Marriage à la mode. Mrs. Humphry Ward

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      Barnes stopped short in front of his companion, his face flushing.

      "What a horrible story!" he said, with emphasis.

      Miss Floyd nodded.

      "Yes, poor Madeleine has never got over it."

      The young man still stood riveted.

      "Of course Mrs. Verrier herself had nothing to do with the talk about divorce?"

      Something in his tone roused a combative instinct in his companion. She, too, coloured, and drew herself up.

      "Why shouldn't she? She was miserable. The marriage had been a great mistake."

      "And you allow divorce for that?" said the man, wondering. "Oh, of course I know every State is different, and some States are worse than others. But, somehow, I never came across a case like that—first hand—before."

      He walked on slowly beside his companion, who held herself a little stiffly.

      "I don't know why you should talk in that way," she said at last, breaking out in a kind of resentment, "as though all our American views are wrong! Each nation arranges these things for itself. You have the laws that suit you; you must allow us those that suit us."

      Barnes paused again, his face expressing a still more complete astonishment.

      "You say that?" he said. "You!"

      "And why not?"

      "But—but you are so young!" he said, evidently finding a difficulty in putting his impressions. "I beg your pardon—I ought not to talk about it at all. But it was so odd that——"

      "That I knew anything about Mrs. Verrier's affairs?" said Miss Floyd, with a rather uncomfortable laugh. "Well, you see, American girls are not like English ones. We don't pretend not to know what everybody knows."

      "Of course," said Roger hurriedly; "but you wouldn't think it a fair and square thing to do?"

      "Think what?"

      "Why, to marry a man, and then talk of divorcing him because people didn't invite you to their parties."

      "She was very unhappy," said Daphne stubbornly.

      "Well, by Jove!" cried the young man, "she doesn't look very happy now!"

      "No," Miss Floyd admitted. "No. There are many people who think she'll never get over it."

      "Well, I give it up." The Apollo shrugged his handsome shoulders. "You say it was she who proposed to divorce him?—yet when the wretched man removes himself, then she breaks her heart!"

      "Naturally she didn't mean him to do it in that way," said the girl, with impatience. "Of course you misunderstood me entirely!—entirely!" she added with an emphasis which suited with her heightened colour and evidently ruffled feelings.

      Young Barnes looked at her with embarrassment. What a queer, hot-tempered girl! Yet there was something in her which attracted him. She was graceful even in her impatience. Her slender neck, and the dark head upon it, her little figure in the white muslin, her dainty arms and hands—these points in her delighted an honest eye, quite accustomed to appraise the charms of women. But, by George! she took herself seriously, this little music-teacher. The air of wilful command about her, the sharpness with which she had just rebuked him, amazed and challenged him.

      "I am very sorry if I misunderstood you," he said, a little on his dignity; "but I thought you——"

      "You thought I sympathized with Mrs. Verrier? So I do; though of course I am awfully sorry that such a dreadful thing happened. But you'll find, Mr. Barnes, that American girls——" The colour rushed into her small olive cheeks. "Well, we know all about the old ideas, and we know also too well that there's only one life, and we don't mean to have that one spoilt. The old notions of marriage—your English notions," cried the girl facing him—"make it tyranny! Why should people stay together when they see it's a mistake? We say everybody shall have their chance. And not one chance only, but more than one. People find out in marriage what they couldn't find out before, and so——"

      "You let them chuck it just when they're tired of it?" laughed Barnes. "And what about the——"

      "The children?" said Miss Floyd calmly. "Well, of course, that has to be very carefully considered. But how can it do children any good to live in an unhappy home?"

      "Had Mrs. Verrier any children?"

      "Yes, one little girl."

      "I suppose she meant to keep her?"

      "Why, of course."

      "And the father didn't care?"

      "Well, I believe he did," said Daphne unwillingly. "Yes, that was very sad. He was quite devoted to her."

      "And you think that's all right?" Barnes looked at his companion, smiling.

      "Well, of course, it was a pity," she said, with fresh impatience; "I admit it was a pity. But then, why did she ever marry him? That was the horrible mistake."

      "I suppose she thought she liked him."

      "Oh, it was he who was so desperately in love with her. He plagued her into doing it."

      "Poor devil!" said Barnes heartily. "All right, we're coming."

      The last words were addressed to General Hobson, waving to them from the kitchen-garden. They hurried on to join the curator, who took the party for a stroll round some of the fields over which George Washington, in his early married life, was accustomed to ride in summer and winter dawns, inspecting his negroes, his plantation, and his barns. The grass in these Southern fields was already high; there were shining fruit-trees, blossom-laden, in an orchard copse; and the white dogwood glittered in the woods.

      For two people to whom the traditions of the place were dear, this quiet walk through Washington's land had a charm far beyond that of the reconstructed interior of the house. Here were things unaltered and unalterable, boundaries, tracks, woods, haunted still by the figure of the young master and bridegroom who brought Patsy Curtis there in 1759. To the gray-haired curator every foot of them was sacred and familiar; he knew these fields and the records of them better than any detail of his own personal affairs; for years now he had lived in spirit with Washington, through all the hours of the Mount Vernon day; his life was ruled by one great ghost, so that everything actual was comparatively dim. Boyson too, a fine soldier and a fine intelligence, had a mind stored with Washingtoniana. Every now and then he and the curator fell back on each other's company. They knew well that the others were not worthy of their opportunity; although General Hobson, seeing that most of the memories touched belonged to a period before the Revolution, obeyed the dictates of politeness, and made amends for his taciturnity indoors by a talkative vein outside.

      Captain Boyson was not, however, wholly occupied with history or reminiscence. He perceived very plainly before the walk was over that the General's good-looking nephew and Miss Daphne Floyd were interested in each other's conversation. When they joined the party in the garden it seemed to him that they had been disputing. Miss Daphne was flushed and a little snappish when spoken to; and the young man looked СКАЧАТЬ