Mariposilla Part 13

"Indeed, I have done so!" she cried, fiercely. Rising from the bed she confronted me excitedly. Upon her sweet face, still wet with tears, there was an exultant expression, mingled with tragic distress.

"She knew not that I was unhappy! She thought only to make me wretched, but I wept not until I was alone," she sobbed, triumphantly.

Poor little one! how my heart ached for her! How readily was she acquiring the miserable experience from which I would have saved her.

Never again could she be the Mariposilla she had been before this unfortunate visit.

The flame was now lighted which threatened to consume her.

"Come, dear," I said; "you must not mind Mrs. Wilbur. She is a vain, foolish woman. If she has hurt your feelings, she has shown herself coa.r.s.e and vulgar. Perhaps we had better order a close carriage and go back to the dear Dona Maria," I continued, jumping at the opportunity to escape from our difficult surroundings.

"No, no!" she cried, pa.s.sionately; "let us not go away. I will be foolish no more. I will look no more into the silver shrine if only we may stay longer."

It was impossible to repulse her confidence. I could not then urge her to shield her love from the probabilities of disappointment. I could not add to the anguish of her afternoon. I shrank from a.s.sisting Mrs. Wilbur in her cowardly attack. At present I must wait. A few days, at most, would restore the child to the care of her mother. I would then know better what course to pursue.

In my inmost heart I believed that Sidney Sanderson would be willing to marry the beautiful Spanish girl, but as yet I could not interpret his mother.

I was beginning to feel more and more the woman's artful depth, but yet I did not really doubt her.

Mariposilla was now quite composed; the thought of our return to the ranch had silenced her at once. She bathed her face and dressed for dinner with the greatest care, soon appearing as if nothing had occurred to disturb her.

In defiance to the pelting rain, an impromptu dance was arranged for the evening.

After dinner the young people flew to their rooms to improvise fancy costumes, for Mrs. Sanderson had decided that the ball should be masque.

The lady showed at once great energy in arranging the costumes to be worn by Mariposilla and Sidney. After considerable maneuvering, she succeeded in converting her son into a splendid Spanish cavalier. She had upon her wall a superb trophy of a sombrero, ornate with silver decorations, which, with other trifles and a red silk scarf properly arranged, completed the gallant don of the past. Mariposilla, in her actual character of sweet senorita, was enveloped in a rich mantilla of black lace, coquettishly caught upon the shoulders and to the hair with pink roses. A short black satin petticoat displayed the pretty little feet, encased in dainty slippers that shone with jeweled buckles. The girl's bare arms and hands glittered with the contents of Mrs.

Sanderson's jewel box.

We all confessed that we had never seen anyone more beautiful. The theatrical yet natural character which she a.s.sumed had driven away every vestige of her depression. Never before had the child appeared so gay. Mrs. Wilbur's most insinuating remark had now no sting. The joyous present was enough; she would not believe that the future might be full of tears.

I remembered, long afterwards, how Sidney Sanderson had forgotten to look bored; and how both he and Mariposilla had neglected everyone in the room but each other, like two happy children in their devotion.

Not once again while we remained in the hotel did I see a shadow upon Mariposilla's brow. In vain did Mrs. Wilbur endeavor to excite her jealousy. The child was too happy to doubt. Each moment she grew more beautiful, maturing almost as we watched her, with the ripening influences of her strong first love.

CHAPTER XVII.

The breath of Easter was in the air. It was hard, even in that last penitential week, to renounce the seductive wooings of those first April days. In the little Episcopal chapel, or in the venerable Mission, we acknowledged each evening our infirmities; but with all our abnegation, there was for some of us an heterodox satisfaction in hastening away from our prayers.

We wanted to exult, rather than to bemoan "our manifold sins and wickedness."

We were not sufficiently impressed with our depravity to smell brimstone, when the air was richly purified with the scent of orange blossoms and millions of newborn roses.

Doubtless our lenten orthodoxy would have developed more strongly in the cutting blast of a Manitoba blizzard. We would have felt more contrite, drawn by the persuasive chastis.e.m.e.nts of a sweet spring cyclone. But in such days as the ones which followed each other like glad birds in a flock, it was difficult to a.s.sume a despondency adequate to the penitential demand.

The Gold of Ophir rose and Mariposilla were now blooming together. The old house was bright, outside and in, with light and glory.

From the veranda and the crest of the roof, long sprays of dazzling bloom swept voluptuously to the sky. In the blushing hearts of myriads of buds and blossoms, the sun whispered each day his rapturous secrets.

