But, as you will! we'll sit contentedly,
And eat our pot of honey on the grave.
--GEORGE MEREDITH.
I
It was finally arranged that the two women should not be present
together at the funeral. The strain might prove too great; and as Marsoc
wiped his forehead he congratulated himself that for the present at
least a horrid scandal might be averted. He had pleaded in a most
forceful manner with Selene, his sister, and it seemed to him that his
arguments had taken root. Ever since Brazier's death there had been much
talking, much visiting--and now he felt it soon would end. Oh, for the
relief of a quiet house; for the relief that must follow when the
newspaper men would stop haunting the neighborhood. The past two days
had well-nigh worn him out, and yet he hated leaving Selene to face her
troubles alone. Marsoc believed in blood and all its entailed
obligations....
The pitiless comment of the press he had hidden from his sister, but the
visit of the other woman was simply unavoidable. There were certain
rights not to be ignored, and the perfidy of the dead man placed beyond
Marsoc's power all hopes of reprisal. Brazier had acted badly, but then,
too, he had been forced by a fatal temperament into a false position--a
position from which only sudden death could rout him; and death had not
turned a deaf ear to his appeal. It came with implacable swiftness and
with one easy blow created two mourning women, a world of surmise and
much genuine indignation.
Selene sent for her brother. He went to her chamber in rather a doubting
mood. If there was to be any more backing and filling, any new
programme, then he must be counted out. He had accepted his share of the
trouble that had thrust itself into their life, and could endure no
more. On this point he solemnly assured himself as he knocked at
Selene's door. To his quick gaze she did not appear to be downcast as on
the night before.
"I sent for you, my dear Val," she said in rather acid tones, "because I
wanted to reassure you about to-morrow morning. I have considered the
matter a hundred times and have made up my mind that I shall not allow
Bellona Brydges to sit alone at the head of his coffin--"
"But you said--" interrupted her brother.
"I know I said lots of things, but please remember that Sig Brazier was
my husband, quite as much, if not more than Belle's, that he
committed--that he died under our roof, and simply because the divorce
laws of this country are idiotic is no reason why I should abdicate my
rights as a wife--at least his last wife. If Belle attempts her grand
airs or begins to lord it over me I'll make a scene--"
Marsoc groaned. He knew that his sister was capable of making, not one,
but half a dozen scenes with a well defined tragic crescendo at the
close of each. The situation was fast becoming unbearable. With a
gesture of despair he turned to leave the room but Selene detained him.
"You poor fellow, how you do worry! But it is all your fault. You
introduced Sig here--"
"How the deuce did I know that he had a wife up in the hills somewhere?"
cried Marsoc.
"Very true; but you knew of his habits," his sister rejoined gently.
"You knew what a boastful, vain, hard-drinking, immoral man he was, and
at least you might have warned me."
"What good would that have done?" asked her brother, in heated
accents.... He was tall, very blond and his eyes were hopelessly blue.
Brother and sister they were--that a dog might have discovered--but
there was more reserve, chilliness of manner, coldness in the woman. She
could never give herself to any one or anything with the same vigor as
Val. She lacked enthusiasms and had a doubtful temper. Even now, as they
faced each other, she forced him to drop his eyes; then the doorbell
rang.
"If it's Belle, send her up at once. Run, Val, and see." Selene almost
pushed her brother down the short flight that led to the landing on the
second floor. The house was old-fashioned, the drawing-room upstairs.
Val went down grumbling and wondering what sort of a girl was his
sister. He almost ran into a woman dressed in deep mourning.
"Why, Belle--why, Mrs. Brazier, is that you?" he exclaimed, and then
felt like biting his tongue.
Bellona Brydges was as big as Brünnhilde and dark as Carmen. Her tread
was majestic and her black eyes, aquiline nose and firm, large-lipped
mouth, gave an expression of power to her countenance. Her bearing was
one of command, her voice as rich as an English horn, and her manner
forthright.
"Never mind the Brazier part of it, Val," she replied, in an off-hand,
unembarrassed tone. "I want to see Selene and have this dreadful
business over before the funeral. Where is she?"
Val motioned upstairs and the clear voice of his sister was heard:
"Is that you, Belle? Come up right away...."