Rainbow Valley

  CHAPTER XXII. ST. GEORGE KNOWS ALL ABOUT IT

  At midnight Ellen West was walking home from the Pollock silver wedding.She had stayed a little while after the other guests had gone, to helpthe gray-haired bride wash the dishes. The distance between the twohouses was not far and the road good, so that Ellen was enjoying thewalk back home in the moonlight.

  The evening had been a pleasant one. Ellen, who had not been to a partyfor years, found it very pleasant. All the guests had been members ofher old set and there was no intrusive youth to spoil the flavour, forthe only son of the bride and groom was far away at college and couldnot be present. Norman Douglas had been there and they had met sociallyfor the first time in years, though she had seen him once or twice inchurch that winter. Not the least sentiment was awakened in Ellen'sheart by their meeting. She was accustomed to wonder, when she thoughtabout it at all, how she could ever have fancied him or felt so badlyover his sudden marriage. But she had rather liked meeting him again.She had forgotten how bracing and stimulating he could be. No gatheringwas ever stagnant when Norman Douglas was present. Everybody had beensurprised when Norman came. It was well known he never went anywhere.The Pollocks had invited him because he had been one of the originalguests, but they never thought he would come. He had taken his secondcousin, Amy Annetta Douglas, out to supper and seemed rather attentiveto her. But Ellen sat across the table from him and had a spiritedargument with him--an argument during which all his shouting and bantercould not fluster her and in which she came off best, flooring Norman socomposedly and so completely that he was silent for ten minutes. Atthe end of which time he had muttered in his ruddy beard--"spunky asever--spunky as ever"--and began to hector Amy Annetta, who giggledfoolishly over his sallies where Ellen would have retorted bitingly.

  Ellen thought these things over as she walked home, tasting them withreminiscent relish. The moonlit air sparkled with frost. The snowcrisped under her feet. Below her lay the Glen with the white harbourbeyond. There was a light in the manse study. So John Meredith had gonehome. Had he asked Rosemary to marry him? And after what fashion hadshe made her refusal known? Ellen felt that she would never know this,though she was quite curious. She was sure Rosemary would never tellher anything about it and she would not dare to ask. She must just becontent with the fact of the refusal. After all, that was the only thingthat really mattered.

  "I hope he'll have sense enough to come back once in a while and befriendly," she said to herself. She disliked so much to be alone thatthinking aloud was one of her devices for circumventing unwelcomesolitude. "It's awful never to have a man-body with some brains to talkto once in a while. And like as not he'll never come near the houseagain. There's Norman Douglas, too--I like that man, and I'd like tohave a good rousing argument with him now and then. But he'd never darecome up for fear people would think he was courting me again--for fearI'D think it, too, most likely--though he's more a stranger to me nowthan John Meredith. It seems like a dream that we could ever have beenbeaus. But there it is--there's only two men in the Glen I'd ever wantto talk to--and what with gossip and this wretched love-making businessit's not likely I'll ever see either of them again. I could," saidEllen, addressing the unmoved stars with a spiteful emphasis, "I couldhave made a better world myself."

  She paused at her gate with a sudden vague feeling of alarm. There wasstill a light in the living-room and to and fro across the window-shadeswent the shadow of a woman walking restlessly up and down. What wasRosemary doing up at this hour of the night? And why was she stridingabout like a lunatic?

  Ellen went softly in. As she opened the hall door Rosemary came out ofthe room. She was flushed and breathless. An atmosphere of stress andpassion hung about her like a garment.

  "Why aren't you in bed, Rosemary?" demanded Ellen.

  "Come in here," said Rosemary intensely. "I want to tell you something."

  Ellen composedly removed her wraps and overshoes, and followed hersister into the warm, fire-lighted room. She stood with her hand onthe table and waited. She was looking very handsome herself, in her owngrim, black-browed style. The new black velvet dress, with its train andV-neck, which she had made purposely for the party, became her stately,massive figure. She wore coiled around her neck the rich heavy necklaceof amber beads which was a family heirloom. Her walk in the frosty airhad stung her cheeks into a glowing scarlet. But her steel-blue eyeswere as icy and unyielding as the sky of the winter night. She stoodwaiting in a silence which Rosemary could break only by a convulsiveeffort.

  "Ellen, Mr. Meredith was here this evening."

  "Yes?"

  "And--and--he asked me to marry him."

  "So I expected. Of course, you refused him?"

  "No."

  "Rosemary." Ellen clenched her hands and took an involuntary stepforward. "Do you mean to tell me that you accepted him?"

  "No--no."

  Ellen recovered her self-command.

