A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

When they went into the dining-room they found Anthony. He was standing by the buffet, eating an enormous ice, while the maid who had served him looked on in an attitude of romantic adoration. At the sight of him Rosemary's dissatisfaction sank away. His absorption in his ice seemed to her, suddenly, the most charming, touching thing she had ever seen. What a baby he was—coming into the dining-room to eat ices before anyone had arrived! What a ridiculous boy he looked with his bright fair hair!—As she walked towards him she felt that there were tears in her eyes.

Mary saw their friendly greeting and turned away, swept by a bitter anger and jealousy. It seemed to her horrible that Anthony, the man, the pursuer, the captor, should be eating ices. He might at least have had the decency to exult over his prey. To Mary at that moment the whole world was a vast sacrificial altar raised to the lust and the cruelty of men. She did not remember that only yesterday she too had thought Anthony a friendly and delightful creature.

A few minutes later cousins began to arrive, and Mary, found herself standing by the drawing-room door, talking. "Well, Mary," all her old friends began, "to think—" and to one after another of them she answered, "We're all so fond of him!" "Yes, I'm sure they'll be very happy."

The pretty room, Mary's room, was filling with people, people who had come there to laugh and look animated and say stupid things because Rosemary was married. It did not matter much now what anybody said, one could not hear it. It seemed to Mary that she was screaming, but as nobody noticed her she supposed that she could not be talking louder than anyone else.

Behind her left shoulder she could hear James's laugh. He was talking too, everyone was telling him how well he looked. She heard him say, "Yes—both gone now—it makes a man feel old—" and a sudden wave of misery made her tremble. What did it matter to James—what were daughters to a man! It was she who was old, she who was left lonely and desolate, left to James who stroked her hair and lied to her.

There were fewer people coming now, and she crossed the room to speak to Anthony's mother. Anthony's mother was sitting on a sofa, calm, superior, but triumphant. Her eye travelled slowly over the chattering crowd with an air of august approval. "See what a fuss these people make," she seemed to say, "how they dress up, rejoice, invite their friends, because their girl has succeeded in catching my son! See how they have decked out the fortunate creature herself so that she may seem beautiful and pleasing!" Mrs. Hastings was a tall lady with a dignified nose, and she bent over Mary when she had made room for her on the sofa. "How charming dear Rosemary looks!" she began. "Her frock suits her so well"—the garment in question had been chosen by Laura—"everyone is saying how ridiculously young they both are——"

Mary followed the lady's imposing eye to where, between groups of people, she could see Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Hastings. It was true that they both of them looked absurdly young. Something in Rosemary's flushed laughing face sent the blood to Mary's heart. She was a child, only a child, and here in this hot, noisy room she was saying good-bye to her freedom. And there was nothing, nothing that anyone in the world could do—Rosemary was married!

Mrs. Hastings, having received no answer to a further remark, turned round again to survey her hostess. "Hysterical, poor woman," she thought. "She has never struck me as a person with much strength of will—one of your clinging little women." "I am sure they will be very happy," she said, in a voice that was certain to arrest attention, "for I have always thought that Tony would make an excellent husband."

An excellent husband—of course! What more could any woman want—an excellent husband like James! Mary smiled faintly. "Oh, yes, I'm sure, and they are so very fond of each other," she answered.

At this point someone else came up to Mrs. Hastings and Mary was able to rise and to go in search of Anthony's principal uncle. Rosemary's future depended on him too, for he was the head of Anthony's firm. As she looked about the room Mary caught words and sentences from the roar of conversation that echoed back from the walls and the ceiling. All these people were busy over their own affairs, their clothes, their engagements, their gossip. They did not care—Mary wished suddenly that there had been a wedding in church. That, at least, would have been serious, she could have prayed for her daughter. Then she laughed at herself. What good would praying have been? Her own mother, who believed in God, had prayed for her every day, and yet she could not spare her this——.