"No; I am not beautiful—not even pretty," she murmured. "But is Ethel?"
Another pause, during which she gazed steadily.
"So that is to be it—after all these years! I would have done anything—given anything—for him. Forty thousand!—That is nothing where one loves. He did not know why I was glad to hear that it was so much—for his sake, not mine. Little thinking then—and only a minute later—But Ethel has nothing to give him. She can mend his glove—laugh at him, perhaps, as I have heard her do. I could not laugh at Nigel—" forgetting that she had just done so. "At anybody else—not Nigel. Will Ethel understand him? Does anybody fully—except—? Oh, I think I could have made him happy!"
Then the consciousness swept over her of what she was saying, of what she was allowing to herself, and with it came a rush of angry blood, suffusing her whole face. She turned sharply away, and walked to and fro, her hands locked together.
"Shame! Nonsense! Rubbish! That I should be the first to think—I!—And he, of course, has never given a thought to me! Why should he? Why should I expect it? Nigel will never marry for money! Should I like him if he could? . . . And if I have not seen, I might have seen. He and Ethel! Why, it has been so for years! He would do for her years ago what he would not do for me. I never could think why, but I know now. If I had not been infatuated, I should have seen all along. Does the madre see? Is that why she minded so much? . . . No, I don't love Ethel. I don't care for her. I don't half like her. She rubs me up the wrong way, somehow. Has it been this? . . . Poor madre! Every one will pity her, and nobody will pity me! Hush—I will not have that come up! Unwomanly!—Contemptible—to give one's love where it is not wanted." Fulvia stamped her foot. "Nobody shall ever guess my folly! Anything rather than betray myself! Nigel—how Nigel would despise me, if he knew! And how I despise myself!"
She stood again before the glass, noting the flush which remained.
"No wonder; I may well be ashamed. It is too weak—too foolish! But I will hide it! Stamp it down! Hold up my head!" And she flung back her abundant hair with a proud gesture. "If love can die, mine shall be killed. Nobody shall see! Nobody shall know! I see how!—I'll laugh at Nigel—tease him—make myself as disagreeable as I can! . . . No, no, that might be read. And why must I pain him? He will have worries enough among them all. No, no, I'll follow a nobler line—more womanly. That at least remains. If I cannot be happy, he may be. I'll give him sympathy, and help it forward. I'll smooth things down for him, as I know I can—more than any other human being. I shall not be misunderstood then—shall not be understood, I mean! What nonsense I am talking! . . . Yes, that will do! He shall think I am glad—delighted. He shall owe some of his happiness to me. And she—I will try to love Ethel—will try to make her see better what Nigel is. And if he is happy—really happy—should I not be happy too, knowing it? But, oh—"
One moment Fulvia stood upright, smiling triumphantly at her own reflection. The next, an irresistible stab came, and tears burst forth in a deluge. She dropped to the ground, rather than threw herself down, hid her face upon those same folded arms now laid against a chair, and shook with smothered weeping, all the more intense because smothered.
Fulvia had never cried easily. From earliest childhood it had taken a great deal to bring tears—unlike Anice, who had a supply always ready to hand for the slightest call. But with Fulvia, when once the flow began, it was as difficult to check as it had been difficult to start. She could weep on to an almost indefinite extent; until, indeed, bodily exhaustion should put an end to the paroxysm.
Fulvia was strong, however, and bodily exhaustion was long in coming. Again and again she strove to master herself, almost with success; again and again a return wave mastered her. From the moment that she collapsed, something not far from two hours passed before she could lift her head. When she again stood before the glass she had grown sick with agitation. Her face was blistered; and the eyes had almost vanished beneath their swollen lids.