Marriage à la mode | Page 8

had a cousin who had been trained at Leipsic; wasn't teaching it trying sometimes--when people had no ear? Delicious! She kept it up, talking with smiles of "my pupils" and "my class," while they wandered after the others upstairs to the dark low-roofed room above the death-chamber, where Martha Washington spent the last years of her life, in order that from the high dormer window she might command the tomb on the slope below, where her dead husband lay. The curator told the well-known story. Mrs. Verrier, standing beside him, asked some questions, showed indeed some animation.
"She shut herself up here? She lived in this garret? That she might always see the tomb? That is really true?"
Barnes, who did not remember to have heard her speak before, turned at the sound of her voice, and looked at her curiously. She wore an expression--bitter or incredulous--which, somehow, amused him. As they descended again to the garden he communicated his amusement--discreetly--to Miss Floyd.
Did Mrs. Verrier imply that no one who was not a fool could show her grief as Mrs. Washington did? That it was, in fact, a sign of being a fool to regret your husband?
"Did she say that?" asked Miss Floyd quickly.
"Not like that, of course, but----"
They had now reached the open air again, and found themselves crossing the front court to the kitchen-garden. Daphne Floyd did not wait till Roger should finish his sentence. She turned on him a face which was grave if not reproachful.
"I suppose you know Mrs. Verrier's story?"
"Why, I never saw her before! I hope I haven't said anything I oughtn't to have said?"
"Everybody knows it here," said Daphne slowly. "Mrs. Verrier married three years ago. She married a Jew--a New Yorker--who had changed his name. You know Jews are not in what we call 'society' over here? But Madeleine thought she could do it; she was in love with him, and she meant to be able to do without society. But she couldn't do without society; and presently she began to dine out, and go to parties by herself--he urged her to. Then, after a bit, people didn't ask her as much as before; she wasn't happy; and her people began to talk to him about a divorce--naturally they had been against her marrying him all along. He said--as they and she pleased. Then, one night about a year ago, he took the train to Niagara--of course it was a very commonplace thing to do--and two days afterwards he was found, thrown up by the whirlpool; you know, where all the suicides are found!"
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