'Smiles' by Eliot H. Robinson (ebook reader for laptop .TXT) 📕

accompanying thought, "I must see her." To what end she did not know or seriously attempt to analyze. Rose was not the first to take up cudgels in a lost cause, spurred thereto by a purpose which was incapable of receiving any logical explanation. It was the "mother spirit," fighting for its own.

A maid opened the door on Beacon street in response to her ring, and, on entering the hall, Rose found herself face to face with Marion Treville. She was clad for the street and was at that moment in the act of buttoning a long white glove. As she recognized the visitor, a deep flush mounted quickly on the patrician face of the older woman and, for an instant, her teeth caught her lower lip.

Smiles' face was very pale, so pale that her large eyes by contrast appeared almost startling in their depth and color. There was a gossamer film of dust on her shoes and the bottom of her skirt, for she had walked all the way from the hospital, and she realized this fact with a sense of chagrin, when she saw Miss Treville's eyes travel to her feet, and mentally contrasted her own appearance with that of the perfectly appointed daughter of wealth before her.

Neither spoke for an instant. It was as though each were trying to read the thoughts of the other. Then Miss Treville said in a cool, even tone, "You may go, Louise."

The maid vanished silently, with one curious backward glance as she passed through the door at the end of the hallway.

"Miss ... Webb, isn't it? You wished to see ...?"

"Tell me that it isn't true," broke in Rose, her voice trembling a little in spite of her effort at self-control.

"Tell you it isn't ... true?" echoed the other, with lifted eyebrows. "I'm afraid that I don't quite underst ..."

"But you do understand, Miss Treville, why do you say that you don't? It is in the paper."

"Perhaps I meant to say that I do not understand why you should come here to ask such a question, Miss Webb," was the icy response.

Rose was silent. What answer could she make to this pertinent question? She felt the hot tears starting to her eyes; but, even as she was on the point of turning toward the door, with a little choked sob of bitter chagrin, the other continued. Curiosity had unloosed her tongue.

"Well? May I be so bold as to inquire what interest you may have in my personal affairs, Miss Webb? Frankly, I am at a loss to understand the meaning of this unexpected, and—I might say—somewhat unusual visit."

"I ... I don't know as I can explain," began Rose, hesitantly. "I ... I felt that I had to see you, because ... I had a letter yesterday from ... from Dr. MacDonald...."

"Ah."

"Of course he writes to me, you know that he is my guardian," she answered the interruption with a flash of spirit. "He said in it that he was coming home just as soon as he was able to ... to get well and ... be married, and then that paper.... Oh, Miss Treville, surely it isn't so. You wouldn't throw him over, when he is so far away, and ... and sick?"

The other's voice was not quite as steady as before, when she answered, "I don't see why I am called upon to explain my ... to explain anything to you, Miss Webb."

"Then it is true." The sentence rang out sharply. "And he doesn't know. He thinks that you are waiting, and ..."

"We need not discuss the matter, in fact I doubt if the doctor would appreciate your ... shall we say 'championage'? The matter is between him and me, wholly."

"No, it is not, Miss Treville," flared Rose, with the angry color at last flooding her cheeks. "I have heard people say that, if that story is true, he is lucky to have escaped marrying you; but, just the same, those of us who really love him—you needn't look like that, of course I love him—don't want to have him hurt, as any man would be who was cast off like an old glove while he was far away and had no chance to speak for himself. That is why I hoped it wasn't true, and that you hadn't, perhaps, killed his faith in my kind. And that is the only reason."

Once started, her words had poured out as hot as lava which had broken from a pent-up volcano.

"So, that is the reason, the only reason, for your coming to me with your impertinent question?" Miss Treville laughed oddly. "Really! Do you know, I have always suspected that the little savage whom he brought from somewhere in the backwoods regarded him as rather more than a guardian, or a brother ... that was the pretty fiction, wasn't it?" she added, with honey coating the vinegar in her speech.

Under the lash of the words Rose grew white again. Her hands clenched; but, before she could answer, Miss Treville continued:

"It really seems to me that you ought to thank me for stepping aside so obligingly."

The occupation of a high level in the civilized world, or in society, is no proof of the Christian virtue of self-control,—that has been demonstrated, in the case of a nation, all too clearly these last years; and individuals are like nations, or vice versa. The feline that lies dormant, as often in the finished product of city convention as in the breast of the primeval woman, was now thrusting out its claws from the soft paws of breeding. And Miss Marion Treville, leader of Back Bay society, was rather enjoying the sensation. She had passed not a few uncomfortable hours in company with her conscience, even while she was yielding to the glamorous flame which surrounded her new suitor. It was a real relief for her to be able to "take it out" on some one else, and a victim had offered herself for the sacrifice, most opportunely.

Rose shrank back as though she had been struck; then steadied herself and said with an effort—for her throat and lips were dry, "I think that perhaps you were right when you called me a 'little savage.' I know that I feel like one in my heart now, and I think, too, that it would be a real pleasure for me to ... to ..."

The other stepped hastily back, and Rose laughed, bitterly.

"Oh, please don't be frightened, I'm not going to scratch you. We wood people don't fight with your kind of animal, they're too unpleasant at close range." She paused, and then went on more steadily. "I came here ... I didn't know just why I was coming,—perhaps to plead with you for Donald's sake. That doesn't look much as though I loved him ... in the way you insinuate, does it? No, if I had, I should have won him away from you, long ago. It would not have been difficult, I think."

She spoke so coolly, and with such perfect confidence, that the other winced.

"There isn't anything more to be said, is there?"

Was this the simple mountain girl, whose voice was now so suave and who was smiling so icily?

There was a pause, during which Miss Treville's trembling hand sought behind her and found the servants' bell cord.

"I am really glad that I called, Miss Treville, for you have succeeded in convincing me that I have no occasion to be disturbed—on Donald's account."

"Miss Webb is going," said Miss Treville, formally, as the maid appeared.