Was It Right to Forgive? Part 25

"Yes."

The reply had in it a touch of anger. Adriana looked up, but was silent.

"I saw her--in Edinburgh."

"Is she happy?"

"I suppose she is happy in her way; for she indulges her every mood and temper to her heart's desire."

"How is Antony?"

"G.o.d alone knows. To speak plainly, Rose is enough to drive him to destruction of some kind or other. Her vagaries, her depressions, her frivolities, her adoration of him one day and her hatred of him the next day, are beyond my comprehension. She prides herself on doing outrageous, unconventional things, and poor Antony feels that he must stand by her in them. My heart ached for the man."

"There is nothing really wrong, though?"

"Well, Yanna, there is always a dreadful debas.e.m.e.nt of nature, following violations of popular morality. Antony's face of calm endurance made my heart ache. Its patience, and its unspoken misery, reminded me constantly of a picture by Carlo Dolci, called _The Eternal Father_."

"How could any one dare to paint the face of G.o.d?"

"In this case the painter has been penetrated with an awful reverence.

And, Yanna, what do you think his idea of the Divine Father was? A grand human face, full of human grief and loneliness and patience, the eyes sad beyond tears, as if there were an unutterable sorrow in the Eternal Heart."

"How strange!"

"No. If G.o.d is Love, how can He be ineffably happy and glorious while his sons and daughters are wandering away from Him and the whole world is broken-hearted? It did me good, it comforted me, to think of a G.o.d who could suffer; and I am sure it had done Antony good, for it was he who told me, when I was in Florence, to be sure and go to the Gallery and see the picture."

"I hope Rose is not taking wine."

"I saw nothing of the kind. But I suspect much from her variable temper--and other things."

Then they were both silent. Miss Alida lifted some lace and went with it to a certain drawer; and Adriana looked at the silver Rose had sent her, and as she thoughtfully closed the case, she said to herself:

"I am glad Antony comprehended that picture; glad that he understands an Eternal Father who pities His children, because 'He knows their frame, and remembers that they are dust.'"

CHAPTER VIII

No life is the same to-day as it was yesterday; and the pa.s.sage of a year necessarily makes many changes, though they may not be noticed by the careless observer. Thus to all her friends Adriana Filmer's life appeared to be precisely what it had been when Harry first brought her to their pretty home near Central Park. But there were many vital differences, though they were not readily detected. Adriana herself had become still more grave and tender. She had been down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death for her first-born son; and such a pa.s.sage cannot be made without leaving traces of its danger and suffering. Physically, it had perfected her beauty; her face had some new charm, her att.i.tudes and manner were informed with a superb dignity; and spiritually and mentally, it had added to the serious strength of her fine character.

Harry was also changed. He yet loved with a sincere devotion his beautiful wife and child, and he loved none other with the same n.o.ble affection. But Adriana knew that there were lesser loves--flirtations with reputable ladies who liked to drive with him--who enjoyed his society on a pleasure yacht or a race course--who thought it quite respectable to send him little messages, to accept from him small services or such transitory gifts as flowers or sweetmeats. And Harry liked this kind of popularity. Without consciously wronging Adriana, he loved to sun himself in some beauty's smile, to be seen with some young married siren, or to escort a party of gay girls to a merry-making.

Usually he told Adriana of these affairs, and she was too wise to show the pain the confidence gave her. Her state of health, as well as her principles, kept her from many social functions, and if Harry did not feel compelled to respect her condition and scruples, she knew that it would be impossible to fret or scold or even reason him into sympathy.

She had been aware of the diversity of their tastes when she married him; how, then, could she justly complain of circ.u.mstances which she foresaw and accepted by the very act of marriage? Only once had she spoken, and it was to her wise father. She could have gone to no more loving and prudent guide; and Peter's answer was but the echo of her own feelings.

"In marriage, Yanna," he said, "there is a tie besides love--it is patience. There is a veil for faults better than blind admiration--it is forgiveness. There is a time for everything, so if you have patience and forgiveness, your hour will come."

Thus the first eighteen months of her married life had pa.s.sed not unhappily away; and she lived, and loved, and hoped for the time when Harry would put from him entirely the gay, dancing, playing, flirting, immature existence, which was so unbecoming to his domestic and civil honor as a husband and a father. Indeed, he was himself beginning to be aware of the incongruity; for he said to Adriana one evening at the close of October:

"I saw Cousin Alida to-day. She is in town for the winter."

"What did she say, Harry? When is she coming here?"

