|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 2
Rose smiled at her in affectionate appreciation. The little old lady
seemed like a bit of Dresden china; she was so dainty and so frail. Her
hair was lustreless, snowy white, and beautifully, though simply,
dressed in a bygone fashion. Her blue eyes were so deep in colour as to
seem almost purple in certain lights, and the years had been kind to
her, leaving few lines. Her hands, resting on the arms of her chair, had
not lost their youthful contour, but around her eyes and the corners of
her mouth were the faint prints of many smiles.
"Rose," said Madame Bernard, suddenly, "you are very lovely to-night."
"I was thinking the same of you," responded the younger woman, flushing.
"Shall we organise ourselves into a mutual admiration society?"
"We might as well, I think. There seems to be nobody else."
A shadow crossed Rose's face and her beauty took on an appealing
wistfulness. She had been sheltered always and she hungered for Life as
the sheltered often do. Madame Bernard, for the thousandth time, looked
at her curiously. From the shapely foot that tapped restlessly on the
rug beneath her white lace gown, to the crown of dusky hair with red-
gold lights in it, Rose was made for love--and Madame wondered how she
had happened to miss it.
"Aunt Francesca," said Rose, with a whimsical sadness, "do you realise
that I'm forty to-day?"
"That's nothing," returned the other, serenely. "Everybody has been
forty, or will be, if they live."
"I haven't lived yet," Rose objected. "I've only been alive."
"'While there's life there's hope,'" quoted Madame lightly. "What do you
want, dear child? Battle, murder, and sudden death?"
"I don't know what I want."
"Let's take an inventory and see if we can find out. You have one
priceless blessing--good health. You have considerably more than your
share of good looks. Likewise a suitable wardrobe; not many clothes, but
few, and those few, good. Clothes are supposed to please and satisfy
women. You have musical talent, a love of books and flowers, a fine
appreciation of beauty, a host of friends, and that one supreme gift of
the gods--a sense of humour. In addition to all this, you have a
comfortable home and an income of your own that enables you to do
practically as you please. Could you ask for more?"
"Not while I have you, Aunt Francesca. I suppose I'm horrid."
"You couldn't be, my dear. I've left marriage out of the question,
since, if you'd had any deep longing for it, you'd have chosen some one
from the horde that has infested my house for fifteen years and more.
You've surely been loved."
Rose smiled and bit her lip. "I think that's it," she murmured. "I've
never cared for anybody--like that. At least, I don't think I have."
"'When in doubt, don't,'" resumed the other, taking refuge in a
platitude. "Is there any one of that faithful procession whom you
particularly regret?"
"No," answered Rose, truthfully.
"Love is like a vaccination," continued the little lady in grey, with
seeming irrelevance. "When it takes, you don't have to be told."
Her tone was light, almost flippant, and Rose, in her turn, wondered at
the woman and her marvellous self-control. At twenty-five, Madame
Bernard married a young French soldier, who had chosen to serve his
adopted country in the War of the Rebellion. In less than three months,
her gallant Captain was brought home to her--dead.
For a long time, she hovered uncertainly between life and death. Then,
one day, she sat up and asked for a mirror. The ghost of her former self
looked back at her, for her colour was gone, her hair was quickly
turning grey, and the light had vanished from her eyes. Yet the valiant
spirit was not broken, and that day, with high resolve, she sent her
soul forward upon the new way.
"He was a soldier," she said, "and I, his wife, will be a soldier too.
He faced Death bravely and I shall meet Life with as much courage as God
will give me. But do not, oh, do not even speak his name to me, or I
shall forget I am a soldier and become a woman again."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|