PAGE 11
The Vice-Consort
by
“We sat down on the bench, and, in a general sort of way, I asked him what he had been doing, meaning presently to bring up the subject of Margaret, for I did not know what time she might drop in. But George was just as anxious to talk as I was, and, being a man, he was a little more pushing, and he said:
“‘Now, little Rosa, I am so glad you came down here with me, for I have something on my mind I want to tell you, and I want to do it myself, before anybody else interferes. It is just this: I am engaged to be married, and as soon as I get back from England I am going to–‘ And then he opened his eyes very wide and looked hard at me. ‘What is the matter, Rosa?’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t you feel well?’
“In one instant all my plans and hopes and happy dreams of the future had dropped to the ground, and had been crushed into atoms.
“‘Well!’ said I, and I think I spoke in a queer voice. ‘I am very well. There is nothing the matter with me. What is her name?’
“He told me; but I had never heard it before, and it was of no more importance to me than the buzzing of a bee.
“‘It will be very nice,’ I said; ‘and now let us go up to the house and tell the others.’
“I think that for a woman who had just received such a blow as had been dealt to me I behaved very well indeed. But I was cold and, I suspect, pale. I listened as the others talked, but I did not say much myself; and, as soon as I could make some excuse, I went up to my room. There I threw myself into a great chair, and gently cried myself to sleep. I did not sob loudly, because I did not want Bernard to come up again. When I awoke I had a dreadful headache, and I made up my mind I would not go down to tea. I could do no good by going down, and, so far as I was concerned, it did not matter in the least whether Margaret was there or not. In fact, I did not care about anything. Let George marry whoever he pleased. If I should die Margaret Temple had promised to take care of Bernard. Everything was settled, and there was no sense in making any more plans. So I got ready for another nap, and when Bernard came up I told him I had a headache, and did not want any tea.
“That evening Bernard sat and looked at me without speaking, as was sometimes his habit, and then he said:
“‘Rosa, I do not understand this at all, and I want you to tell me why you were so extravagantly glad when you found my brother George was coming here, and why you were so overcome by your emotions when you heard of his engagement.’
“‘Oh, Bernard,’ I cried, ‘if it were anybody else I might tell everything, but I cannot tell you–I cannot tell you!’ And I am sure I spoke truly, for how could I have told that dear man what I had said to Margaret Temple; and how jealous I had been of her afterwards; and how I had planned for her to marry George; and that, after my funeral, he should go to live with them; and about my picture on the wall; and all the rest of it? It was simply impossible. And if he did not know all this, how could he understand my feelings when I heard that George was engaged?
“I could not answer him; I could only sob, and repeat what I had said before–that if it were anybody else I might speak, but that I could never tell him. Soon after that he went down-stairs, and I went to sleep.