“Women are strongest; but above all things
Truth beareth away the victory.”
I. BOOK OF ESDRAS.
Everything was really going well. Lady Middleton, casting her eyes over
the large and spacious rooms, the wide staircase and the cosy nooks,
thinking also of the well-prepared little tables, in a not too distant
dining-room, felt a thrill of positive elation. When one could depend on
one’s cook and trust one’s florist, life became simple.
She turned to mingle among her guests, when Mr. and Mrs. Field were
announced; and she stood confronted by a dream. Rosamonde was facing
her, dressed in pale sea-green with masses of white chiffon, three
perfect roses on her shoulder, her fair, fluffy hair framing her
appealing blue eyes. For a moment Vera’s one fixed idea, was of a
primitive order; she longed to tear the white chiffon on her younger
sister’s dress. The thin smile that crept in a tight band across her
lips witnessed to the march of civilization.
“My dear Rosamonde,” she murmured, “how well you’re looking.” Sir Henry
Middleton came forward.
“Introduce me to your sister, Vera,” he said, and Rosamonde, taking his
arm, went the round of the room. Arthur Field lingered by his hostess.
“It was kind of you to ask her,” he said in a grave undertone. Vera
lifted her eyebrows; she could tell by his voice that after all, they
had received an invitation.
“I wanted to do all I could,” she murmured; “it’s so brave of you.”
She had no intention of punishing the wrong person when she could punish
the right, but if Daphne _was_ the right person—then Daphne’s
punishment lay in her hand. Arthur Field frowned, and left her. Looking
over the brilliant scene before him, he soon discovered Daphne; she was
dancing, of course, and as he watched her, he felt within him the glow
of his old pride in her. She danced so beautifully, her dress of palest
yellow made him think of young spring flowers, and their gracefulness.
She was dancing with Reggie Cheston; he watched them as the waltz closed
stroll towards the dimly-lighted conservatory. Then, with a rigid
effort, he turned back to the thought of Rosamonde.
“I don’t think I am going to stay on at the hospital,” Daphne said to
Reggie. “I wish you cared more for the Church, Reggie,” she added, “it’s
such a help.”
“It must be,” said Reggie; “does he preach very well?” Daphne’s eyes
flashed, then she laughed a little under her breath.
“He is a tremendously good man, Reggie,” she said, “and you don’t know
what I’ve been feeling lately. It would be such a relief to know that I
was doing something really helpful.”
“It is a little difficult to catch what you mean,” said Reggie; “but if
you feel that marriage with a clergyman is a kind of spiritual vocation,
I should advise you to be careful; the bonds are for life, and you are
not my ideal of a parson’s wife; besides, you must remember he has a
vocation too.”
“Oh, of course he cares for me,” pursued Daphne; “we have a great deal
in common.” She sat down gracefully beneath a huge fern. Reggie stood
beside her with a peculiarly dogged expression on his face.
“Do you think you are quite fair?” he asked her.
“What do you mean?” said Daphne in real surprise; “I can assure you,
Reggie, I am not playing with him. If I say yes I will stick to it. I
feel that I ought to explain. I have lived such a worldly, artificial
life. No wonder you think that, in spite of my hospital experience, I am
only fitted for a ball-dress and an evening party! But, indeed, I am
learning many things! Philip Mitchell’s position is not an easy one, but
his work is the noblest in the world, an attempt to let sunshine into
dark lives! Think what it means. Oh! if I could tell you how the faces
of the poor haunt me! How the call of their miseries comes up to me, you
would understand! And then, Reggie—I have never forgotten David! He
loved me and suffered because he loved. I can see this man is beginning
to care for me, and I feel that it is partly _because_ of David that I
could make him happy. I have no right to ruin two lives! After all, what
does it matter whether I am happy or not?”
“It does not matter at all whether you are happy or not,” said Reggie,
sitting down quietly by her side. “But that is not the question you
know, the question is whether it’s right?” It did not please Daphne that
he should be as willing to sacrifice her happiness as she was herself,
but she could not admit this.
“Yes,” she said, “that is what I feel.”
“May I tell you what I think?”
“Of course,” said Daphne surprised.
