Part 53 (1/2)

WEDDING ARRANGEMENTS

It was certainly not love at first sight that prompted Mrs. Bathurst to take a fancy to Isabel Everard.

Secretly Dinah had dreaded their meeting, fearing that innate antagonism which her mother invariably seemed to cherish against the upper cla.s.s.

But within a quarter of an hour of their meeting she was aware of a change of att.i.tude, a quenching of the hostile element, a curious and wholly new sensation of peace.

For though Isabel's regal carriage and low, musical voice, marked her as one of the hated species, her gentleness banished all impression of pride. She treated Dinah's mother with an a.s.sumption of friendliness that had in it no trace of condescension, and she was so obviously sincere in her wish to establish a cordial relation that it was impossible to remain ungracious.

”I can't feel that we are strangers,” she said, with her rare smile when Dinah had departed to fetch the tea. ”Your little Dinah has done so much for me--more than I can ever tell you. That I am to have her for a sister seems almost too good to be true.”

”I wonder you think she's good enough,” remarked Mrs. Bathurst in her blunt way. ”She isn't much to look at. I've done my best to bring her up well, but I never thought of her turning into a fine lady. I question if she's fit for it.”

”If she were a fine lady, I don't think I should think so highly of her,”

Isabel said gently. ”But as to her being unfit to fill a high position, she is only inexperienced and she will learn very quickly. I am willing to teach her all in my power.”

”Aye, learn to despise her mother,” commented Mrs. Bathurst, with sudden bitterness, ”after all the trouble I've taken to make her respect me.”

”I should never teach her that,” Isabel answered quietly. ”And I am sure that she would be quite incapable of learning it. Mrs. Bathurst, do you really think that worldly position is a thing that greatly matters to anyone in the long run? I don't.”

It was then that a faint, half-grudging admiration awoke in the elder woman's resentful soul, and she looked at Isabel with the first glimmer of kindliness. ”You're right,” she said slowly, ”it don't matter to those who've got it. But to those who haven't--” her eyes glowed red for a moment--”you don't know how it galls,” she said.

And then she flushed dully, realizing that she had made a confidante of one of the hated breed.

But Isabel's hand was on hers in a moment; her eyes, full of understanding, looked earnest friends.h.i.+p into hers. ”Oh, I know,” she said. ”It is the little things that gall us all, until--until some great--some fundamental--sorrow wrenches our very lives in twain. And then--and then--one can almost laugh to think one ever cared about them.”

Her voice throbbed with feeling. She had lifted the veil for a moment to salve the other woman's bitterness.

And Mrs. Bathurst realized it, and was touched. ”Ah! You've suffered,”

she said.

Isabel bent her head. ”But it is over,” she said. ”I married a man who, they said, was beneath me. But--G.o.d knows--he was above me--in every way.

And then--I lost him.” Her voice sank.

Mrs. Bathurst's hand came down with a clumsy movement upon hers. ”He died?” she said.

”Yes.” Almost in a whisper Isabel made answer. ”For years I would not face it--would not believe it. He went from me so suddenly--oh, G.o.d, so suddenly--” a tremor of anguish sounded in the low words; but in a moment she raised her head, and her eyes were s.h.i.+ning with a brightness that no pain could dim. ”It is over,” she said. ”It is quite, quite over. My night is past and can never come again. I am waiting now for the full day. And I know that I have not very long to wait. I have not seen him--no, I have not seen him. But--twice now--I have heard his voice.”

”Poor soul! Poor soul!” said Mrs. Bathurst.

It was all the sympathy she could express; but it came from her heart.

She no longer regretted her own burst of confidence. The spontaneous answer that it had evoked had had a magically softening effect upon her.

In all her life no one had ever charmed her thus. She was astonished herself at the melting of her hardness.

”You've suffered worse than I have,” she said, ”for I never cared for any man like that. I was let down badly when I was a girl, and I've never had any opinion of any of 'em since. My husband's all right, so far as he goes. But he isn't the sort of man to wors.h.i.+p. Precious few of 'em are.”

Whereat Isabel laughed, a soft, sad laugh. ”That is why worldly position matters so little,” she said. ”If by chance the right man really comes, nothing else counts. He is just everything.”

”Maybe you're right,” said Mrs. Bathurst, with gloomy acquiescence.