeping worse than all the
wrongs they complain of."
"My dear cousin, I do hope that you do not include me in that list."
"I hope not, Yanna. I hope not. There are certain things that can only
be got by renouncing them--your own way, your own desire is usually
one of these things."
"What am I to do then? I cannot bear things as they are."
"If you cannot bear your troubles, you may be able to bear their
remedies. You ought to have for Harry such a love as masters Time, and
the infelicities of Time. Have you this love?"
"Yes, I have."
"You can bear to think of loving Harry and living with him eternally?"
"I should be miserable if I thought death would separate us."
"Good gracious, child! And yet you have suffered the word 'divorce' to
pass your lips. Just remember that men do not marry women because they
are very beautiful, or very clever, or very good, indeed; they
generally marry them because there is 'something nice about them.'
Now, let Harry always find there is 'something nice about you.' You
do not complain of Harry to any one, do you?"
"I have not, until this morning; nor have I listened to any report
about him."
"Quite right. To talk of matrimonial troubles is to burn the dirtiest
chimney ever set on fire. But there are sins of omission as well as of
commission. You have stayed at home too much. You ought to go out with
Harry while his mood is to go out."
"I cannot go with the set that Rose and he prefer."
"You can go with my set. Harry must really be forgetting how you look
in anything but tweed and China silk. Put away every appearance of
being an injured wife. Be a happy wife. Let him always come into an
atmosphere of good humor. No man can resist that."
"Rose and Mrs. Filmer drop so many unkind words about me."
"Drop kind ones about them. The incongruity will eventually strike
him."
"His family have always tried to make sorrow for me."
"Of course. A wife's foes are to be found in her husband's family. Let
them plot and plan, and you be sincere. Whatever is sincere invariably
conquers. A week to-day we are going to have a grand dinner-party.
Wear your wedding dress, and I have brought you my sapphires and
diamonds. Dress your hair high. Dress to the utmost of your conception
of what is splendid. Then march on Harry, and take him anew by storm.
One-half of men's passion for pretty actresses is grounded on their
picturesque dressing. If they saw the same girls in a housemaid's
cotton gown and apron, they would not look at them."
"Such a low side to touch Harry on!"
"Oh, dear me! Can you build a marble palace without the rough wood
scaffolding? Do but be bright and cheerful and handsome and patient,
and my word for it! you will see how swiftly Harry will tire of meaner
women. For the rapid transformation whereby carnal love is turned into
carnal hatred is one of the most wonderful things to consider. Now
mind, you are to conquer all before you next Thursday night!"
So the invitation was formally sent, and Adriana announced her
intention of accepting it. Harry was a trifle annoyed. He had grown
accustomed to going out alone, and feeling a kind of safe repose in
the idea of the wife watching on his hearthstone.
"Do you think you had better go, dear?" he asked. "Is little Harry
well enough to leave? And there is your dress! I suppose it will be a
very fine affair."
"Cousin Alida made a point of my being present. I must go for dinner.
I need not stay long after."
"I have an engagement at the Union Club that very night--rather an
important one--I wonder how I can manage?"
"You can take me to the Zabriski house, and make your apologies in
person to Cousin Alida. After your dinner at the club, you can call
for me. I dare say I shall be ready to go home."
"Those Zabriski affairs are so very stupid."
"Still, we like to have the invitations."
"If you do go, Yanna, dress as Mrs. Harry Filmer ought to dress."
"Certainly, Harry, I will." And then with renewed hope she made her
preparations. They were so successful that her face was radiant with
delight when she pressed her cousin's large, capable hand and
whispered:
"Harry said I was the most beautiful creature he had seen this
season."
"You are," answered Miss Alida, looking with pride at the stately
woman robed in white satin and lace, and sparkling with jewels.
Fortunately, she had Professor Snowdon for a companion; and he brought
out the brightest and sweetest traits of her nature, so that she
recaptured all that old charm of presence which had once made her
irresistible. So swiftly grew her confidence in her own powers again
that she was easily persuaded to take a share in the music that
followed the dinner; and when Harry came to escort her home he found
her standing by the piano, and singing to its wandering, penetrating
melody, with a delightful voice:
"Love in her sunny eyes doth basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips forever stray,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there."
And as she sang, she caught Harry's beaming glance; and so she sang to
him, thrilling his heart with the passionate melody till a love like
that of his first betrothal swayed it.
When she went away, Miss Alida put her face under the pretty pink
hood, and whispered: "Good night, Yanna! You have done everything I
wished and hoped. Harry is saved!"
But Miss Alida knew only the probable ways of men and women. This
exquisite Adriana clothed in satin, and gemmed with sapphires, seemed
to her the proper angel of the recreant husband. But the wisdom of
The All Wise had ordained a very different woman; even one of those
poor souls expected by theologians to be damned, but intended by God
to be an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.