Sylvia's Marriage Part 32

It was an afternoon in March, the sun was shining brightly and the Southern springtime was in full tide, and Sylvia had had the old family carriage made ready, with two of the oldest and gentlest family horses, and took the girls upon a shopping expedition to town. In the front seat sat Celeste, driving, with two of her friends, and in the rear seat was Sylvia, with Peggy and Maria. When an a.s.semblage of allurements such as this stopped on the streets of the town, the young men would come out of the banks and the offices and gather round to chat. There would be a halt before an ice-cream parlour, and a big tray of ices would be brought out, and the girls would sit in the carriage and eat, and the boys would stand on the curb and eat--undismayed by the fact that they had welcomed half a dozen such parties during the afternoon. The statistics proved that this was a thriving town, with rapidly increasing business, but there was never so much business as to interfere with gallantries like these.

Sylvia enjoyed the scene; it took her back to happy days, before black care had taken his seat behind her. She sat in a kind of dream, only half hearing the merriment of the young people, and only half tasting her ice. How she loved this old town, with its streets deep in black spring mud, its mud-plastered "buck-boards" and saddle horses. .h.i.tched at every telegraph pole! Its banks and stores and law offices seemed shabbier after one had made the "grand tour," but they were none the less dear to her for that. She would spend the rest of her days in Castleman County, and the sunshine and peace would gradually enfold her.

Such were her thoughts when the unforeseen event befel. A man on horse-back rode down a side-street, crossing Main Street a little way in front of her; a man dressed in khaki, with a khaki riding hat pulled low over his face. He rode rapidly--appearing and vanishing, so that Sylvia scarcely saw him--really did not see him with her conscious mind at all.

Her thoughts were still busy with dreams, and the clatter of boys and girls; but deep within her had begun a tumult--a trembling, a pounding of the heart, a clamouring under the floors of her consciousness.

And slowly this excitement mounted. What was the matter, what had happened? A man had ridden by, but why should a man--. Surely it could not have been--no. There were hundreds of men in Castleman County who wore khaki and rode horse-back, and had st.u.r.dy, thick-set figures! But then, how could she make a mistake? How could her instinct have betrayed her so? It was that same view of him as he sat on a horse that had first thrilled her during the hunting party years ago!

He had gone West, and had said that he would never return. He had not been heard from in years. What an amazing thing, that a mere glimpse of a man who looked and dressed and rode like him should be able to set her whole being into such a panic! How futile became her dreams of peace!

She heard the sound of a vehicle close beside her carriage, and turned and found herself looking into the sharp eyes of Mrs. Armistead. It happened that Sylvia was on the side away from the curb, and there was no one talking to her; so Mrs. Armistead ran her electric alongside, and had the stirring occasion to herself. Sylvia looked into her face, so full of malice, and knew two things in a flash: First, it really had been Frank Shirley riding by; and second, Mrs. Armistead had seen him!

"Another candidate for your eugenics cla.s.s!" said the lady.

Sylvia glanced at the young people and made sure they were paying no attention. She might have made some remark that would have brought them into the conversation, and delivered her from the torments of this devil. But no, she had never quailed from Mrs. Armistead in her life, and she would not now give her the satisfaction of driving off to tell the town that Sylvia van Tuiver had seen Frank Shirley, and had been overcome by it, and had taken refuge behind the skirts of her little sisters!

"You can see I have my carriage full of pupils" she said, smilingly.

"How happy it must make you, Sylvia--coming home and meeting all your old friends! It must set you trembling with ecstasy--angels singing in the sky above you--little golden bells ringing all over you!"

Sylvia recognised these phrases. They were part of an effort she had made to describe the raptures of young love to her bosom friend, Harriet Atkinson. And so Harriet had pa.s.sed them on to the town! And they had been cherished all these years.

She could not afford to recognise these illegitimate children of romance. "Mrs. Armistead," she said, "I had no idea you had so much poetry in you!"

"I am simply improvising, my dear--upon the colour in your cheeks at present!"

There was no way save to be bold. "You couldn't expect me not to be excited, Mrs. Armistead. You see, I had no idea he had come back from the West."

"They say he left a wife there." remarked the lady, innocently.

"Ah!" said Sylvia. "Then he will not be staying long, presumably."

There was a pause; all at once Mrs. Armistead's voice became gentle and sympathetic. "Sylvia," she said, "don't imagine that I fail to appreciate what is going on in your heart. I know a true romance when I see one. If only you could have known in those days what you know now, there might have been one beautiful love story that did not end as a tragedy."

You would have thought the lady's better self had suddenly been touched.

But Sylvia knew her; too many times she had seen this huntress trying to lure a victim out of his refuge.

"Yes, Mrs. Armistead," she said, gently. "But I have the consolation at least of being a martyr to science."

"In what way?"

"Have you forgotten the new medical term that I have given to the world?"

And Mrs. Armistead looked at her for a moment aghast. "My G.o.d, Sylvia!"

she whispered; and then--an honest tribute: "You certainly can take care of yourself!"

"Yes," said Sylvia. "Tell that to my other friends in town." And so, at last, Mrs. Armistead started her machine, and this battle of h.e.l.l-cats came to an end.

21. Sylvia rode home in a daze, answering without hearing the prattle of the children. She was appalled at the emotions that possessed her--that the sight of Frank Shirley riding down the street could have affected her so! She forgot Mrs. Armistead, she forgot the whole world, in her dismay over her own state of mind. Having dismissed Frank from her life and her thoughts forever, it seemed to her preposterous that she should be at the mercy of such an excitement.

She found herself wondering about her family. Did they know that Frank Shirley had returned? Would they have failed to mention it to her? For a moment she told herself it would not have occurred to them she could have any interest in the subject. But no--they were not so _naive_--the Castleman women--as their sense of propriety made them pretend to be!