Wonderful from its first hour of triumph until its last pale, dilapidated petals have fallen to the ground--a moral to its transient magnificence--this rose is tragic.

It seems always the glorious prototype of Mariposilla, who ever stole its fickle lights and shades. As I watched, through those eventful weeks, the marvelous unfolding of bud to flower and child to maiden, I was never able to separate them in my thoughts. Their a.n.a.logy was captivating.

I have already said that I learned instinctively to watch for the girl's mood in the complexion of the rose. When the edges of its petals burned with fire, I knew that Mariposilla, too, glowed with hope and ecstasy.

When the fog smote sullenly the golden heart of the Ophir, I felt without looking that the girl, too, was pale, tortured with jealousy, and indefinite forebodings. Thus for me there will always remain the fancy that between this rose and the Spanish child there existed a kinship--a subtile sympathy, that each unconsciously felt when the other was near.

Looking back over those happy days, they seem fraught with no ordinary conditions. Unconsciously all took part in the several acts of a realistic drama.

I see now, as I could not then see, the innumerable cues, the important by-play and scenic situations, which eventually led up to an inevitable climax.

As the weeks glided away, I no longer doubted Sidney Sanderson's love for Mariposilla. Had there been a sign of opposition on the part of his mother, I would have warned the Dona Maria. But, to the contrary, Mrs.

Sanderson increased her affection daily for her pretty plaything; often alluding to the girl's beneficial influence upon her son.

"The scamp is head and ears in love!" she said one day. "Just look at him. I should die of rage and jealousy if I didn't adore his sweetheart myself," she confided.

Mariposilla and Sidney were at the far end of the veranda, oblivious to all but each other.

The woman then went as far as to intimate that a few years in a fashionable New York school would do all that was necessary for Mariposilla.

"Beauty such as hers would be ruined by rigorous education. Fortunately, Sid hates wise women. Imagine Mariposilla developing the occult transitions of theosophy. Come here, you pretty b.u.t.terfly!" she cried.

"Sid is a greedy boy to keep you away so long. Go fetch the guitar; I am just in the humor for music."

Thus the woman countenanced the wooing, petting, and enriching with gifts the happy child, while she silenced my own doubts and those of the Dona Maria.

That Mrs. Sanderson was selfish, worldly, and at times mercenary, I well knew. However, these very attributes led me to believe that she would gratify herself and her son. I knew how thoroughly she would enjoy the absolute control of Mariposilla, how extravagantly she would equip her with the elegancies of life, exulting that Sidney's wife eclipsed always the beauty of other women.

Beauty she worshipped.

It had never occurred to her that Sidney might possibly marry a plain woman.

"If Sid should marry a homely girl, I should hate her," she said, one day. "Is he not splendid?" she would ask, when her son chanced to dwarf physically his a.s.sociates.

And Sidney's exterior was admirable. He dressed perfectly, and there was about him the freshness of perpetual bathing. To Mariposilla he was the ideal type of masculine American elegance.

She scorned each day in her secret soul the careless, unconventional dress of the remaining Spanish men of her acquaintance, feasting her eyes with childish delight upon every detail of her lover's faultless attire.

Yet, withal, Sidney was not a fop. He was too blase, and at times too sullen, to represent the gibbering cla.s.s to which his immaculate and ultra-fashionable clothes might have otherwise attached him. But his unbounded reticence was his greatest protection; while it gave him, with some, a reputation for depth. Many believed that, although not brilliant in conversation, he sympathized silently with culture, and was shrewd in business affairs. In truth, Sidney had never taken an active part in his mother's financial transactions; but that her son was a dummy she carefully concealed. There was a laudable spirit in the woman's att.i.tude. Her affectionate subserviency to her boy in the eyes of their friends was admirable.

I had so often seen wealthy mothers humiliate and belittle their sons, that, although I believed Mrs. Sanderson to be the business brains of the family, I was glad that she abstained from flaunting the fact.

I think I understood the elements of Mrs. Sanderson's character at that time quite well, with one exception. Unfortunately, I stopped too soon in my a.n.a.lysis. I innocently took it for granted that she possessed a moral side to her worldly and perhaps frivolous nature. Here was my fatal mistake. I did not understand that the woman would unflinchingly sacrifice any one for selfish, momentary enjoyment.

In all cases her own pleasure was suggested by the inclinations of her son. To keep him contented and pa.s.sably respectable, she would have ruined her dearest friend.

Ethel Walton was arranging an entertainment to take place shortly after Easter. The girl was an enthusiast. Everything that she did called for her heart's best efforts.