Part 14 (2/2)
”I am not going. I must finish these pinks. I have just sent a note of apology to the countess.”
”Not going!” Clara gasped, dismayed. Then she laughed with triumph.
”The princesses and all the Herrschaft of Munich will be there to pa.s.s judgment on the bride, and the bride will be sitting at home finis.h.i.+ng her pinks! Good!”
”I am no bride!” Lucy rose, stuck her needle carefully in its place, and came closer to Miss Vance. ”I have made up my mind,” she said earnestly. ”I shall never marry. My life now is quiet and clean. I'm not at all sure that it would be either if I were the Princess Wolfburgh.”
Clara stroked her hair fondly. ”Your decision is sudden, my dear,” she faltered, at last.
”Yes. There was something last night. It showed me what I was doing.
To marry a man just because he is good and kind, that is--vile!” The tears rushed to her eyes. There was a short silence.
”Don't look so aghast, dear Miss Vance,” said Lucy cheerfully. ”Go now and dress to meet the Herrschaft.”
”And what will you do, child?”
”I really must finish these pinks to-night.” She took up her work.
Her chin trembled a little. ”We won't speak of this again, please,”
she said. ”I never shall be a bride or a wife or mother. I will have a quiet, independent life--like yours.”
The suns.h.i.+ne fell on the girl's grave, uplifted face, on the white walls, the blue stove, and the calm, watching Madonnas. Clara, as Mrs.
Waldeaux had done, thought of a nun in her cell to whom love could only be a sacred dream.
She smiled back at Lucy, bade her goodnight, and closed the door.
”Like mine?” she said, as she went down the corridor. ”Well, it is a comfortable, quiet life. But empty----” And she laid her hand suddenly across her thin breast.
Jean listened in silence when Clara told her briefly that Lucy was not going.
”She is very shrewd,” she said presently. ”She means to treat them de haut en bas from the outset. It is capital policy.”
Jean, when she entered the countess's salon, with downcast eyes, draped in filmy lace without a jewel or flower, was shy innocence in person.
Furst Hugo stood near the hostess, with two stout women in shabby gowns and magnificent jewels.
”The frocks they made themselves, and the emeralds are heirlooms,” Jean muttered to Clara, without lifting her timid eyes.
”Miss Dunbar is not coming?” exclaimed the prince.
”No,” said Miss Vance.
”The Fraulein is ill?” demanded one of his sisters.
”No,” Clara said, again smiling. ”WE expected to meet her,” the younger princess said. ”It is most singular----”
”She has sent her apology to the countess,” said Clara gently, and pa.s.sed on.
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