"IT WAS ONLY MY IMAGINATION."
"May I come in, Aunt Helen?"
"Certainly, dear." Aunt Helen looked up from the open Bible on her
knee, and welcomed Jean with a cheery smile. "Where were you all
yesterday? I did not have a glimpse of you."
The girl crossed the room, and dropping down into an easy-chair near
the open window, gazed listlessly out across the sunlit lawn.
"Oh, I was just here as usual."
Aunt Helen closed her Bible and laid it carefully down on the table.
"Are you tired already of so much pleasuring, Jeanie?"
"I don't see that we have had a great deal of pleasuring lately," her
niece replied perversely. "I think Hetherford is the stupidest place
in the world, and I am tired of everything."
Aunt Helen was far too wise to remonstrate just then. After a moment's
silence, she opened a subject which had never failed to awaken an
interest in Jean.
"I had a nice letter from Mrs. Appleton to-day. They seem to be
thoroughly enjoying themselves now, and she says Guy is working
splendidly and expects to accomplish great things on his return."
"Yes," was Jean's inattentive response, as her eyes marked the
circling of a buzzing fly outside the window.
"Miss Stuart is making quite a long visit," ventured Aunt Helen
patiently. "I had thought that she would soon tire of Hetherford."
"I am sure I don't see why she doesn't go away. The whole house is
turned upside down to provide her with amusement. It is a perfect
bore."
"My dear," Aunt Helen objected, "that is surely not the spirit of true
hospitality. We do not speak ill of our guests. _Noblesse oblige._"
"I can't help it," and Jean, now thoroughly aroused, started up from
her chair; "I am not going to pretend to like a person when I don't.
She is insufferably patronizing, and I hate her."
Aunt Helen looked up at her niece with real distress in her eyes.
"Why, child," and she held out her hand, "come here. I want to speak
to you."
Jean stood irresolute, looking half ashamed, and wholly miserable. At
that most inopportune moment Nathalie flung open the door.
"Oh, here you are, Jean. I have been looking all over for you. Come on
down and have a game of tennis before dinner. Why, what's the matter?"
Jean hastily averted her face.
"Nothing. I don't care to play tennis."
"Oh, please do, I am just in the humor for it."
"You may be, but I am not," Jean returned curtly.
"What in the world has come over you?" asked Nathalie bluntly. "I
never knew anyone's disposition to become as uncertain and irritable
as yours has lately."
"Why don't you let me alone, then? My temper may be growing bad, but
yours has never been anything else."
Nathalie shrugged her shoulders, and laughing shortly, went on her way
without another word.
When the door had closed on her, Jean slipped down on the floor and,
burying her face in Aunt Helen's lap, sobbed convulsively.
"I don't know what is the matter with me," she faltered. "I am so
cross and irritable lately. Everything seems to set my nerves on edge.
I never used to feel so."
Aunt Helen passed her thin hand soothingly over the girl's bent head.
"Don't worry about it, dearie. Of course you did not mean to speak so.
You are tired and unstrung to-day."
By and by Jean's sobs grew less frequent, then ceased altogether. She
lifted her head, and, resting her arm on Aunt Helen's knee, dropped
her chin in her hand, and stared absently before her. All trace of
emotion had left her face, and it now wore an expression of utter
weariness and dejection. Her aunt looked thoughtfully down at her. Had
it been either Helen or Nathalie who had thus given way it would not
have troubled her, but proud little Jean was too reserved and
self-contained to break down unless she had been very sorely tried.
The silence had lasted some few moments when Aunt Helen again spoke.
"In spite of your denial, Jean, I fear that your playtime has lasted
too long. Discontent never fails to creep in among us when we are
idle. You see, dear, I am taking it for granted that it is nothing
deeper than a feeling of discontent which makes you so unhappy. I know
of nothing else unless----" She paused. Jean stirred uneasily under
her direct glance. Aunt Helen instantly averted her eyes, and resumed:
"I am sorry that my ill health forces me to lead my life so apart from
you all. I am in ignorance of the many currents and eddies which would
otherwise be apparent to me, but if ever you need my advice you know
how gladly I will give it to you, and there are times when an old head
is better than a young one."
Still Jean did not speak. Aunt Helen sighed a little sadly:
"Well, my child, I suppose I am mistaken, and that your trouble is
only a surfeit of pleasure."
"I am a great baby, Auntie, but I am glad I came here to you to have
my cry out. You always help me so, and make me ashamed of being so
impatient," and Jean looked lovingly up into the worn face which was
bent above her.
"Thank you, dearie. You must come to me whenever you feel discouraged
and unhappy, and remember I always stand ready to give you whatever
comfort or counsel lies within my power. But, Jean," and her voice was
very grave, "I have learned from my own experience, both of petty
annoyance and of great trials, that there is only one true source of
strength."
* * * * *
At a late hour that night Lillian Stuart sat before the low
dressing-table in her cozy room, reviewing the events of the past
week. The face which the mirror reflected was clouded, the eyes somber
and full of fire, for the consciousness of defeat was upon her. As
yet, however, no thought of capitulation occurred to her. Farr's
indifference, his evident love for another, but deepened her love for
him, stinging it into a passion that was well-nigh overmastering her.
The difficulties in her path lent new zest to the struggle, rousing
within her heart an insatiable desire for conquest. Possession had
ever palled upon her. She had loved Farr, but as an accepted lover he
had wearied her, and her love for him was not strong enough to drown
the voice of worldly wisdom and prudence. To be sure, in those days he
was hardly more than a boy, poor and unknown, whereas to-day he was a
man well versed in the world's ways, liberally supplied with the
world's goods, and with the respect and esteem of his fellow-men, yet
preserving the same sweet, magnetic personality which long ago had
made such a deep impression on her somewhat fickle heart. These
considerations naturally had weight with her, but the secret of her
determination lay not in these, but in the obstacles to be surmounted,
the flattering assurance that her power could not be foiled. Had she
been quite honest with herself she must have acknowledged that once
the victory gained the charm would be forever broken. As Farr's wife
she would be a thoroughly wretched woman. Knowing full well his hatred
of an untruth, his contempt for a deception, his passionate anger at
an injustice, did she not dream what a death to his soul a union with
her would have been? Alas! she herself had revealed to him the
shallowness of her nature, the pettiness of her ambitions, the
faithlessness of her heart. The lesson was a bitter one but he had
learned it well, and, deep in her soul, Lillian Stuart knew that never
again would he give his love unworthily. She hated Jean Lawrence, yet
she appreciated her purity and gentleness, the fineness of her nature,
the almost exalted bent of her mind. But this appreciation did not
soften her heart, nor weaken her determination. Jean had balked her,
and Jean must suffer.
The face in the mirror before her grew hard; there were rigid lines
about the mouth, the wonderful eyes gleamed strangely bright.
"I love him. I have always loved him. She shall not have him. It is
the one satisfaction that is left me if all else fails."
Sharp upon these thoughts came a tap upon the door, and Helen Lawrence
entered. A soft wrapper enveloped her slender frame, and her hair hung
loose upon her shoulders.
"I wanted to come in for a little chat, Lillian. Do you mind if I
braid my hair here?"
"Why, no, indeed. I am glad to have you. Sit down."
Helen drew a chair up close to the dressing-table, and seating
herself, began slowly to plait her long soft hair. She put aside some
light topic which Miss Stuart suggested, and spoke at once of the
subject which lay nearest her heart.
"I am worried about Jean, Lillian. She does not seem like herself
lately, and if it were not absurd, I should begin to think she was
unhappy about something."
"Indeed." The response was so brief as to be almost an ejaculation.
Helen's words accorded strangely with Miss Stuart's thoughts.
