THEA ROUNDS HER FIRST PROMONTORY.
His brother's affairs were soon driven from Bernhard's mind by anxiety
with regard to his own. The building of the factory was in full
progress, and the new agricultural machines were to be tested. Meadows
were being cleared and fields drained, and Bernhard wanted to be
everywhere, and to have everything under his personal supervision. He
spent the greater part of the day riding or driving to distant parts of
his estate, and his dreams at night were of ploughing-machines, and of
new leases for farms. Thea, who had at first accompanied him in his
rides and drives, now generally stayed at home, and grew graver and
more silent every day,--a fact which Bernhard had no time to notice. He
never, it is true, left the house without a hurried visit to her room,
when he would leave a hasty kiss upon her forehead, with a "Well, Thea,
how are you? I'm off on horseback!" and then, without waiting for her
reply, he would leave her and run down-stairs as if in hopes of making
up for the minute he had wasted upon her. Now and then she ventured a
timid question with regard to his occupations, but, since a fitting
reply demanded explanations for which Bernhard had no time, and to
comprehend which would require more technical knowledge than she
possessed, the answers she received were brief and vague. Whenever
anything occurred, however, that was especially unfortunate, Bernhard
appealed to his wife for sympathy, which she freely gave him, although
in doing so she often betrayed her entire ignorance of the matter in
question.
Visits and social events were rare, since the family were still in
mourning. Thea's girl friends were all, with the exception of Adela
Hohenstein, now married, and had left the neighbourhood, where there
were no young married women save Frau von Wronsky, with whom Bernhard
did not wish Thea to associate, and who since the death of the Count
had paid only one short visit of condolence at Eichhof. Thus Thea
was very much alone, and although she did her best to kill time with
china-painting and reading, with embroidery and new music, she could
not always escape ennui. She had no special talent for either music or
painting, only a certain facility which always requires encouragement
for practice. This encouragement was wanting. She thought of her
mother, who had been continually occupied, but the household at Eichhof
was very different from that at Schoenthal. Everything at her old home
had been comprised in a much smaller compass, was much more simple, and
Frau von Rosen had held unlimited sway, had overseen her people, and
arranged her housekeeping herself. At Eichhof there was an omnipotent
housekeeper, who had lived more than twenty years in the family, and
for whom Thea entertained an immense respect. The cook was a very fine
gentleman, and the footmen were correspondingly grand. All these people
knew so much, and had been in the house so long, that Thea, with her
eighteen years and her inexperience, scarcely regarded herself as their
mistress. Everything went its way like a clock that has been wound up,
any interference with which would only do harm.
Thus Thea felt that the following of her mother's example was quite
impossible here; and she was equally conscious that her small
occupations were far from sufficient to fill up her days. As she was
too proud, however, to admit to any one that she was discontented, she
said nothing of this to her parents or to Alma.
"They cannot help me," she thought, "and why should I trouble them? Let
them believe me perfectly happy."
One day she was sitting in the bow-windowed room, vainly endeavouring
to concentrate her thoughts upon a forget-me-not that she was painting
upon a china cup. These same thoughts would fly off to Bernhard, and
she wondered, as she did perpetually, whether there was no way in which
she could be nearer him, could share his interests, and really live
with him instead of only at his side. She was interrupted by a visit
from her father, who often came to Eichhof at this time.
When Herr von Rosen entered his daughter's room she joyfully bade him
welcome, and took from him a package of books that he had under his
arm.
"Books for Bernhard," he said, as Thea opened the bundle and began to
arrange the volumes. "Nothing for you, my dear; nothing but treatises
on agricultural matters, and descriptions of just such factories as he
is now building."
Thea bent over the books with great interest. "And why should they be
nothing to me, papa?" she asked. "Is it impossible for me to share
Bernhard's interests?"
The tone of the question was so peculiar that Herr von Rosen looked at
his daughter in surprise. "Impossible?" he repeated. "Oh, no; women can
do a great deal if they choose." And, as he stood by his daughter, he
suddenly put his hand beneath her chin, lifted her face to his, and
looked into her eyes. "What is it you want, Thea? Ah, tears in your
eyes! Then the matter is serious. What is it?"