“Let us begin from the beginning,” said Reggie in a measured voice,
looking straight in front of him at a pink geranium. “You were unhappy
with Vera, so you shipped her—for your uncle?”
“It was against—— I couldn’t possibly stay here after my father’s
death,” said Daphne.
“Exactly,” Reggie continued. “So you went to your uncle’s and found it
rather dull there. Then you thought it would be easier to marry David.”
“I had especial reasons for that!” Daphne pleaded.
“Especial reasons then,” said Reggie, “pointed to David. I may add, in
passing, that you didn’t care for him, and that he was giving you all he
had, and you were giving him nothing at all except ‘especial reasons’—a
little thin that for a marriage settlement!”
“Reggie!”
“Let me go on,” pursued the young man gravely. “After your little
cousin’s death, you threw over your uncle and aunt, and went to the
hospital with your friend. Circumstances arose showing you an
objectionable weakness in David, so you threw over David. Now you talk
of giving up your friend, and the hospital, in order to go and work in
the slums. Marriage again, you notice, with a man you don’t care for,
because you are haunted by the faces of the poor. Are you quite sure
that you are fitted for the work? Or that it is sufficient to offer a
man in return for the best that is in him, a friendly interest in his
parish? Do you know what anything _real_ means?” Daphne was breathless
with anger; she could not get up and go away, and for a moment she could
think of no suitable reply.
Reggie had taken her so absolutely by surprise. She had always
considered him an admiring friend, a little weak perhaps, but in a
good-natured, boyish way, and very fond of her. Of course, very fond of
her—most of her friends were that. Imperceptibly she had all her life
leaned on what her friends thought of her. The likeness was too
flattering to be true, but it was impossible to look with comfort upon a
likeness too true to be flattering, and it was this that Reggie held up
inexorably before her. But her motives were so good. Taken one by one,
her every action had been so kindly, unselfish, so high-principled! This
picture of Reggie’s looked as if he held in his hand a list of posings,
the posings of a heartless egoist!
“Do you know what anything real means?” he repeated, with his eyes upon
that terrible pink geranium. She was looking at it now, it appeared so
very artificial.
“I—Reggie, do you really think I am like that?” she gasped. She was too
ashamed to look at him, so she did not see his lips twitch, nor the new,
kind light in his eyes.
“I think you have thought that you were a princess in a fairy-tale,
Daphne, and that it was merely a question of flowers, and favours, and
magic words, and it isn’t a fairy-tale. Men aren’t like that. Most girls
are brought up in the fairy-tale fashion, and it’s awfully hard on us;
you play with fire, and you won’t have anything more to do with us if
you see sparks. You are always throwing gloves into an arena of lions,
because you don’t quite understand lions! I don’t like talking to you in
this way, but when I hear you speak of marrying a man who loves you—in
order to help the poor, you are putting the wrong things together. Love
earns one thing and that only—love—you can’t give anything else
instead. Esteem, affection, help, by all means give them in exchange
for—esteem, affection—help, but don’t try to barter the respectables,
in exchange for love. It’s an attempt to stop the tide with
sand-castles. Sell yourself if you like, but be frank about it, and
don’t call it by grand names. Flirtation is a repulsive system of theft;
you take all you can get, real things mind you, not names, and you give
worthless trash back, for your part of the bargain. Be shocked at drink
and play, and then intoxicate with your eyes, and gamble with your
complexion—and say that ‘The poor boy behaved very badly’; I used to
think better things of you, Daphne!”
“Oh! for Heaven’s sake, stop!” cried Daphne; “do you think I am a
flirt?”
“Yes,” said Reggie, “I do.”
“Then take me back at once to Vera!” cried Daphne. “Oh! how _dare_ you
say such things to me? Reggie—how can you?” Reggie looked miserably at
the pink geranium. He was asking himself the same question. He had never
talked so much in his life before, but he could bear no longer, the ache
in his heart, and what gave fire and force to his condemnation, made it
more than impossible to explain.
“I am sorry,” he said at last, “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“Like it?” flashed Daphne. Then she rose to her feet. “You have behaved
intolerably,” she said, “good-bye.” And she swept past him alone, into
the glitter of the great ball-room. Reggie picked the geranium and put
it in his button-hole.