Part 36 (1/2)
”She is such a foolish, spoiled woman; it is not worth your while remembering her rudeness to you.”
”I care nothing about her rudeness to me. It is her treatment of Antony I resent. I shall not countenance her in any way until she confesses her sin to her husband, and he forgives her. If Antony can forgive her, I suppose I may try and endure her.”
”Dear cousin----”
”Nonsense, Yanna! You know me well enough to understand that having made up my mind on this subject, I shall not unmake it for any other terms but the ones I have accepted as reasonable and right.
Confession, my dear, and then forgiveness. Everything must be done in its proper order. Do you not find me in a remarkably happy temper? Do you not want to know the reason? Harry has been here this morning, and he has told me a very wonderful story. I don't know when I have been so pleased. I have been saying to myself ever since that there is no change in Our Redeemer. The world outgrows its creeds, but it is still blessedly true that they who 'seek for Him with all their heart find Him.' My dear, I feel to-day that there is a G.o.d. I always know it, but to-day I feel it. That is the reason I am so happy. I like that woman Hannah Young. I am going this day to the Salvation Army Headquarters to find her. The devil gave her the means to make her mother and sisters happy; and I intend to show her that G.o.d can do more, and better, than the devil.”
”Have you no pity for Rose?”
”Not for Rose proud and wicked and unrepentant. When Rose is sorry for her sins, when G.o.d forgives her, I shall have no right to be angry.
And what do you ask me to do? The worst possible thing for a woman like Rose--surround her with circ.u.mstances that enable her to forget what she ought not to forget for one moment. I--will--not--do--it!”
This disappointment did not, however, deter Mrs. Filmer from carrying out her plan; and invitations were duly sent to such of Rose's old friends as it was supposed would give prestige and dignity to the occasion of her first dinner. Miss Alida sent a curt refusal; and all of the people whose presence was most desired did likewise, with varying politeness. Some ”regretted very much,” and others simply ”regretted.” Some had ”previous engagements,” others did not lay this flattering excuse to the wound of their declining; but the fine dinner was, after all, prepared for guests who had been asked as ”secondaries,” and whose absence would not have been regretted. In some way--probably through the kitchen door--the true story of Antony's absence had been blown about by every wind of gossip; and Rose's dinners, however she might regard them, were not important affairs to a cla.s.s of people to whom dinners meant lofty and irreproachable social intercourse.
Mrs. Filmer was greatly humiliated by this failure, but not inclined to abandon her plan; and Rose pretended to be well pleased that she had been ”cut by such a dreary crowd of purple and fine linen Pharisees. However,” she said, ”as I have opened my house, I intend to fill it. Young men and young women who want to dance will go anywhere, if there is a good floor, with good music and plenty of wines and ices. If I cannot be exclusive, I can at least be popular. If you do not like my company, mamma, you need not endorse it. I shall take no offence at your scruples. As for Harry and his excellent wife, I never will pretend to be glad to see them any more as long as I live. When society declines to accept Mrs. Antony Van Hoosen, you cannot make it accept her, mamma.”
”I am sure, Rose, there are plenty of people in the best society who have been talked about in far worse fas.h.i.+on than you have.”
”That is true enough; but society, now and then, gets very moral and thinks it necessary to have a scapegoat whom it can punish for all the rest. At present it is laying its sins on my head, and driving me out to the wilderness; though it has plenty inside its high fence just as bad as I am, mamma.” Then she was suddenly quiet, as if remembering.
”Mamma, when I was in London I saw a picture of myself.” Mrs. Filmer looked at her curiously and inquiringly, and she went on, with a kind of desperate indignation:
”It was in a gallery. It was called _The Sacrificial Goat_. The poor tormented creature was plodding with weary feet through the quaking wilderness, under the crimson rocks of Edom, and by the sh.o.r.es of the Dead Sea. I could not keep away from that picture. I felt as if I could do anything to give the fainting animal a drink of cold water.
No one feels that about me”--and she flung herself among the satin cus.h.i.+ons of her sofa and began to sob like a lost child.
”Oh, Rose! Rose! How can you say so? What would I not do to make you happy?”
”Leave me alone, dear mamma. Do not be miserable about me. I am not worth worrying over; and I do not care the snap of my fingers for your society! Only, do not tell papa anything against his little Rose. He will never find out I am sorrowful and despised unless you say it in his very ears.”
”Rose, go and speak to your father. He is a wise man; and he has a heart, my child.”
”Yes, as good a heart as can possibly be made out of brains. But I do not want to trouble papa; and I do want him to believe I am all that is lovely and admirable. You never told him about Duval, did you?”
”No. Why should I?”
”And what have you said about Antony?”
”What you told me to say--that gold had been found on his place, and he had to look after things. It quite pleased him.”
”Will Harry say anything--wrong?”
”Nothing at all. I have spoken to Harry.”
”Poor dear papa!”
”Oh, Rose! My Rose!”
”And poor dear mamma, too!”
”If you would only write one word to Antony.”