"Yes, and you don't know how unusual it is for Jean to be either
irritable or moody. She has a very bright, sunny nature, and is
particularly sweet-tempered."
"Perhaps there is something troubling her which you have not
perceived."
Helen wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully.
"I am afraid there must be."
Miss Stuart darted a swift glance at her.
"Have you ever thought what it might be?"
Helen's attention was caught by a certain tone in her friend's voice.
She raised her eyes questioningly:
"No, dear; I wish I had a clew."
"Suppose I should give you one?"
There was genuine surprise in Helen's face. She answered with a
tenderness in her voice which gave her companion a pang.
"Why, Lillian, do you know of anything to make Jean unhappy?"
Miss Stuart lifted her head as if to strengthen her purpose, wondering
at the sudden weakness in herself which made the words so hard to say:
"Your sister is in love with Mr. Farr."
"Oh!" gasped Helen, staring blankly at her friend.
"I only wonder you have not seen it before," added Miss Stuart
coolly.
"Don't you think he is in love with her?" blundered Helen, who had not
sufficiently recovered from her astonishment to be very wise in Jean's
behalf.
The answer was incisive:
"I do not."
The hot tears rushed to Helen's eyes.
"Oh, my poor little Jean!"
Miss Stuart turned away and, to save herself, spoke harshly:
"For Heaven's sake, Helen, don't cry. It is such a weak thing to do."
The sharp words brought Helen suddenly to a realization of what she
had done in thus accepting, without demur, Miss Stuart's statement in
regard to Jean. Too late she remembered that it was little short of
disloyalty to discuss the subject with an outsider; an outsider,
moreover, who had never made any pretense of liking her sister. She
resolved to retrieve herself if possible, and answered not a little
proudly:
"I am sorry I offended you, Lillian. We often differ in our opinions
as to what is weak and what is not."
"Not often, but always," Lillian broke in with a disagreeable laugh.
"Where I was weak," continued Helen, ignoring utterly the
interruption, "was, in laying too much stress on your verdict in
regard to my sister. I am not authorized to contradict your statement,
but I think it is more than probable that your perceptions have been
at fault. In regard to Mr. Farr, he has certainly seemed to both like
and admire Jean. Once or twice I have even thought him very much
concerned about her. Why, at the dance----"
"I imagine, my dear, that your perceptions are equally as faulty as my
own. It may interest you to learn that Mr. Farr and I were at one time
engaged; that he loved me madly, and that my breaking of the
engagement was a terrible blow to him. It is possible, however, since
in your opinion Mr. Farr has transferred his affections from me to
your sister, that he has already confessed this to her." The taunting
words were spoken lightly, but Miss Stuart's eyes searched Helen's
face. What she saw there must have satisfied her, for she turned aside
with an air of relief.
There was a brief pause, which was broken by a question from Helen:
"Does Mr. Farr still care for you, Lillian?"
The clear truthful eyes met Miss Stuart's squarely, and under their
steady gaze she moved restively. It was not easy to tell a direct lie
to Helen. She bent her head, and a slow flush mounted to her face.
"That is hardly fair, Helen. He certainly has not told me of any
change in his feeling toward me." She flung back her head and her
lustrous eyes held a challenge. "You have seen him with me. What do
you think?"
Her face was alight with power and magnetism; the scarlet lips were
slightly parted, as the breath came hurriedly through them; one firm
white hand on her breast held together the loose folds of her
dressing-gown, which fell about her superb figure in long, graceful
lines. At that moment she was regal, majestic.
Helen gazed at her steadfastly, and her heart sank.
"Poor little Jean," she thought hopelessly. "What could she do?"
For Helen, as was her wont, laid too much stress upon her friend's
great beauty of face and form, and overlooked the deeper beauty of her
sister's soul.
As she crept into bed that night she murmured to herself:
"I must warn Jean, gently and lovingly. God grant it may not be too
late."