  "What DID you do then?"

  "I--I asked him to give me a few days to think it over."

  "I hardly see why that was necessary," said Ellen, coldly contemptuous,"when there is only the one answer you can make him."

  Rosemary held out her hands beseechingly.

  "Ellen," she said desperately, "I love John Meredith--I want to be hiswife. Will you set me free from that promise?"

  "No," said Ellen, merciless, because she was sick from fear.

  "Ellen--Ellen--"

  "Listen," interrupted Ellen. "I did not ask you for that promise. Youoffered it."

  "I know--I know. But I did not think then that I could ever care foranyone again."

  "You offered it," went on Ellen unmovably. "You promised it over ourmother's Bible. It was more than a promise--it was an oath. Now you wantto break it."

  "I only asked you to set me free from it, Ellen."

  "I will not do it. A promise is a promise in my eyes. I will not do it.Break your promise--be forsworn if you will--but it shall not be withany assent of mine."

  "You are very hard on me, Ellen."

  "Hard on you! And what of me? Have you ever given a thought to what myloneliness would be here if you left me? I could not bear it--I would gocrazy. I CANNOT live alone. Haven't I been a good sister to you? Have Iever opposed any wish of yours? Haven't I indulged you in everything?"

  "Yes--yes."

  "Then why do you want to leave me for this man whom you hadn't seen ayear ago?"

  "I love him, Ellen."

  "Love! You talk like a school miss instead of a middle-aged woman. Hedoesn't love you. He wants a housekeeper and a governess. You don't lovehim. You want to be 'Mrs.'--you are one of those weak-minded women whothink it's a disgrace to be ranked as an old maid. That's all there isto it."

  Rosemary quivered. Ellen could not, or would not, understand. There wasno use arguing with her.

  "So you won't release me, Ellen?"

  "No, I won't. And I won't talk of it again. You promised and you've gotto keep your word. That's all. Go to bed. Look at the time! You're allromantic and worked up. To-morrow you'll be more sensible. At any rate,don't let me hear any more of this nonsense. Go."

  Rosemary went without another word, pale and spiritless. Ellen walkedstormily about the room for a few minutes, then paused before the chairwhere St. George had been calmly sleeping through the whole evening. Areluctant smile overspread her dark face. There had been only one timein her life--the time of her mother's death--when Ellen had not beenable to temper tragedy with comedy. Even in that long ago bitterness,when Norman Douglas had, after a fashion, jilted her, she had laughed atherself quite as often as she had cried.

  "I expect there'll be some sulking, St. George. Yes, Saint, I expectwe are in for a few unpleasant foggy days. Well, we'll weather themthrough, George. We've dealt with foolish children before, Saint.Rosemary'll sulk a while--and then she'll get over it--and all will beas before, George. She promised--and she's got to keep her promise. Andthat's the last word on the subject I'll say to you or her or anyone,S
aint."

  But Ellen lay savagely awake till morning.

  There was no sulking, however. Rosemary was pale and quiet the next day,but beyond that Ellen could detect no difference in her. Certainly, sheseemed to bear Ellen no grudge. It was stormy, so no mention was made ofgoing to church. In the afternoon Rosemary shut herself in her room andwrote a note to John Meredith. She could not trust herself to say "no"in person. She felt quite sure that if he suspected she was saying "no"reluctantly he would not take it for an answer, and she could not facepleading or entreaty. She must make him think she cared nothing atall for him and she could do that only by letter. She wrote him thestiffest, coolest little refusal imaginable. It was barely courteous;it certainly left no loophole of hope for the boldest lover--andJohn Meredith was anything but that. He shrank into himself, hurt andmortified, when he read Rosemary's letter next day in his dusty study.But under his mortification a dreadful realization presently made itselffelt. He had thought he did not love Rosemary as deeply as he hadloved Cecilia. Now, when he had lost her, he knew that he did. Shewas everything to him--everything! And he must put her out of his lifecompletely. Even friendship was impossible now. Life stretched beforehim in intolerable dreariness. He must go on--there was his work--hischildren--but the heart had gone out of him. He sat alone all thatevening in his dark, cold, comfortless study with his head bowed on hishands. Up on the hill Rosemary had a headache and went early to bed,while Ellen remarked to St. George, purring his disdain of foolishhumankind, who did not know that a soft cushion was the only thing thatreally mattered,

  "What would women do if headaches had never been invented, St. George?But never mind, Saint. We'll just wink the other eye for a few weeks.I admit I don't feel comfortable myself, George. I feel as if I haddrowned a kitten. But she promised, Saint--and she was the one to offerit, George. Bismillah!"