“You will never—be—his wife? And yet you are happy—in his love? Imelda,
what do you mean?”
“I mean,” Imelda replied, “to be wiser than you were, little one. I mean
to always keep my lover.”
This was too much, and Alice burst into tears. That Imelda was surprised
was a mild way of expressing her emotion. A dim suspicion was born in
her mind, which, however, she tried to repress. No, no; she did not
believe it,—and yet it might be. She would watch, she would see. Taking
the excited little woman in her arms, Imelda kissed and tried to soothe
her, and after a time was apparently successful. Then she went to look
after her little charges. No sooner had the door closed upon her
retreating figure than Alice with trembling fingers locked it and
casting herself upon the bed burst into a storm of sobs, for which there
was no apparent cause, and which were so passionate that the merry
mistress of the beautiful home could scarcely be recognized.
Surely a strange creature is woman. Of unfathomable depths her caprices;
whose moods are so various that it would prove an almost impossible task
to solve the pretty riddle. In some such way as this the conventional
novelist would doubtless comment upon the action of Alice, but we know
better than to judge her thus. It was neither a caprice nor mood that
caused the bitter sobs to shake her to her inmost being. She was no
riddle. It was all plain enough to those who would see. Nature’s voice
was clamoring for nature’s own. But man-made laws, with iron hand, stood
between.
Alice had not known why,—why, spite of the disgust she sometimes felt at
the life surrounding her, she yet was light and happy. She had not yet
understood what it was that brought the sunshine to banish the clouds of
her life. But what had she to complain of? If you had asked her I doubt
if she would have been able to clearly answer the question, yet it was
all so clear, so apparent.
Her husband was all that has been stated, but no special credit could
attach to him for that. Wealth was his to command. He never thought of
refusing any wish of hers that money could satisfy. If any one had
accused Lawrence Westcot of unkindness to his wife he would have opened
wide his eyes in surprise. Did she not have everything that heart could
desire? That she would turn from him when he approached her; that little
ripples of disgust shook her frame as he bent to kiss her; that her eyes
would flash in angry scorn when he attempted to secure to himself the
rights the law gave him—certainly was not his fault. That he was not
fine-grained enough to desist on such occasions could be no reason for
laying blame on his shoulders. Was she not _his_?—his by the wholly
rites of matrimony? And why should she not comply with his desires and
demands?
And yet, handsome Lawrence Westcot was a favorite wherever he went,
especially with the fair sex. Strong, healthy, full of spirits, there
were few who stopped to look for traces of greater refinement, but
rather enjoyed the fiery look that would sometimes cause a rush of blood
to the fair face that came under its power.
But we will leave Lawrence Westcot for the present and return to Imelda.
As nothing happened during the hours of the day that would be of
interest to us we pass them over until the shades of evening brought her
handsome lover to her side. She had donned a soft white cashmere. No
ornament of any kind, only a snowy rosebud nestling amidst the dusky
coils of hair. The flushed cheek and the happy light in the dark eyes
made a picture to gladden the heart of any lover. She was sitting in a
reclining position in a large arm chair, shading her eyes from the
bright light of the chandelier, with a fan artistically finished with
black lace, sparkling with diamond dust, a present of the fair Alice,
who was sitting at the piano, softly playing an accompaniment to a sad
little air that she was singing. A mass of pink gauze enveloped Alice’s
slender form like a cloud, from which the shoulders rose and gleamed
like marble. A beautiful picture, thought Norman, as he stood in the
open doorway.
But another had also been feasting his eyes upon the fair form. From the
low French window which led to the balcony without, another pair of eyes
were gazing upon Imelda’s fresh young beauty. Lawrence Westcot was
standing there in the shadow of the night. Not a glance did he have just
then for the little woman who was his wife and who was softly singing to
herself. His whole being was thrilled by that other who now glanced
toward the door. The look which beamed from her face at that moment was
a revelation to him and the look on Norman’s face corroborated it.
Muttering a curse his teeth sank deep into his lip. Quickly he stepped
further into the darkness and was lost in the winding walks of the
beautiful garden.
Intuitively Norman knew, when his eyes rested on Imelda’s figure, that
she had dressed for him. Never had she appeared anything but beautiful
to him, but tonight she seemed to surpass herself. He had never seen her
in anything but somber black, or at best in a soft, unassuming gray
gown; so that the effect of the pure white of her attire this evening
was a revelation. After greeting the hostess he seated himself at the
side of his loved one. Alice meanwhile, continuing her singing,
evidently trying in vain to hide the tears in her voice. But her fear
was needless. The world for these two did not extend to where she was
sitting. They were wholly absorbed in each other.
