Part 60 (2/2)
”Marion, it is wicked to say such things,” said the countess, severely.
”Because your husband, like every other man of the world, pays some attention to the most gifted woman of her day, you suspect him of infidelity, want of love and want of truth. I wonder at you.”
Lady Marion raised her fair, tear-stained face.
”I cannot make you understand,” she said slowly, ”nor do I understand myself. I only know what I feel, what my instinct tells me, and that is that between my husband and Madame Vanira there is something more than I know. I feel that there is a tie between them. He looks at her with different eyes; he speaks to her with a different voice; when he sung with her it was as though their souls floated away together.”
”Marion,” interrupted the countess, ”my dear child, I begin to see what is the matter with you--you are jealous.”
”Yes, I am jealous,” said the unhappy wife, ”and not without cause--you must own that. Ah, Lady Lanswell, you would be sorry for me if you knew all. See, it is wearing me away; my heart beats, my hands tremble, and they burn like fire. Oh, my G.o.d, how I suffer!”
The Countess of Lanswell, in her superb dress of black velvet, sat by in silence; for the first time in her life she was baffled; for the first time in her life she was face to face with a human pa.s.sion. Hitherto, in her cold, proud presence all pa.s.sion had veiled itself; this unhappy wife laid hers bare, and my lady was at a loss what to say. In her calm, proud life there had been no room for jealousy; she had never known it, she did not even understand the pain.
If her husband had gone out for a day with the most beautiful woman on earth, she would either have completely ignored the fact, or, with a smiling satire, have pa.s.sed it by. She did not love the earl well enough to be jealous of him; she did not understand love or jealousy in others.
She sat now quite helpless before the unhappy wife, whose grief annoyed her.
”This will not do, Marion,” she said, ”you will make yourself quite ill.”
”Ill,” repeated Lady Marion, ”I have been ill in heart and soul for many days, and now I am sick unto death. I wish I could die; life has nothing left for me.”
”Die, my dear, it seems such a trifle, such a trifle; one day spent together on a river. Is that anything for you to die about?”
The sweet blue eyes raised wistfully to hers were full of pain.
”You do not see, you do not understand. Only think how much intimacy there must have been between them before he would ask her to go, or she consent to go. If they are but strangers, or even every-day friends, what could they find to talk about for a whole day?”
The countess shrugged her shoulders.
”I am surprised,” she said, ”for I thought Madame Vanira so far above all coquetry. If I were you, Marion, I would forget it.”
”I cannot forget it,” she cried. ”Would to G.o.d that I could. It is eating my heart away.”
”Then,” said my lady, ”I will speak to Lance at once, and I am quite sure that at one word from me he will give up the acquaintance, for the simple reason that you do not like it.”
And with this promise the countess left her daughter-in-law. Once before, not by her bidding, but by her intrigues, she had persuaded him to give up one whom he loved; surely a few words from her now would induce him to give up her whom he could not surely love. It never occurred to her to dream that they were the same.
She saw him as she was driving home, and, stopping the carriage, asked him to drive with her.
”Lance, I have something very serious to say to you. There is no use beating about the bush, Marion is very ill and very unhappy.”
”I am sorry for it, mother, but add also she is very jealous and very foolish.”
”My dear Lance, your wife loves you--you know it, she loves you with all her heart and soul. If your friends.h.i.+p with Madame Vanira annoys her, why not give it up?”
”I choose to keep my independence as a man; I will not allow any one to dictate to me what friends I shall have, whom I shall give up or retain.”
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