Part 24 (1/2)
”Mme. Violet interested me more,” said Rosalie. ”Rumor is linking their names, you know. I feel that she and I might become friends.”
”She has just the saving spark of deviltry that you lack, Rosalie.”
”It isn't every brother who can call his sister an angel so happily,” said Mrs. Arnold.
”Nothing was farther from his thoughts than to compliment me, Mrs. Arnold. You should hear him abuse me in private. I am a philistine, a prude. But I grow accustomed to his taunts.”
”Dear Rosalie, you are only not esthetic because you are so divinely moral. Just think, she objects to my marble cupids, that they are not ashamed of their innocence.”
”Surely that is going far,” interposed Harry, who had long been silent. ”The modeling was capital. Most little cupids are just doughy duplicates of each other. But yours have character--baby-face wisdom--Puck and Ariel linking arms.”
”Say two Pucks, Harry, or Rosalie will moralize. Ariel was a wicked little sprite. He used to go on bats.”
Rosalie lifted a finger of reproof.
”But from my standpoint a dash of wickedness is just the sine qua non in art. How fascinating the Inferno is! And how tame the Paradiso! In art, do I say? In religion itself? What the horizon line is to the landscape--a rare pageant you have before you, Mrs. Arnold--such is the fall in the garden to the faith of our fathers.”
”Do you mean that it separates earth from heaven?” laughed Harry.
”You would think, to hear this grumbler, it was his strait-laced sister and not his own laziness that prevented him from--” Rosalie hesitated.
”From amounting to something. Say it out. Ah, Rosalie, you have indeed achieved. Your Rosalind is divine, Carp says--and surely Carp knows.”
”And Portia,” added Harry.
”While my medallions----”
”Would be glorious if they were ever finished. But come,” continued Harry, ”I must dress for my wager. Where's Indigo?”
”He is about the house, Harry.”
”What a name! Your valet, I suppose?” asked Tristram.
”And secretary. That is, he answers my duns.”
”And so spares you the blues?”
”Punning again, Tristram,” said Rosalie. ”And you profess not to consider word-plays respectable.”
”Right, always right, Rosalie.”
The party pa.s.sed inside, and the Marches were escorted to their rooms, while Harry went in quest of Indigo. When he returned he found his mother alone in the front room. She seemed to be awaiting him.
”The rubies, mother?”
”They were mine. Sit down, Harry. I must speak with you.”
Her manner was sad, and Harry thought in the strong light her face looked careworn.
”We are very much pressed for money--temporarily, of course. As soon as your uncle's estate is settled our income will be larger than ever; and even without that, Mr. Hodgkins has hopes----”
”But mother, you did not sell the rubies?”
”I have sold all my jewels, Harry.”
Harry stood up. His mother gave him a long look. She had made this sacrifice for him. He understood and colored when he remembered the fate of the money his mother's rubies had brought. It was luck alone which had saved their name from a blot on the evening when McCausland raided the Dove-Cote.
”I must curtail my expenses,” he said, rising to go.
”There is another matter, Harry,” said his mother, still sadly but gently. ”I saw Mr. McCausland in town today. He desires you to testify at your cousin's trial.”
”Testify against Bob!”
”It is in relation to the will--the disinheriting of your cousin.”
”Why, he admits that himself.”
”He may deny it if his conviction hangs upon that point Mr. McCausland wishes to leave no weak link in the chain.”
”Hang it, mother, I don't want to be mixed up in it. Think of the looks.”
”All he wants is a word. You heard your cousin say he was disinherited under the will.”
”Yes, that is--why, of course, I knew it. He told me at the jail that day.”
”Then I will write to Mr. McCausland that your testimony covers that point----”
”No, but mother----”
Rosalie March re-entered at this moment. Her first glance was toward Harry and his toward her. Their thoughts had been traveling the same route and meeting half-way all during the talk on the veranda, when Harry was so unwontedly silent. Alas, he knew well that he was unfit even to look at her.
In their outward demeanor to each other he was embarra.s.sed and she reserved. The religious difference seemed likely to be permanent. For Rosalie was a Catholic, the daughter of an eminent Maryland family, as historic and proud as the Brewsters and more wealthy than even the Arnolds. But this barrier between them only acted with the charm of a material fence over which or through which a rustic couple are plighting forbidden troth.
”All ready to win my wager,” cried Tristram, following his sister in. He, also, had changed his attire, and looked very handsome in his curling Vand.y.k.e beard of the cut which artists affect.
”What wager is that?” asked Mrs. Arnold.
”We pa.s.sed the river coming down, and I offered to canoe the rapids.”
”And the river so low, Harry. It is rash.”
”Would you have them set me down a boaster?” Harry was eager now. His mother knew ”them” meant ”her,” and her heart yearned more and more to the son who was drifting away.
”Indigo!” he cried out the window to his valet.