It is very seldom that a man of good disposition goes wrong willfully.
Ronald Earle would have felt indignant if any one had accused him of
dishonor or even neglect. He thought Dora enjoyed herself more at home
than in society, consequently he left her there. Habits soon grow.
The time came when he thought it was the wiser course. He felt more at
ease without her. If Dora by chance accompanied him, he watched her
anxiously, fearful lest others should discover and comment upon the
little deficiencies she felt so acutely.
The visit to Lady Charteris was duly paid--a day that Ronald enjoyed,
and Dora thought would never end. She could not feel at home with
these fine ladies, although Lady Charteris was kind to her and
Valentine laid herself out to please; not even when Valentine, pitying
her shy, timid manner and evident constraint, took her out into the
garden and tried hard to win her confidence. Dora's heart seemed to
close against the beautiful, brilliant lady who knew her husband and
all his friends so well. A fierce, hot breath of jealousy stirred the
simple nature. Ronald talked to Miss Charteris of things all unknown to
her; they seemed to have the same thoughts and feelings, while she was
outside the charmed circle, and could never enter it. She watched the
growing admiration on Ronald's face when Valentine played and sang, and
her restless heart grew weary and faint. She had never felt jealous
before. When Countess Rosali talked and laughed with her husband,
treating him sometimes as a captive and again as a victor, Dora never
cared; but every smile on this woman's fair face pained her--she hardly
knew why.
When Miss Charteris, under pretense of showing her favorite flower,
took Dora away from the others, and condescended to her as she had
never done to any other, actually caressing the anxious little face and
herself offering to be Mrs. Earle's true friend, Dora's heart closed
against her. She only replied by faint monosyllables, and never raised
her dark eyes to the face turned so kindly upon her.
When Ronald had taken his young wife away, Lady Charteris sat with her
daughter in an unbroken silence.
"Poor boy!" said the other lady at length, "and poor Dora! This is one
more added to the list of unhappy marriages. How will it end?"
As she watched the sun set in the golden west, Valentine asked herself
the same question: "How will it end?"
If any one had told Dora she was jealous, she would have denied it
indignantly, although Valentine was seldom out of her mind.
From pure kindness Lady Charteris wished Ronald to paint her daughter's
portrait; it was to be a large picture they could take back to
Greenoke. He was pleased with the commission, and began to work at it
eagerly. Lady Charteris came with Valentine, and remained with her
during the long sittings, doing everything in her power to please and
win the artist's timid wife.
The fair face, in its calm, Grecian beauty, grew upon the canvas. Many
a long hour, when Ronald was absent, Dora lingered over it. The
portrait had a strange fascination for her. She dwelt upon every
feature until, if the lips had opened and smiled a mocking smile at
her, she would not have felt greatly surprised. It was less a picture
to her than a living, breathing reality. She would watch Ronald as he
worked at it, eager and enthusiastic; then, looking up and finding her
dark eyes riveted upon him with so strange an expression, he would call
her to see what progress he had made; and, never dreaming of the
growing jealousy in Dora's heart, speak with an artist's delight of the
peerless features.
Without any great or sudden change, day by day Dora grew more silent
and reserved. She was learning to hide her thoughts, to keep her
little troubles in her own heart and ponder them. The time was past
when she would throw herself into Ronald's arms and weep out her
sorrows there.
Ronald did not notice the change. Home seemed very dull. It was a
great pleasure to leave the solitary little villa and sit in the
brilliant salon of Lady Charteris's well-appointed home. It was
pleasant to exchange dull monotony for sparkling conversation and gay
society.
Valentine had many admirers. Every one knew the Prince di Borgesi
would gladly have laid his fortune and title at her feet; but she cared
for neither. Ronald often watched her as noble and learned men offered
their homage to her. She smiled brightly, spoke well and gracefully;
but he never saw in her face the look he once remembered there. Lady
Charteris deplored her daughter's obstinacy. She took Ronald into her
confidence, and confided to him her annoyance when one suitor after
another was dismissed.
Ronald was not particularly vain. Like most men, he had a pleasing
consciousness of his own worth; but he could not help remembering his
mother's assurance that Valentine cared for him. Could it have been
true? Was there ever a time when that beautiful girl, so indifferent
to all homage, cared for him? Could there have been a time when the
prize for which others sighed in vain was within his grasp and he
slighted it?
He did not dwell upon these thoughts, but they would come into his
mind. It was seldom that a day passed without his calling at the
pretty home where Lady Charteris always welcomed him kindly. She was
sorry for him. He was never de trop with her. Occasionally, too, she
drove out to see his wife; but the visits were rather of duty than of
pleasure.
Then Dora's health failed. She grew weak and languid--irritable at
times--as unlike the smiling, blushing girl Ronald had met at
Earlescourt gardens as it was possible for her to be. He wrote to tell
his mother that at length there was hope of an heir to their ancient
house. He was very kind and patient to his ailing, delicate wife,
giving up parties and soirees to sit with her, but never able to guess
why Dora's dark eyes looked so strangely upon him.
Lady Charteris had planned an excursion to some picturesque ruin that
had pleased her daughter, who wished to make a sketch of it. Ronald was
asked to join them, and he had been looking forward for many days to a
few pleasant hours away from all care and anxiety--out in the beautiful
country with Valentine. But when the morning came Dora looked pale and
ill. She did not ask him to stay with her, but he read the wish in her
face.
