Part 26 (1/2)
”Lived a lie? I don't understand how anybody can do that. Didn't he love you?”
”Once, perhaps, but the love of some men is as variable as the wind, blowing in many directions.”
”But how could he tell you he loved you if he didn't?”
”My dear, men tell women many things that aren't true.”
”I don't like to know that.” She ceased churning again and thoughtfully leaned upon the dasher. Suddenly she looked up and then came the question: ”And did they put yo' husband in jail?”
”Oh, no.”
”What did they do with him?”
”His friends shrugged their shoulders, laughed and--forgave him.”
”And didn't yo' friends try to kill him?”
”Oh, certainly not.”
”What did they do?”
”Well, they shrugged--and didn't forgive me.”
”But they had nothing to forgive,” she replied, with a frown.
”In the world, my dear, that makes no difference.” She was silent for a time and the girl stood motionless, looking at her. ”Sometimes I have thought,” she continued, ”that it was not altogether his fault. With the error of tenderness and confidence I believed that my life was his, his mine; I believed that his every thought belonged to me--and perhaps I asked him too many questions, and when a woman begins to do that, she is unconsciously setting a trap for her husband.”
For a moment the girl looked at her. ”I don't know what you mean. But when you came here with all yo' putty dresses, I thought you must be happy.”
”Little girl, there are many well-dressed troubles, and misery may gleam with diamonds. But we won't talk about it. I have battled it out and now I am surprised--and perhaps just a little disappointed,” she added with a laugh, ”to find that I'm not as unhappy as I was. Sometimes there is a consolation in feeling that we are utterly wretched.”
”Is there?” She meditated for a time, puzzled, and then said: ”I don't believe it. You might just as well say that we have better health when we're sick.”
Mrs. Mayfield looked away, and the girl stricken with remorse, hastened to her and said: ”There, I have been too brash, haven't I? You must forgive me for I didn't intend to be brash.”
”Brash, my dear? What do you mean by that?”
She laughed. ”Why, I thought everybody know'd what brash meant. Well, it's er--too quick to say somethin' you oughtn't to say.”
”Well, then, I don't think you were 'brash.'”
”Thank you.” She resumed her work, and after a time left off to inquire: ”May I ask you somethin'?”
”Certainly--anything.”
”Well, where you came from how long does it take anybody to--to fall--in love?”
Mrs. Mayfield blushed. ”No longer than it does here, my dear. Sometimes here and everywhere love comes like death, in the twinkling of an eye.
But why do you ask?”