My Mothers Rival | Page 4

do such a
thing?"
"I am sure I should not; but then, you know, there are men and men. Sir
Roland is graver in character than Lord Conyngham. What would mean
much from one, means little from the other."
So, with sweet, wise words, she strove to console and comfort this poor
lady, 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