Part 12 (2/2)
”Oh yes,” said the caller, absently. ”He is, certainly. A man's reputation for a little gaiety oughtn't to make a great difference to married people, of course. It's where young girls are in question. THEN it may be very, very dangerous. There are a great many things safe and proper for married people that might be awf'ly imprudent for a young girl. Don't you agree, Miss Vertrees?”
”I don't know,” returned the frank Mary. ”Do you mean that you intend to remain a friend of Mr. Lamhorn's, but disapprove of Miss Sheridan's doing so?”
”That's it exactly!” was the naive and ardent response of Sibyl. ”What I feel about it is that a man with his reputation isn't at all suitable for Edith, and the family ought to be made to understand it. I tell you,” she cried, with a sudden access of vehemence, ”her father ought to put his foot down!”
Her eyes flashed with a green spark; something seemed to leap out and then retreat, but not before Mary had caught a glimpse of it, as one might catch a glimpse of a thing darting forth and then scuttling back into hiding under a bush.
”Of course,” said Sibyl, much more composedly, ”I hardly need say that it's entirely on Edith's account that I'm worried about this. I'm as fond of Edith as if she was really my sister, and I can't help fretting about it. It would break my heart to have Edith's life spoiled.”
This tune was off the key, to Mary's ear. Sibyl tried to sing with pathos, but she flatted.
And when a lady receives a call from another who suffers under the stress of some feeling which she wishes to conceal, there is not uncommonly developed a phenomenon of duality comparable to the effect obtained by placing two mirrors opposite each other, one clear and the other flawed. In this case, particularly, Sibyl had an imperfect consciousness of Mary. The Mary Vertrees that she saw was merely something to be cozened to her own frantic purpose--a Mary Vertrees who was incapable of penetrating that purpose. Sibyl sat there believing that she was projecting the image of herself that she desired to project, never dreaming that with every word, every look, and every gesture she was more and more fully disclosing the pitiable truth to the clear eyes of Mary. And the Sibyl that Mary saw was an overdressed woman, in manner half rustic, and in mind as shallow as a pan, but possessed by emotions that appeared to be strong--perhaps even violent.
What those emotions were Mary had not guessed, but she began to suspect.
”And Edith's life WOULD be spoiled,” Sibyl continued. ”It would be a dreadful thing for the whole family. She's the very apple of Father Sheridan's eye, and he's as proud of her as he is of Jim and Roscoe. It would be a horrible thing for him to have her marry a man like Robert Lamhorn; but he doesn't KNOW anything about him, and if somebody doesn't tell him, what I'm most afraid of is that Edith might get his consent and hurry on the wedding before he finds out, and then it would be too late. You see, Miss Vertrees, it's very difficult for me to decide just what it's my duty to do.”
”I see,” said Mary, looking at her thoughtfully, ”Does Miss Sheridan seem to--to care very much about him?”
”He's deliberately fascinated her,” returned the visitor, beginning to breathe quickly and heavily. ”Oh, she wasn't difficult! She knew she wasn't in right in this town, and she was crazy to meet the people that were, and she thought he was one of 'em. But that was only the start that made it easy for him--and he didn't need it. He could have done it, anyway!” Sibyl was launched now; her eyes were furious and her voice shook. ”He went after her deliberately, the way he does everything; he's as cold-blooded as a fish. All he cares about is his own pleasure, and lately he's decided it would be pleasant to get hold of a piece of real money--and there was Edith! And he'll marry her! Nothing on earth can stop him unless he finds out she won't HAVE any money if she marries him, and the only person that could make him understand that is Father Sheridan. Somehow, that's got to be managed, because Lamhorn is going to hurry it on as fast as he can. He told me so last night. He said he was going to marry her the first minute he could persuade her to it--and little Edith's all ready to be persuaded!” Sibyl's eyes flashed green again. ”And he swore he'd do it,” she panted. ”He swore he'd marry Edith Sheridan, and nothing on earth could stop him!”