But how stupid of them not to give her warning! Suppose she had happened to meet Frank face to face, and in the presence of others! She must certainly have betrayed her excitement; and just at this time, when the world had the Castleman family under the microscope!

She told herself that she would avoid such difficulty in future; she would stay at home until Frank had gone away. If he had a wife in the West, presumably he had merely come for a visit to his mother and sisters. And then Sylvia found herself in an argument with herself. What possible difference could it make that Frank Shirley had a wife? So long as she, Sylvia, had a husband, what else mattered? Yet she could not deny it--it brought her a separate and additional pang that Frank Shirley should have married. What sort of wife could he have found--he, a stranger in the far West? And why had he not brought his wife home to his people?

When she stepped out of the carriage, it was with her mind made up that she would stay at home until all danger was past. But the next afternoon a neighbour called up to ask Sylvia and Celeste to come and play cards in the evening. It was not a party, Mrs. Witherspoon explained to "Miss Margaret," who answered the 'phone; just a few friends and a good time, and she did so hope that Sylvia was not going to refuse. The mere hint of the fear that Sylvia might refuse was enough to excite Mrs.

Castleman. Why should Sylvia refuse? So she accepted the invitation, and then came to plead with her daughter--for Celeste's sake, and for the sake of all her family, so that the world might see that she was not crushed by misfortune!

There were reasons why the invitation was a difficult one to decline.

Mrs. Virginia Witherspoon was the daughter of a Confederate general whose name you read in every history-book; and she had a famous old home in the country which was falling about her ears--her husband being seldom sober enough to know what was happening. She had also three blossoming daughters, whom she must manage to get out of the home before the plastering of the drawing-room fell upon the heads of their suitors; so that the ardour of her husband-hunting was one of the jokes of the State. Naturally, under such circ.u.mstances, the Witherspoons had to be treated with consideration by the Castlemans. One might snub rich Yankees, and chasten the suddenly-prosperous; but a family with an ancient house in ruins, and with faded uniforms and battle-scarred sabres in the cedar-chests in its attic--such a family can with difficulty overdraw its social bank account.

Dolly Witherspoon, the oldest daughter, had been Sylvia's rival for the palm as the most beautiful girl in Castleman County. And Sylvia had triumphed, and Dolly had failed. So, in her secret heart she hated Sylvia, and the mother hated her; and yet--such was the social game--they had to invite Sylvia and her sister to their card-parties, and Sylvia and her sister had to go. They had to go and be the most striking figures there: Celeste, slim and pale from sorrow, virginal, in clinging white chiffon; and Sylvia, regal and splendid, shimmering like a mermaid in a gown of emerald green.

The mermaid imagined that she noticed a slight agitation underneath the cordiality of her hostess. The next person to greet her was Mrs.

Armistead; and Sylvia was sure that she did not imagine the suppressed excitement in that lady's manner. But even while she was speculating and suspecting, she was led toward the drawing-room. It was late, her hostess explained; the other guests were waiting, so if they did not mind, the play would start at once. Celeste was to sit at that table over there, with Mr. Witherspoon's crippled brother, and old Mr.

Perkins, who was deaf; and Sylvia was to come this way--the table in the corner. Sylvia moved toward it, and Dolly Witherspoon and her sister, Emma, greeted her cordially, and then stepped out of the way to let her to her seat; and Sylvia gave one glance--and found herself face to face with Frank Shirley!

22. Frank's face was scarlet; and Sylvia had a moment of blind terror, when she wanted to turn and fly. But there about her was the circle of her enemies; a whole roomful of people, breathless with curiosity, drinking in with eyes and ears every hint of distress that she might give. And the next morning the whole town would, in imagination, attend the scene!

"Good-evening, Julia," said Sylvia, to Mrs. Witherspoon's youngest daughter, the other lady at the table. "Good-evening, Malcolm"--to Malcolm McCallum, an old "beau" of hers. And then, taking the seat which Malcolm sprang to move out for her, "How do you do, Frank?"

Frank's eyes had fallen to his lap. "How do you do?" he murmured. The sound of his voice, low and trembling, full of pain, was like the sound of some old funeral bell to Sylvia; it sent the blood leaping in torrents to her forehead. Oh, horrible, horrible!

For a moment her eyes fell like his, and she shuddered, and was beaten.

But there was the roomful of people, watching; there was Mrs. Armistead, there were the Witherspoon women gloating. She forced a tortured smile to her lips, and asked, "What are we playing?"

"Oh, didn't you know that?" said Julia. "Progressive whist."

"Thank-you," said Sylvia. "When do we begin?" And she looked about--anywhere but at Frank Shirley, with his face grown so old in four years.

No one said anything, no one made a move. Was everybody in the room conspiring to break her down? "I thought we were late," she said, desperately; and then, with another effort--"Shall I cut?" she asked, of Julia.

"If you please," said the girl; but she did not make a motion to pa.s.s the cards. Her manner seemed to say, You may cut all night, but it won't help you to rob me of this satisfaction.

Sylvia made a still more determined effort. If the game was to be postponed indefinitely, so that people might watch her and Frank--well, she would have to find something to talk about.

"It is a surprise to see you again, Frank Shirley!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," he said. His voice was a mumble, and he did not lift his eyes.

"You have been in the West, I understand?"

"Yes," again; but still he did not lift his eyes.

Sylvia managed to lift hers as far as his cravat; and she saw in it an old piece of imitation jewelry which she had picked up once on the street, and had handed to him in jest. He had worn it all these years!

He had not thrown it away--not even when she had thrown him away!

Again came a surge of emotion; and out of the mist she looked about her and saw the faces of tormenting demons, leering. "Well," she demanded, "are we going to play?"