Perhaps Louise had dreaded this scene for years; perhaps she had
tutored herself to meet it with calmness.
She paused in the center of the room and contemplated the striking
scene like one thunderstruck, for a moment, then she crossed gracefully
to her aunt’s side and grasped her arm.
“Dear Aunt Thalia, what does this mean? Why is Molly Trueheart’s
husband here? How _dare_ he come here?” looking expressively at Cecil.
He returned her glance with scorn.
“Spare yourself the trouble of prevarication, Miss Barry; your
treachery is fully known. Four years ago you made my wife the heroine
of a parlor scene. Now, the tables are turned, and you find yourself in
the same position.”
She stared with apparent innocence at his angry face, carefully
avoiding John Keith’s eyes.
“I deny that I have been guilty of any treachery,” she said defiantly.
Mrs. Barry caught her roughly by the shoulder and whirled her around to
face her accuser.
“Look at that man! Do you deny that you are his divorced wife?” she
asked scathingly.
Louise scanned his face with sullen fury.
“I deny it, yes!” she exclaimed loudly, emphatically. “That man was
once married to my step-sister, Molly Trueheart. I have never been
married at all!”
The loud, angry voice penetrated the back parlor, and the child upon
the floor with the book sprang up with a low murmur of delight. She
ran to the curtains, swept them aside with a touch of her little hand,
and bounded into the room.
For a moment she was disconcerted at the sight of all those strange and
wondering faces. She exclaimed eagerly:
“I thought I heard mamma’s voice!”
The next moment she caught sight of Louise glowering at her father, and
rushed precipitately forward.
“Mamma! mamma!” she exclaimed joyously, and flung her little arms
fondly around the tall, stately woman.
There was a minute’s intense silence as Louise’s glaring falsehood was
thus set at naught by the sweet lips of her child.
Mrs. Barry, furious that she had been so deceived, broke the hush with
a sarcastic laugh.
“Ha, ha, not married, eh?” she cackled. “Well, I should think you would
be ashamed to own it as you have a child to call you mother!”
Louise repulsed the child’s caress, and it began to sob.
“Dear mamma, why are you angry, why have you stayed so long away from
your Lucy?” she cried, tearfully, and the sight of the grieved baby
face, the sound of reproach in the child’s voice went to Louise’s heart.
The motherhood in her was touched irresistibly, and after a brief
struggle with herself she held out her arms, and little Lucy sprang
joyously into them, and the mother hid her shamed face against the
little, sunny head.
At that sight John Keith went slowly forward and touched her hand.
“Louise, be honest,” he said, huskily. “Acknowledge now that you were
once my wife, that this is our child!”
Realizing that nothing else remained to her now, she looked up and
answered, sullenly:
“I am your wife still, John Keith, I lied to you about the divorce. My
application failed, although I sent you a fraudulent notice that the
divorce was granted.”
“You had better go away with him then, for you will never be admitted
into Ferndale again. You are the first Barry that ever disgraced the
family and I wash my hands of you forever!” piped up Mrs. Barry’s
shrill treble.
Louise gave her an angry scowl, but John Keith again touched her hand.
“Take her advice, Louise,” he said, not unkindly. “Come away with me.
Your fine friends will all desert you now as you deserve, but I will
forgive you for our child’s sake. I can give you a home of comfort now
in the far South, and you will at least be hidden from the sight of all
those who know the history of your wicked ambitions.”
She caught eagerly at the offered refuge.
“I will go with you,” she answered, with a shamed and sullen air.