My Mothers Rival | Page 4

who had evidently been stricken to the heart in some way or another. I often thought of my mother's words, "I should die," long after Lady Conyngham had made some kind of reconciliation with her husband, and had gone back to him. I thought of my mother's face, as she leaned back to watch the sky, crying out, "I should die."
I knew that I ought not to have sat still; my conscience reproached me very much; but when I did get up to go away mamma did not notice me. From that time it was wonderful how much I thought of "husbands." They were to me the most mysterious people in the world--a race quite apart from other men. When they spoke of any one as being Mrs. or Lady S----'s husband, to me he became a wicked man at once. Some were good; some bad. Some seemed to trust their wives; others to be rather frightened than otherwise at them. I studied intently all the different varieties of husbands. I heard my father laugh often, and say:
"Bless the child, how intently she looks and listens."
He little knew that I was trying to find out for myself, and by my mother's wit, which were good husbands and which were bad. I did not like to address any questions to my parents on the subject, lest they should wonder why the subject interested me.
Once, when I was with my mother--we were walking up and down the picture gallery--I did venture to ask her:
"Mamma, what makes husbands bad? Why do they make their wives cry?"
How my beautiful mother looked at me. There were laughter, fun and pain in her eyes altogether.
"What makes my darling ask such a question?" she replied. "I am very surprised: it is such a strange question for my Laura to ask! I hope all husbands are good."
"No, not all," I hastened to answer; "Lady Conyngham's was not--I heard her say so."
"I am sorry you heard it--you must not repeat it; you are much too young to talk about husbands, Laura."
Of course I did not mention then again--equally of course I did not think less of this mysterious kind of beings.
My beautiful mother was very happy with her husband, Sir Roland--she loved him exceedingly, and he was devoted to her. The other ladies said he spoiled her, he was so attentive, so devoted, so kind. I have met with every variety of species which puzzled my childish mind, but none so perfect as he was then.
"You do not know what trouble means, dear Lady Tayne." "With a husband like yours, life is all sunshine." "You have been spoiled with kindness!"
All these exclamations I used to hear, until I became quite sure that my father was the best husband in the world.
On my tenth birthday my father would have a large ball, and he insisted that I should be present at it. My mother half hesitated, but he insisted; so, thanks to him, I have one perfectly happy memory. I thought far more of my beautiful mother than myself. I stood in the hall, watching her as she came down the great staircase, great waves of shining silk and trailing laces making her train, diamonds gleaming in her golden hair, her white neck and arms bare; so tall, slender and stately, like the picture of some lovely young queen. Papa and I stood together watching her.
"Let me kiss her first!" I cried, running to her.
"Mind the lace and diamonds, Laura," he cried.
"Never mind either, my darling," she said laughingly. "One kiss from you is worth more than all."
Sir Roland kissed her and stood looking at her with admiring eyes.
"Do you know, Beatrice," he said, "that you grow younger and more beautiful? It is dead swindle! I shall be a gray-bearded old man by the time you have grown quite young again."
My sweet mother! she evidently enjoyed his praise; she touched his face with her pretty hand.
"Old or young, Roland," she said, lovingly, "my heart will never change in its great love for you."
They did not know how intensely I appreciated this little scene.
"Here is a good husband," I said to myself, like the impertinent little critic I was; "this is not like Lady Conyngham's husband!"--the truth being that I could never get that unfortunate man quite out of my mind.
That night, certainly the very happiest of my life, my father danced with me. Heaven help me! I can remember my pride as I stood by the tall, stalwart figure, just able with the tips of my fingers to touch his arm. Mamma danced with me, too, and my happiness was complete. I watched all the ladies there, young and old; there was not one so fair as my mother. Closing my eyes, so tired of this world's sunlight, I see