Finding herself so utterly overlooked, Alice rose from her seat and
gliding to the open window soon found herself gazing up into the starlit
heavens. What was it that so rebelliously stirred her inmost soul? Had
the two in the parlor wronged her in any way? Were not both dearly loved
friends, and was it not her desire that both should be happy? Slipping
down from the balcony into the walk below which was flanked on either
side with blooming plants, Alice fled down, down until the splashing of
a fountain greeted her ear, beside which she now sank. Dipping her hand
into the cool water she let it play over the white fingers. Her bosom
heaved and in a little while the crystal drops from her eyes mingled
with the sparkling waters of the fountain. She was fighting out a
battle, here under the starlit heavens. How dare she own even to herself
what it was that moved her so? Was it the poisoned arrows of Imelda’s
views that had sunk deep into her soul?
“No, no!” was the answer she made to this question; “Be truthful. When
you acknowledge so much, go farther and acknowledge still more. Remember
this man was your friend long ere Imelda came to be a pleasant companion
in your house; long ere you ever heard one word of the girl’s beautiful
doctrine. His voice was music, his smile heaven to you.
“But oh, I did not, could not know,” continued the unhappy woman to
herself. “Only when she came and told me of what she had won, did my
heart awake and realize what its cravings are; what all this sunshine in
my life means. Now all will be darkness, utter darkness!” and as if the
climax had now been reached the white hand covered the quivering face,
and the pearly drops trickled from between her fingers.
After awhile the storm in the heaving bosom was somewhat allayed; her
breathing became more regular, the sobs ceased and removing her hands
she was about to lave the tear-stained face in the cool water when she
became aware of the near presence of a man, whom she now saw was leaning
against a large fir tree and watching her every movement.
The suddenness of her discovery almost caused Alice to scream. Although
the man had risen she could not for the moment decide who he might be,
as he was standing in the shadows, but seeing that he was discovered he
stepped out into the full light and—with a gasp Alice recognized her
husband. How long had he been standing there, how long had he been
watching her? A somewhat defiant air settled upon her countenance as
without a word she proceeded to lave her face, as she had intended
doing.
“Rather a queer place for making your toilet, is it not?” he queried. “I
believe there could have been more suitable places found in your home.”
Alice would rather not have answered, but felt it was not good policy to
pass his words over unnoticed.
“I have a splitting headache, and came out into the open air and it was
very tempting to feel the cool water on my burning temple.”
His lip curled. “I have not the least doubt,” he made answer, “that your
head aches. It seems to be the natural result when a woman indulges in
such a ‘good cry’ as I have witnessed during the last half hour. Was the
cry a result of the headache or the headache the result of the cry?”
Alice detected the sneer underlying the words, but chose to appear
unconscious.
“Whichever you please; my pain is great enough to cause the tears, and
tears again are liable to produce headache.”
“Prevaricating!” he sneered. “But, my lady, I see deeper, and have been
seeing rather deep for some time past. But to change the subject, I have
had a revelation tonight. Our friends, your friend and mine, have
concluded to become more than friends; that is, if appearances do not
deceive.”
His eyes were resting searchingly upon the face of the woman before him,
and his cunning was in vain. Not a line of the pale face moved. She
continued laving the aching brow and swollen eyelids and vouchsafed him
no answer.
“You heard what I said?”
“I heard what you said.”
“Well, what do you think of it?”—this time impatiently.
“Think of it? What could I think of it but that Imelda could not do
better. I must compliment you on having a friend whom I consider a
gentleman in every respect.”
“O, indeed! It is quite a compliment I must acknowledge, but if you
think you have washed yourself enough permit me to remind you it would
now be in good taste to return to the house and pay just a little
attention to our guest.”
For some reason he was pleased to be most sarcastic tonight. Such moods
she feared. His tongue was then sharper than a two-edge sword. So then
she drew the filmy lace handkerchief from her bosom and proceeded to
wipe the water from her face. Suddenly, and taking her quite unawares,
he bent and kissed the white shoulder. As if stung by an asp she pushed
him from her with such force that he nearly fell backward into the
water.
“How dare you?” she exclaimed. His face was white to the lips.
“I will show you how I dare if you dare to repeat such an action. A
pretty pass it has come to, if I may not kiss my own wife when I choose.
Return to the house with me at once. This moonlit show has been kept up
long enough.”