Then Thea broke down; she had always made a confidant of her father in
the old days, and her reserve had been hard to maintain. She threw her
arms around his neck, and they sat down together on the small sofa in
the corner. Here father and daughter had a long and earnest talk, and
when they arose from it Thea's eyes and cheeks glowed, and there was a
mysterious smile as of a secret understanding upon Herr von Rosen's
lips as in his subsequent conversation with Bernhard he frequently
glanced towards his daughter. It was arranged that Thea should go
oftener than had been her wont to Schoenthal,--that she should drive
over at least twice a week, since Frau von Rosen's health did not at
present permit her to leave the house. Bernhard gave his consent to
this willingly, as he was obliged to be absent from home so much
himself.
"He will not miss me," thought Thea; "he would rather talk with his
superintendent than with me." But this thought did not sadden her
to-day. Her eyes sparkled, and there was a certain resolute expression
on her face that seemed to declare, "All this shall be different."
Two days afterwards she drove over to Schoenthal and spent the whole day
there. She took with her one of the books which her father had brought
for Bernhard, and when she came home in the evening another package of
books accompanied her. At some distance from Eichhof, Bernhard came
riding to meet her. Thea blushed and stood up in the carriage,--he had
missed her, then, after all!
But that did not prevent her from going to Schoenthal again the next
week. Meanwhile, Herr von Rosen came frequently to Eichhof, where he
took long rambles with his daughter through the fields and farms, and
had prolonged conversations with her on the small sofa in her favourite
room.
Thus several weeks passed, until one day Thea begged her husband to let
her go with him to the factory, which was now roofed in, and where the
machinery was just being set up.
"Yes, my child," he said, "come if you choose, but it will bore you
terribly. I have so much to attend to about which you know nothing."
She smiled, and put on her hat and gloves to accompany him.
It was a lovely warm afternoon. The little open carriage flew along the
broad road, but Thea made no observations upon the beauty of the sunset
or the misty colours of the distant forest, although she saw and
enjoyed both. She knew that Bernhard's thoughts were occupied with far
other topics, and her questions bore such evident reference to these
that his replies, at first vague and constrained, soon altered their
tone. He was so absorbed in these interests of his that he had no time
for surprise at his young wife's sudden accession of knowledge, but at
least he made no objection when, upon arriving at the factory, she
prepared to accompany him in his tour of inspection. She listened
attentively to all that the workmen had to tell, examined the machines,
and now and then asked questions, which the machinists answered
eagerly, and which so astounded Bernhard that he several times
found himself looking inquiringly at her as if to make sure that
it really was his 'May-rose' who was discoursing so learnedly of
machines, and water-power, and steam-power. He himself had never been
so absent-minded before upon a visit here. Scarcely were they seated in
the carriage again on their homeward way when he turned to her and
asked, "For heaven's sake, tell me, Thea, where you learned all this?"
She laughed merrily. "Learned what?" she asked, in her turn. "I have
but the merest superficial knowledge of these things."
"But a short time ago you had no idea of them."
She gave him a look from her large dark eyes that was half saucy, half
entreating. "Will you not try me and see whether I have not some more
'ideas' perhaps, and take me with you oftener?" she asked.
"Good heavens, Thea! I was only afraid of boring you."
"And you thought I had better be bored at home alone than in your
society?"
"Have you been bored at home?"
"Very nearly; but just at the right time something pleasanter occurred
to me."
"And that was?" he asked, when she paused.
"And that was,--guess what."
"Good-evening, Bernhard; good-evening, Thea," a joyous voice called out
very near them, and Lothar galloped up, followed by a second horseman
in uniform.
Lothar had in fact been transferred to a regiment of hussars stationed
in the neighbourhood of Eichhof, but he had been sent until lately to a
distant garrison, and had but just arrived at the small town near by.
"I am making my first formal neighbourly visit to you," said Lothar,
riding close up beside the carriage, while the other horseman also
approached and saluted Bernhard and Thea.
