The Inner Shrine | Page 6

The words were spoken gently and as if in some absence of mind. As a
matter of fact, Mrs. Eveleth was scarcely thinking of Diane's
words--she was so intent on the poor little, tear-worn face before her.
She had always known that Diane's attractions were those of coloring
and vivacity, and now that she had lost these she was like an
extinguished lamp.
"I haven't made up my mind yet," Diane replied, "but I want you to
know that you'll be freed from my presence."
"What makes you think I want to be--freed?"
"You must know that I killed George. You said that night that his blood

would be on my head--and it is."
"If I said that, I spoke under the stress of terror and excitement--"
"You needn't try to take back the words; they were quite true."
"True in what sense?"
"In almost every sense; certainly in every sense that's vital. If it hadn't
been for me, George would be here now."
"It's never wise to speculate on what might have happened if it hadn't
been for us. There's no end to the useless torture we can inflict on
ourselves in that way."
"I don't think there ought to be an end to it."
"Have you anything in particular to reproach yourself with?"
"I've everything."
"That means, then, that there's no one incident--or person--I didn't
know but--" She hesitated, and Diane took up the sentence.
"You didn't know but what I had given George specific reason for his
act. I may as well tell you that I never did--at least not in the sense in
which you mean it. George always knew that I loved him, and that I
was true to him. He trusted me, and was justified in doing so. It wasn't
that. It was the whole thing--the whole life. There was nothing worthy
in it from the beginning to the end. I played with fire, and while George
knew it was only playing, it was fire all the same."
"But you say you were never--burnt."
"If I wasn't, others were. I led men on till they thought--till they
thought--I don't know how to say it--"
"Till they thought you should have led them further?"

"Precisely; and Bienville was one of them. It wasn't entirely his fault. I
allowed him to think--to think--oh, all sorts of things!--and then when I
was tired of him, I turned him into ridicule. I took advantage of his
folly to make him the laughing-stock of Paris; and to avenge himself he
lied. He said I had been his--No; I can't tell you."
"I understand. You needn't tell me. You needn't tell me any more."
"There isn't much more to tell that I can put into words. It was
always--just like that--just as it was with Bienville. He wasn't the only
one. I made coquetry a game--but a game in which I cheated. I was
never fair to any of them. It's only the fact that the others were more
honorable than Bienville that's kept what has happened now from
having happened long ago. It might have come at any time. I thought it
a fine thing to be able to trifle with passion. I didn't know I was only
trifling with death. Oh, if I had been a good woman, George would
have been with us still!"
"You mustn't blame yourself," the mother-in-law said, speaking with
some difficulty, "for more than your own share of our troubles. I want
to talk to you quite frankly, and tell you things you've never known.
The beginning of the sorrows that have come to us dates very far
back--back to a time before you were born."
"Oh?"
Diane's brown eyes, swimming in tears, opened wide in a sort of
mournful curiosity.
"I admit," Mrs. Eveleth continued, "that in the first hours of our--our
bereavement I had some such thoughts about you as you've just
expressed. It seemed to me that if you had lived differently, George
might have been spared to us. It took reflection to show me that if you
had lived differently, George himself wouldn't have been satisfied. The
life you led was the one he cared for--the one I taught him to care for.
The origin of the wrong has to be traced back to me."
"To you?" Diane uttered the words in increasing wonder. It was strange

that a first rôle in the drama could be played by any one but herself.
"I've always thought it a little odd," Mrs. Eveleth observed, after a brief
pause, "that you've never been interested to hear about our family."
"I didn't know there was anything to tell," Diane answered, innocently.
"I suppose there isn't, from your European point of view; but, as we
Americans see things, there's a good deal that's significant. Foreigners
care so