"She will call to-morrow. She hoped I would not compel her to go into the gay places of the world this year. I do believe the old lady went out so much last season just to watch me, just to make me wait upon her, and so keep me out of temptation. Fancy Miss Alida as my chaperon! It was very good of her--but fruitless."

Adriana smilingly asked: "What did you say about the gay places, Harry?"

"I told her I was going to have my fling this year, and after this year you and I would settle down to a sensible career. I told her, indeed, that I intended to go into politics."

"You have a great ability for politics, Harry. Professor Snowdon says you are a natural orator. How I should like to hear you make a great political speech!"

"Well, pet, some day perhaps you may have your desire. I think of taking lessons in elocution this winter."

"Do not, Harry. Your own speech and gestures are better than acquired ones. I am sure you will make a great debater."

Harry was much pleased. He cleared his throat, and straightened himself, and quite unconsciously struck an att.i.tude. Then he kissed his wife tenderly, and said: "If I am a little late to-night, do not mind, dear. I have to preside at a supper given to our new opera stars. I will come home as soon as I possibly can." And she smiled him out of sight, and was ready to give him the last smile when he turned at the door of the lighted hall for it. But he did not see her fly to her boy's cradle and lift the child to her breast, and with tears welling into her eyes, comfort herself with its smiles and caresses.

The season thus inaugurated proved to be one of great temptation to Harry, and of much sorrow to Adriana. Vague rumors reached her through many sources, some friendly, and others unfriendly. Miss Alida's visits were suspiciously frequent; and her manner was too protective and sympathetic, and Adriana could not help wondering after every visit what fresh wrong her cousin had come to comfort her for. But hitherto the comfort had been inferred; Miss Alida had never said one definite word against Harry, and Adriana would have disdained under any ordinary circ.u.mstances to complain of her husband.

One morning in December, however, she was compelled to listen to a positive accusation. Mrs. Henry Filmer called at a very early hour with it. There had been an apparent reconciliation between the two households; but neither on Mrs. Filmer's nor yet on Adriana's side was it very real, for Adriana had in truth some honest grievances against her mother-in-law. She made constant demands on Harry's purse, and she was still more unreasonable about his time. Often when Adriana's state of health particularly demanded a husband's sympathy and society, Harry had been compelled to leave her in order to escort his mother to some dinner or opera party. "Your father is so busy, and inefficient in company, so, dearest Harry, you must give mother just one hour to-night." Such messages were very frequent, and if Adriana thought Harry only too ready to answer them, there are many desponding women who will be able to pity her. Indeed, his mother's influence over Harry was great and never used for a kindly end. Every occasion when Harry was with her was also an occasion to drop an evil thought against Harry's wife; and such a conversation as the following, varied slightly with varying circ.u.mstances, was the usual trend of their discourse:

"I suppose Adriana made a fuss about your coming to me for an hour, Harry?"

"Indeed, she did not! She is quite alone, and she let me off very cheerfully."

"Ah! she does not appreciate you as she ought to do! I grudge every minute you are not with me. I only live the few-and-far-between moments we are together."

"My dear mother!"

"I dare say that old maid has managed to put all kinds of ideas into her head about your sinfulness--and you are your old mother's dear naughty boy after all. What is this that I heard concerning pretty Cora Mitchin and Harry Filmer?"

"_Hush_, mother! I hope you put a stop to any such rumors. I would not have Yanna hear about Cora for the world. Yanna is not very strong lately."

"She will nurse her child, and she goes on about it as if it were the only child in the universe. People say all kinds of things about her secluding herself because she has a baby. Her behavior is a tacit reproach on every mother who condescends to do her duty to society."

"She is as foolish about little Harry as you are about me."

"She is quite incapable of feeling as I feel. She is a mere marble woman. I wish she could feel, for then she might understand what I suffer in your desertion. Oh, dear! If in anything she would act like other women! Every one pities you!--you, that have always been the very flower of courtesy and of all that is socially charming!"

"No one need pity me, mother. I consider myself the most fortunate husband in New York. And you ought not to permit people to talk in that way. It is a great wrong to me."

"I do not, Harry. You may be sure I stand up for you."

And such conversations, even if Harry did not repeat them, were divined, either from his manner or from some unguarded remark he let fall. It required all the strength of Adriana's broad character to prevent her divinations from finding a voice--to bear patiently wrongs she could not permit herself to right--and to wait with unabated love for that justification sure to come to those who leave it to the wisdom of their angels behind them.

On this December morning Mrs. Filmer's visit was unexpectedly early.