"Lieutenant Werner is my stay and consolation in my present Gotham,"
said Lothar, as the carriage proceeded slowly, escorted by the two
riders; "he knows Berlin as well as I do, and we exchange
reminiscences."
Lieutenant Werner smiled. "Yes, it was hard enough at one time to be
away from Berlin, but I am very well content now to be in R----."
"And what of your studies, Herr von Werner?" Thea asked. She was
already acquainted with the young officer, and knew that he was
interested in science.
"Ah, madame, there is much to be desired in that direction," he
replied.
And Lothar called out from the other side of the carriage, "He lives
like a hermit, Thea; but I hope to spoil his books for him."
"You will hardly do that," said Werner.
"Nonsense, my dear fellow! 'All printed stuff is dull and gray, the
tree of life is ever green and gay,'" Lothar declared, in a rather free
paraphrase of Goethe. Then he turned to talk with Bernhard about his
horses, while Werner rode by Thea's side until the carriage stopped at
the gateway of the castle.
"I am so glad to see you here; I hope you will come often," Thea said,
as she got out of the carriage and offered her hand to Lothar.
Lothar kissed it, and replied, "I am only afraid of coming too often,
Thea; so let us have it settled in the beginning that if I come to
Eichhof as often as I have the time and desire to come, you will turn
me out if I come at the wrong time."
Thea laughed. "I agree," she said. "You shall at all events have a room
always ready for you, and plenty of almond-cakes."
"Oh, you have not forgotten what I like best. Bernhard, your wife is an
angel!"
"I knew that long ago," Bernhard said, with a laugh, as he led his
guests into the bow-windowed room, where the servants were just
lighting the lamps.
"I must set Werner afloat," Lothar said, in the course of conversation;
"to-day we call here, to-morrow at the Wronskys, the day after
to-morrow----"
"Are the Wronskys at home?" Thea interrupted him. "I thought they were
travelling."
"They have been back for two weeks," Lothar replied. "I saw her at a
dinner at the Schoenburgs'. She is really a very charming and
interesting creature. I was not half so much pleased with her at first
as I am now. They tell all kinds of stories about her, but----"
"What are the stories about her?" asked Thea.
"Nonsense, Lothar!" Bernhard interposed, as his brother was about to
give his version of an _on dit_. "Why repeat silly stories, which no
one will vouch for, and of which every one has a different version? The
lady is now Marzell Wronsky's wife; he is our neighbour, and for his
sake we ought not to repeat such reports."
Thea looked at her husband in surprise. He had so often expressed his
dislike of this woman, and yet he was suddenly so eager in her defence.
She said nothing, however, because she suspected that it would be
better not to have these 'reports' retailed at her table, and Werner,
who thought he detected a shadow of annoyance on her countenance, said
quickly, "The lady's conduct certainly is at present perfectly correct,
and she is very interesting in conversation. I lately took her in to
dinner somewhere, and I was amazed to find how much she had seen of the
world. She is perfectly familiar with Europe, and has been to Palestine
and spent a winter in Cairo besides."
"Did you not envy her?" said Thea, to whom Werner had formerly confided
his great love of travel, and the fact that with all his economy he
could only contrive to take a short journey every other year.
"Just a little," he replied; "but we had one memory in common of one of
her smallest journeys and of my largest one. After the Paris Exposition
she went to Trouville."
"You were there too, Bernhard, and just at that time," said Thea.
"Oh, there must have been many people there at that time of whose
existence I was entirely unaware," Bernhard said, hastily; but
something in his tone of voice and in the expression of his face struck
Thea, and, little prone as she was to suspicion, the thought occurred
to her, "He knew her."
"Of course, society at Trouville is so mixed," said Werner, "and so
various, that it is impossible to know every one. Frau von Wronsky
seemed not to have enjoyed her stay there very much."
"Naturally." Thea turned to her husband. Had he spoken the word, or had
she been mistaken?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I said nothing," he replied.
