The Bacillus of Beauty Part 37

"I'd drown 'em," cried Kitty, vanis.h.i.+ng, "nine times!"

Oh, I'm weary of these bickerings; so womanis.h.!.+ Every creature whose rival I could possibly become is my enemy. I don't blame them. What chance have they while I am present? Women who agree about nothing else make common cause against one who surpa.s.ses them. They are like prairie wolves that run in packs to pull down the buffalo, and I shall pity them as I would pity wolves. They shall find that I have a long memory.

I have decided. I shall marry Strathay.

February--March--April--three long, long months, and still Ned doesn't come, does not write. Yes, it's time to act; thank G.o.d, I've still some pride!

While Darmstetter lived, I couldn't have left New York; but now, now that I am safe, why should I stay here, flatting with a shrew, provoking the Van Dams, to whom I owe some grat.i.tude, wasting my life for a man who--who said he didn't love me?

Milly's at home again; let Ned return to her, if he chooses. I shall marry Strathay. Meg shall be friend to a Countess. Then I shall be quits with her and with Mrs. Henry and with Peggy. And the "best people" will no more fight shy of me--though they don't now; they don't need to. Except Mrs.

Schuyler, who has snubbed me just enough to leave herself right, whatever happens, few of them have ever met me.

I owe no thanks to Mrs. Whitney, with her prunes and her prisms and her penny-pinchings. I must secure my future.

And there's only one way--Strathay. I've been foolish to hesitate. He tried to speak yesterday, after the flower tea--for that's the extent of my social s.h.i.+ning now; I am good to draw a crowd at a bazaar!--and I should have let him; I meant to do so.

But I can't blame myself for being sentimental, weak, and for putting him off; I was tired out. What an ordeal I'd undergone! What black looks from the women! They'd rather have starved their summer church in the Adirondacks than nursed it with my help!

But he must have understood; I think he saw everything that happened. The girls at my stall were sulky because no one bought of them, while I was surrounded; and one, in lifting a handful of roses, drew them towards her with a spiteful jerk that left a long thorn-scratch across my hand.

I pretended not to notice. Then in a minute I cried:--

"Why, see; how could that have happened?"

And I laid my perfect hand beside hers, ugly with outstanding veins, that she might note the accident--and the difference. People giggled, and she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away, blus.h.i.+ng furiously.

I was in high spirits, with a crowd about me. I knew how tall and graceful I looked behind my flowers; and to tease Mrs. Terry, I pinned Bellmer's boutonniere with unnecessary graciousness, and smiled at her while he sniffed it with beat.i.tude beaming from his moony face.

"Awf'ly slow things, teas," he said regretfully, as she bore him off'; "awf'ly slow, don't you think?" Really the man's little better than a downright fool; if he were poor, no one would waste a better word upon him.

As he went, I caught sight of a slight figure, a pair of jealous, wors.h.i.+pping eyes. Poor Strathay had seen the incident; had perhaps thought--

I took pains to be cordial to him, when he had made his way with Poultney to my side; and to Mr. Poultney, too; though I don't like him much better than Cadge does, with his cold eyes and his thin smile, that seems to say: "Hope you find my schoolboy entertaining."

An Earl is always entertaining!

Yet I ran away from him. I left the tea early. I wanted to think. All the way home in the carriage I marshalled arguments in his favour. I saw myself at court, throned in my brilliant circle, flattered by princes, consulted by statesmen, the ornament of a society I am fitted to adorn. I saw a world of jealous women at my feet and Ned convinced that I had been playing with him. I even rehea.r.s.ed the scene we should enact when Strathay should speak; I foresaw the flush upon his face, the sparkle of his eyes when I should tell him that I would try to love him.

He must have slipped his cousin's leash, for he was at the Nicaragua almost as soon as I was. But there at home, with the boy's eyes fixed on mine, with the tremour of his voice telling me how much he cared, I couldn't listen.

I made talk with him, for him. I gave him no chance to speak, determined as I was that he should speak. I was conscious of but one desire--to put off the avowal.

At last he said: "Sometimes I fancy you're not happy."

His voice was tense. He was leaning forward in his eagerness; he looked so zealous to be my champion--so honest!

I tried to smile. I really liked him.

Happy! Out of memory there came to me a picture: I was creeping to Ethel's bed at night, whispering to her that I was the happiest girl in the world; she kissed me sleepily, and said she was happy too, and then I groped my way back to bed, and lay there in the dark, smiling. That was years ago.

Three months? Years, long, long years ago!

Now it flashed across me that Lord Strathay loved me as I had loved Ned.

That gave me a measure of the gift he was to offer. I felt Ned's kisses on my hands, bidding me be honest.--I felt other kisses, too; I saw--good G.o.d, how long must I see?--a gray old face--the face of Darmstetter!

Happy! I closed my eyes to shut out the vision. I shuddered.

"You--really, I'm afraid you're very tired," he said, after waiting a little.

"Yes; tired," I gasped; "that's all."

But I knew I must marry him. I controlled myself. I smiled; I waited. I wished him to go on, but he was peering into my straining eyes with anxious sympathy.

"I'm afraid you're too tired to talk with me to-day," he said; "but--you will let me come again?"

"Yes."

Such a relief! Though what was to be gained by waiting? What must be must be.

Indeed an older man might have seen the wisdom of speaking at once. But Strathay looked wistfully at me for a moment, then turned away with a big, honest schoolboy sigh; and something like a sob broke his voice as he whispered:--

"I--I would do anything to serve you."

Then he went away.

Perverse! I _will_ marry him. Other women take husbands so. I like him; I should like him even if he were not an Earl--and his name a career.

I shall make Strathay as fine a Countess as any cold, blonde English girl, and he'll be proud of me, and every man will envy him. I shall wrong him less than I should have wronged John Burke. I should have hated John if I had married him, for he'd expect love, where Strathay will be content to give it. Why, the one honest thing I've done was to break with John.

I wish I could afford to keep on being honest!

CHAPTER V.

THE LOVE OF LORD STRATHAY.

May 5.

Lord deliver me from the well-meaning!

Because of one pestilential dun, I've done what the weary waiting for money, money, money would never have driven me to do. I've been to Uncle, unknown to his wife, to ask advice. I might have known better.

It was with a wildly beating pulse that I entered the familiar little private office, thinking that Ned might be on the other side of the part.i.tion--near enough, perhaps, to hear me; that he might at any moment rap upon the door and enter the room as he used to do, upon such flimsy errands! I wondered how he would look, and what he'd say if he came; but he never did come, though the talk was long enough, mercy knows; long and profitless.

It was hard, with that cold sinking at my heart, to talk to the Judge, as he sat with his keen eyes fixed upon me, leaning back in his chair, at times frowning absent-mindedly.

"I've come to tell you--I've written home for money," I began breathlessly to explain. "But they don't understand, of course--it isn't half what I need, now. I really don't quite know what to do. And so I came to--"

My words died away into unintelligibility.