Part 25 (1/2)
”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: