“What is the matter with Achille? Have you been scolding? Has he run away from you?”
“I cannot bear jokes this morning, uncle. I think Achille has gone to fight a duel.”
“Nonsense!”
“Yes, I am sure he is going to fight that low creature, Horace Gilson. You know----”
“Twofold nonsense. He has nothing to do with the man. That is Leonard Murray’s business.”
“But Leonard came to Achille on Sunday night. He was full of shame and anger about every one passing him without recognition; and I am sure he must have deserved the slight, or Doctor and Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Fisher would not have done so--on a Sunday, just coming out of church, too, when people ought to feel friendly.”
“Come, come, Annette, this is all foolishness, and I am in no mood for it this morning. If Leonard has been insulted, he knows how to right himself--and that, without Achille’s help. Gilson is a low, scurrilous creature, and I hope Leonard will give him a lesson.”
“Uncle! Uncle! You must not go away without helping me.”
“Good gracious, Annette! What am I to do? What can I do? If Achille wishes to stand by Leonard in this matter, nothing I can say will prevent it. And, by George, I do not intend to say anything! As for Achille fighting Gilson, that is absurd. Leonard Murray is no special favourite of mine, but I am sure he is a young man who can do his own fighting, and who will let no one else do it for him. Leonard will fight Gilson, if fighting is necessary.”
“But, uncle, you ought not to put me off in this way. I shall go to grandmother and tell her.”
“Well, Annette, that is a dreadful threat--but you will find your grandmother no more sympathetic, in this case, than I am.”
“_So!_ Perhaps, however, you will attend to what aunt Carlita says. Come into the house and let us ask her.”
“I will not waste any more time, Annette; nor will I sanction you annoying your aunt this morning. She has had one of her worst headaches all night long, and has just fallen on sleep. Do not attempt to awaken her. And you must say nothing unpleasant to Sappha. She is worried already, and she has been up with her mother all night. Do have self-control enough to keep your ridiculous fears to yourself--or if you cannot, then go to your grandmother, or better still, go home. Home is the proper place for foolish women, full of their own fears and fancies.”
With these words he went down the steps, and Annette watched him angrily. For a moment or two she considered his advice to “go to her grandmother”; then suddenly, with a passionate motion of her head, she lifted the knocker and let it fall several times with unmistakable decision.
Sappha, who was busy in the back parlour, ran hastily into the hall, and when she saw Annette advanced to meet her with a lifted finger and a “hush!” upon her lips. “Mother has had such a bad night,” she said softly, “and now she is sleeping. Come in here, Annette, as quietly as possible. What is the matter? I hope Jonaca is well. Why, Annette, you are crying!”
“Yes, and it is you who ought to be crying! Yet you appear perfectly unconcerned.”
“But why ought I to be crying? You know mother has had these headaches all her life. This attack is no worse than usual.”
“_Mother! Mother!_ I am not thinking of your mother! I am thinking of Leonard Murray.”
“Is anything wrong with Leonard?”
“I do not know what you call wrong. The whole city considers him shamefully wrong! No one will speak to him! He is disgraced beyond everything! I am ashamed, I am burning with anger, to think that he might have been through you connected with my family--I mean the De Vries family. And I am distracted about Achille. He came to Achille on Sunday night--”
“Who came to Achille?”
“Leonard Murray, of course. And he almost cried about the way people had insulted him--coming out of church, too. And, I suppose, indeed, I am sure, that Achille promised to help him, and stand by him, and fight that man Gilson for him----”
“Stop, Annette! You are not speaking the truth now. You are, at least, under a false impression. If Gilson is to be fought, Leonard will fight him. Make no mistake about that. Leonard is no coward; and a man need not be foolhardy to prove himself brave--only cowards are afraid to be called cowards. My father has said that very often.”
“And pray what comes of such ideas? When a man is insulted they lead to nothing. I have just been talking to my uncle Gerardus, and he thinks precisely as I do. To let a man go up and down calling you a thief and a coward, and say nothing, and do nothing, is neither moral nor respectable. That is Leonard Murray’s position. And I think it a shame that I have to be kept on the rack for two days about your lover. I never troubled you about Achille; and I am not well, and when I am sick then dear little Jonaca is sick--and I have had to get up this morning hours before the proper time and leave my house, and my child about your lover, just because he cannot manage his own troubles; troubles, also, that he has made for himself.”
“You do not know what you are saying, Annette. Your temper carries you beyond truth. Leonard did not make this trouble----”
“Oh, yes, he did. His pride and self-conceit are intolerable. His patronage of people is offensive. And Achille and I have often noticed how purse-proud he was----”
“It is a shame to say such things, Annette. You know they are slander--wicked slander! No man was ever less concerned about his wealth, in fact, he----”
“Oh, we can let that subject drop--we all know how he spreads abroad his money. I am speaking now of his cowardice. Every one is speaking of it; rich and poor alike. He is a byword on the Exchange. He will never have another invitation to any respectable house. Even I must shut my doors against him--and, to be sure, no nice girl will ever be seen with him again.”
“All that you are saying is cruelly false, Annette; you are trying to pain and terrify me----”
“What good would that do me? I am only telling you what you ought to know.”
“But why? Why are you telling me?”
“Because I am angry at you. Why did you advise Leonard to come to Achille for help?”
“I did not advise him to come to Achille. How could Achille help Leonard? The idea!”
“I say plainly that Achille is now seeking that man Gilson, and if he meets him before Leonard does--which he is sure to do--he will challenge him at once.”
“How ridiculous! Achille has no quarrel with Gilson. Why should he challenge him?”
“Because of the things he has charged Leonard with. And Achille’s honour is so sensitive, and he is so passionate, the dispute will end in Achille making it his own quarrel. Then he will fight Gilson, before Leonard even succeeds in meeting him.”
“I hope he will!” said Sappha with affected satisfaction.
“You wicked girl! To say such a thing to a wife and a mother! Oh, now, I think you are none too good for Leonard Murray! By all means marry him--only for decency’s sake take yourselves out of New York! There are places where wealth will cloak cowardice. England, for instance!”
“All these stories you tell about Leonard are downright lies. Yes, I shall marry him, and we shall stay here--in New York. Do you understand? And if you were not insane with temper I would promise myself never to speak to you again, Annette St. Ange. Cowardice, indeed! You, yourself, are at this moment suffering from cowardice. Your fear of Achille being hurt has made you suspicious, unjust, slanderous. And Leonard and I must endure your shameful words--a woman has no redress. I am going to leave you. You have willingly wounded and insulted me--without any reason at all. I hope you will be sorry for it----”
“I am sorry, Sappha. Do not go away. I am sorry for you--that is the reason of my temper; and it is Leonard, not you, I am angry at.”
“We will not name Leonard. If he is all you say, he is not fit for you to talk about.”
“No, indeed!”
“I think you had better go home, Annette. You are making yourself, and me, also, ill; for nothing.”
“For nothing! That is all the thanks I receive for getting up so early and coming to warn and advise you.”
“I wish you had not come.”
“I shall go now and tell grandmother. She will perhaps be able to make you see things properly. I hope you will not make yourself sick about Leonard----”
“It is not my way.”
“If a girl’s lover turns out badly, she ought not to cry about him--it is neither moral nor respectable. I say this, Sappha, politely and kindly.”
“Thank you, politely and kindly, Annette.”
“I hope Leonard may come out of this affair better than we think.”
“Thank you. I hope Achille may come out of this affair better than we think.”
The clash of the front door emphasised this provoking bit of courtesy, and Sappha flew like a bird to her room, that she might conceal the tumult of outraged feelings warring within her. And then as soon as she was alone all her anger fled from Annette to Leonard. She accused him with bitter unreason; for at this hour she was insensible to everything but the painfully humiliating results of what she still mentally called “his quarrel” with Horace Gilson. And, oh, how Annette had hurt her! For Annette had not yet learned how to endure; and they who can bear nothing are themselves unbearable.