And then Mary understood. Her lips parted and she stared at the babbling creature incredulously, a sudden vivid picture in her mind, a canvas of unconscious Sibyl's painting. Mary beheld it with pity and horror: she saw Sibyl clinging to Robert Lamhorn, raging, in a whisper, perhaps--for Roscoe might have been in the house, or servants might have heard.
She saw Sibyl entreating, beseeching, threatening despairingly, and Lamhorn--tired of her--first evasive, then brutally letting her have the truth; and at last, infuriated, ”swearing” to marry her rival. If Sibyl had not babbled out the word ”swore” it might have been less plain.
The poor woman blundered on, wholly unaware of what she had confessed.
”You see,” she said, more quietly, ”whatever's going to be done ought to be done right away. I went over and told Mother Sheridan what I'd heard about Lamhorn--oh, I was open and aboveboard! I told her right before Edith. I think it ought all to be done with perfect frankness, because n.o.body can say it isn't for the girl's own good and what her best friend would do. But Mother Sheridan's under Edith's thumb, and she's afraid to ever come right out with anything. Father Sheridan's different. Edith can get anything she wants out of him in the way of money or ordinary indulgence, but when it comes to a matter like this he'd be a steel rock. If it's a question of his will against anybody else's he'd make his will rule if it killed 'em both! Now, he'd never in the world let Lamhorn come near the house again if he knew his reputation. So, you see, somebody's got to tell him. It isn't a very easy position for me, is it, Miss Vertrees?”
”No,” said Mary, gravely.
”Well, to be frank,” said Sibyl, smiling, ”that's why I've come to you.”
”To ME!” Mary frowned.
Sibyl rippled and cooed again. ”There isn't ANYBODY ever made such a hit with Father Sheridan in his life as you have. And of course we ALL hope you're not going to be exactly an outsider in the affairs of the family!” (This sally with another and louder effect of laughter). ”And if it's MY duty, why, in a way, I think it might be thought yours, too.”
”No, no!” exclaimed Mary, sharply.
”Listen,” said Sibyl. ”Now suppose I go to Father Sheridan with this story, and Edith says it's not true; suppose she says Lamhorn has a good reputation and that I'm repeating irresponsible gossip, or suppose (what's most likely) she loses her temper and says I invented it, then what am I going to do? Father Sheridan doesn't know Mrs. Kittersby and her daughter, and they're out of the question, anyway. But suppose I could say: 'All right, if you want proof, ask Miss Vertrees. She came with me, and she's waiting in the next room right now, to--”
”No, no,” said Mary, quickly. ”You mustn't--”
”Listen just a minute more,” Sibyl urged, confidingly. She was on easy ground now, to her own mind, and had no doubt of her success. ”You naturally don't want to begin by taking part in a family quarrel, but if YOU take part in it, it won't be one. You don't know yourself what weight you carry over there, and no one would have the right to say you did it except out of the purest kindness. Don't you see that Jim and his father would admire you all the more for it? Miss Vertrees, listen!
Don't you see we OUGHT to do it, you and I? Do you suppose Robert Lamhorn cares a snap of his finger for her? Do you suppose a man like him would LOOK at Edith Sheridan if it wasn't for the money?” And again Sibyl's emotion rose to the surface. ”I tell you he's after nothing on earth but to get his finger in that old man's money-pile, over there, next door! He'd marry ANYBODY to do it. Marry Edith?” she cried. ”I tell you he'd marry their n.i.g.g.e.r cook for THAT!”
She stopped, afraid--at the wrong time--that she had been too vehement, but a glance at Mary rea.s.sured her, and Sibyl decided that she had produced the effect she wished. Mary was not looking at her; she was staring straight before her at the wall, her eyes wide and s.h.i.+ning. She became visibly a little paler as Sibyl looked at her.
”After nothing on earth but to get his finger in that old man's money-pile, over there, next door!” The voice was vulgar, the words were vulgar--and the plain truth was vulgar! How it rang in Mary Vertrees's ears! The clear mirror had caught its own image clearly in the flawed one at last.
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