"I will not go, Dora," said her husband; "I will not leave you. I shall
send a note of excuse to Lady Charteris, and take care of you all day."
"Is Miss Charteris going?" she asked, quietly.
"Yes, and several others," he replied.
"Then never mind me," said Dora; "do not give up a day's pleasure for
me."
Ronald might have guessed there was something wrong from the tone of
her voice, but Ronald was not of a suspicious nature.
"Now, Dora," he said, gently, "you know I would give up every pleasure
in the world for you."
He bent over her, and kissed her pale little face. Time had been when
the simple heart would have thrilled with happiness at his words; but
Dora grew cold and hard.
"It used to be always so," she thought, "before she came with her
beauty and took him from me."
How much misery would have been averted had she told Ronald of her
jealous thoughts and fears! He never suspected them. When he returned
home, looking bright and happy, she would ask him, "Have you seen Miss
Charteris today?" and he, glad of her interest in his friends, would
reply that he had been to her mother's house, and tell her of music he
had heard or people he had met, or of Valentine's messages to her. So
Dora fed the dark, bitter jealousy that had crept into her heart.
It was a proud but anxious day for Ronald when he wrote to tell his
mother that he was now the father of little twin daughters, two pretty,
fair babies, in place of the long looked-for heir of Earlescourt.
Lady Charteris was very kind to the lonely young mother--so kind that,
had she borne any other name, Dora must have loved her. A glimpse of
the old happiness came back, for Ronald was proud and pleased with the
little twin sisters.
One bright morning, when Dora had been taken down into the pretty room
where the infants lay sleeping, Lady Charteris and her daughter came
in. Ronald joined them and there was a long discussion as to the names.
"You must have an eye to the future," said Valentine, smiling. "These
little ladies will be very grand personages some day. It would be a
nice compliment to Lady Earle if you called one Helena."
"I have made my choice," said Dora, in a clear, ringing voice. "I shall
call this little one with the fair hair Lillian, the other Beatrice."
A faint flush rose to her face as she spoke. She would allow of no
interference here. This smiling beauty should not give names to her
children.
"I admire your choice," said Lady Charteris; "Beatrice and Lillian are
very pretty names."
When Valentine bent over the cradle and kissed the children before
taking leave, Dora said, "I have had my own way, you see, Miss
Charteris, with my little ones. Mr. Earle did not oppose me."
Valentine thought the words harsh and strange; she had no clew to their
meaning. She could not have imagined Dora jealous of her. She made
some laughing reply, and passed on. Dora was not lonely now, the care
of the little ones occupying her whole time; but, far from their
binding Ronald to his home, he became more estranged from it than ever.
The pretty, picturesque villa was very small; there was no room
available for a nursery. Wherever Dora sat, there must the little ones
be; and although they were very charming to the mother and the nurse,
the continued cries and noise irritated Ronald greatly. Then he grew
vexed; Dora cried, and said he did not love them, and so the barrier
grew day by day between those who should have been all in all to each
other.
The children grew. Little Beatrice gave promise of great beauty. She
had the Earle face, Ronald said. Lillian was a fair, sweet babe, too
gentle, her mother thought, to live. Neither of them resembled her,
and at times Dora wished it had been otherwise.
Perhaps in all Ronald Earle's troubled life he never spent a more
unsettled or wretched year than this. "It is impossible to paint," he
said to himself, "when disturbed by crying babies." So the greater part
of his time was spent away from home. Some hours of every day were
passed with Valentine; he never stopped to ask himself what impulse led
him to seek her society; the calm repose of her fair presence
contrasted so pleasantly with the petty troubles and small miseries of
home. When Miss Charteris rode out he accompanied her; he liked to
meet her at parties and balls. He would have thought a day sad and
dark wherein he did not see her.
When the little ones reached their first birthday, Valentine, with her
usual kind thought, purchased a grand assortment of toys, and drove
over quite unexpectedly to the villa. It was not a very cheerful scene
which met her gaze.
Ronald was busily engaged in writing. Dora, flushed and worn, was
vainly trying to stop the cries of one child, while the other pulled at
her dress. The anxious, dreary face struck Valentine with pain. She
laid the parcel of toys down, and shook hands with Ronald, who looked
somewhat ashamed of the aspect of affairs. Then, turning to Dora, she
took the child from her arms, and little Beatrice, looking at her with
wondering eyes, forgot to cry.
"You are not strong enough, Dora, to nurse this heavy child," said Miss
Charteris. "Why do you not find some one to help you?"
"We can not afford it," said Ronald, gloomily.
"We spend too much in gloves and horses," added Dora, bitterly; but no
sooner were the words spoken than she would have given the world to
recall them.
Ronald made no reply, and Valentine, anxious to avert the storm she had
unwittingly raised, drew attention to the toys.
When Valentine left them, Dora and Ronald had their first quarrel long
and bitter. He could ill brook the insult her words implied--spoken
before Valentine, too!--and she for the first time showed him how an
undisciplined, untrained nature can throw off the restraint of good
manners and good breeding. It was a quarrel never to be forgotten,
when Ronald in the height of his rage wished that he had never seen
Dora, and she re-echoed the wish. When such a quarrel takes place
between man and wife, the bloom and freshness are gone from love. They
may be reconciled, but they will never again be to each other what they
once were. A strong barrier is broken down, and nothing can be put in
its place.