“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.”