Her opportunity came the very next evening, for directly dinner was
finished Nathalie and Miss Stuart started off on a long-planned ride
with Churchill and Andrews. Jean stood on the veranda to watch them
mount and ride away. Her eyes followed them until their four figures,
swaying slightly with the motion of the horses, were no longer
silhouetted against the evening sky, then descended the broad flight
of steps, and wandered out into the garden. The sun had already set,
but the earth was still wrapped in the mystic light of the purple
after-glow. Once in the sweet old-fashioned garden Jean paced slowly
up and down the trim paths, bordered by rows of fragrant mignonette
and carnations, and flanked at the corners by tall hollyhocks and
slender poppies, and into her sad heart stole something of the peace
and quiet of the tranquil spot.
"It is all so strange and incomprehensible," ran her thoughts, "but I
am not going to worry about it. There must be some mistake somewhere.
I believed in him so implicitly. I felt so sure of his love--oh, I
cannot, I will not believe that he deliberately deceived me. If only
he were here now, while she is away, I am sure that everything could
be explained. Oh, he might come--he might be honest with me!"
The garden gate clicked, and she looked up with startled eyes; but it
was only Helen coming down the path to meet her.
"Why did you run away?" her sister asked as she linked her arm in
hers.
"I didn't run very fast," smiled Jean. "I sauntered out when the girls
started off for their ride. It is so restful here," she added in a
lower tone.
"That doesn't sound one bit like you, Jean," said Helen slowly. "I am
afraid something must be troubling you, if you feel the need of a
restful place where you can be alone."
Jean laughed nervously.
"Why, what an absurd idea, Helen. Why should I be unhappy?"
"That is just what I don't know, dear, but I think you are."
"Well, what if I am?" cried Jean, brought to bay. "One cannot always
be perfectly contented and happy; I do not suppose that I am to be any
more exempt than other people."
Helen's eyes were bent on the ground, and she spoke with some
hesitation.
"Of course that is true enough, but there is usually some definite
cause for unhappiness. I don't want to be impertinent, Jean, but is
there not some one thing weighing on you at present? Has--" She
paused, then went on desperately--"has Mr. Farr anything to do with
it?"
She felt the violent start that Jean gave, heard the sharp indrawing
of her breath, and she did not dare to raise her eyes to her sister's
face for fear of reading there still further confirmation of her
surmises. She had need of all her courage yet to deal the cruel blow,
and without pausing for breath, she hurried on. Her words were
confused, incoherent, but they struck a chill as of death to Jean's
tender heart.
"It was only a foolish idea of mine, Jeanie. Of course there is no
truth in it--there can't be--there must not be. He--that is, I have
just discovered that he is deeply in love with Lillian. They have been
engaged, and I fear the engagement is about to be renewed. Why,
darling, he is not worthy of a thought of yours. Forget him, Jean,
darling. It is only your imagination." Her voice choked, and she ended
abruptly.
For an instant not a sound broke the stillness, then Jean faced her
sister with strained, wide-open eyes, and spoke to her in a voice that
was quite steady, but curiously dull and unnatural.
"I am very glad you have told me of this, Helen. Now that I think of
it I am not greatly surprised. You need not worry about me. I am all
right."
They had ceased from their walking to and fro, and as they stood thus
opposite each other Jean swayed a little. Helen flung both arms around
her.
"Oh, darling, what is it? Speak to me. It is only Helen. I love you
so, dear."
Jean suffered the embrace, but there was no responsive yielding in the
slender, rigid figure. When Helen released her she drew away, and
started toward the gate. Helen did not stir, and when Jean had gone a
few steps she paused and turned her white, stricken face toward her
sister.
"You need not worry about me," she repeated, "I am all right." And
then, with a pathetic outstretching of her hands, she added: "It was
only my imagination."
Helen sprang forward, but Jean waved her back, and in another moment
the shadows of the gloaming hid the flitting figure from Helen's
tearful eyes.