"Heavens, Thea, you have an entire agricultural library here!" Lothar
exclaimed at this moment. He was never quiet long, and while the others
had been conversing he had been walking about the room on a tour of
discovery in search of new books or pieces of furniture. He was now
standing before a pretty open set of book-shelves, from which he took
several books and brought them to the table. "Since when have you been
perusing works upon drainage, irrigation, and plans for factories?" he
asked, laughing, and pointing to the titles of the volumes.
Thea blushed, and piled the books together. "Don't be so rude as to
disarrange my books, Lothar," she said, as she took up some to put them
away again.
But Bernhard detained her. "Thea," he said, "now I understand where
your 'ideas' came from. Have you really been studying all this
tiresome, dry stuff, and was this what you meant the other day when you
declared that you had discovered an excellent antidote for ennui?"
"Why, of course, I wanted to be able to talk about all these things
with you, and to know something at least of what is absorbing your
thoughts," she said, with a still brighter blush, forgetting for the
moment both her guests and Frau von Wronsky, as she noted the
expression of her husband's eyes. The next instant she turned away,
with a laugh, to rearrange her books.
Bernhard looked after her with an emotion that he would have found it
difficult to express: never had she seemed to him so enchanting, so
charming, as at this moment. Lothar laughed; Lieutenant Werner looked
grave, and, when Thea again joined the group around the table, gave her
a glance of intense admiration.
A servant announced that tea was served in the dining-hall, and thither
the party repaired.
Thea tried to lead the conversation to the Wronskys again, but Bernhard
persistently changed the subject whenever they were alluded to.
"Why is it so disagreeable to him to hear that woman talked of?" Thea
said to herself.
It was tolerably late when the two officers took their leave, but Thea
was not at all tired, and while Bernhard accompanied them down into the
hall, she fetched a large photograph book, in which were the
photographs of all the landed proprietors of the neighbourhood, with
their wives, and when Bernhard returned he found her lost in
contemplation of Frau von Wronsky's face.
"I am glad they are gone, Thea," he cried, more quickly and merrily
than was his wont to speak, "for now I can thank you as I should for
reading all those books for my sake. I know you did it all for love of
me, my darling."
He drew her tenderly towards him; but although his words would have
made her perfectly happy a few hours before, she now returned his kiss
rather coldly, and said,--
"Good heavens, it was not much to do; it really interested me very
much, and papa explained everything to me that I did not understand.
But," she added, without explaining the strange sequence of ideas,
otherwise than by pushing forward the book of photographs,--"tell me,
Bernhard, did you not know the Wronsky at Trouville?"
"What put that into your head?" asked Bernhard, thrusting the book
aside. "I told you before----"
"You spoke of _many_ people, Bernhard, but you did not say that you did
not know _her_."
Now Bernhard smiled. "Oh, you women!" he exclaimed, drawing his wife
towards him. "Well, since you are developing such a talent for
diplomacy, you may learn that I certainly did have a distant
acquaintance with her, but that she belonged to a circle that makes it
very desirable that I should ignore all former acquaintance with her
whatsoever. Yes, I owe it to Marzell Wronsky to preserve entire silence
with regard to that time, and all I can tell you is that she did not so
conduct herself as to lead me to regard her as a fit associate for
you."
"Why, what did she do?"
"She was very imprudent, my child. But pray let us drop this subject;
we neither of us care anything about her, and I have told you what I
have because I know you are no gossip and would rather help me to keep
the secret of my former acquaintance with her than prevent me from
doing so. You now know that my only reason for silence as to my ever
having seen her before is a reluctance, for her husband's sake, to
being questioned with regard to her former life."
"Yes, Bernhard, but----" Thea hesitated, and hid her face in her hands,
although Bernhard could see her forehead and neck flush crimson.
"But? What is it that you want to know?"
"Bernhard," she whispered, still covering her face, "tell me truly and
really, were you never in love with her?"
"Never!" he exclaimed, drawing down her hands.
"Look in my eyes, Thea, while I tell you that I never cared for this
woman, and never had any association with her whatever."
"Thank God!" she whispered, drawing a long breath of relief.