“I remember.”
“And now, to think I am going into a world so different; a world where the milliner, and the modiste, and the tailor ‘are throned powers, and share the general state.’ Is that correctly quoted? Then, too, Harry will be in Wall Street; and you know what that means?”
“I do not think I do, Rose.”
“It means men rushing through life, pushing and being pushed, splashing and being splashed, caring for nothing but money, willing to give up every book that was ever written, from Homer to Kipling, for a ‘rise’ of twenty cents. I will except the Bible; for your broker, as a general thing, respects God, though he does give his life to Mammon.”
Thus they chattered on every subject which touched, or was likely to touch, their lives. And just before dark Yanna rose and lit the lamps, and Betta came in and swept the hearth, and piled more logs on the fire, and then brought in the tea tray. It was not then long before Peter and Antony came in together, and found Rose snugly resting herself in Peter’s big chair. Her fair head made a light among its crimson shadows, and her little feet were stretched out before the blaze on a crimson cushion. The position was not an accidental one. Rose knew it was becoming, and when Antony stood entranced and speechless, he only paid her the compliment she expected. Then there was a pretty little scene with Peter. She acknowledged her invasion of his rights, and insisted on placing him in his own chair; and this she did with so many charming words and attitudes that both Peter and Antony were delighted to be obedient to the lovely despot.
In fact, she had purposely come to win all hearts, and to leave behind herself a memory without a shadow; and Yanna was womanly and sweet, and divined her intent, and helped her to accomplish it. She put out of her mind her own disappointment; she rose to her highest cheerfulness, she made opportunities for Rose to exhibit all the best and cleverest sides of her character; and until she had sent her away shawled, and wrapped, and safely tucked in by Antony’s side, she never suffered her heart to fail her.
Not even then; for Peter had to discuss the visit and the visitor, and he did so with an interest that astonished Yanna, for she was not aware that her father regarded Rose, not only as an hereditary Van Hoosen, but also as a future daughter-in-law. Afterwards he had to tell Yanna about the horse, and the man who had the horse to sell. “No created creatures,” he said, “are so eulogized as horses are by their owners. And when a man has a horse to sell, you would think, Yanna, that horse flesh was better than human nature. However, I bought the animal, and as Antony says, if it is half as good as warranted, I have bought a horse with which I can live happy ever after.”
In such homelike confidence the hours passed, until at length the moment came which released Yanna from her self-imposed repression and her gracious office of happiness-maker. She had not grudged the effort, and she had not missed the strength and consolation which any healthy self-denial imparts. “Your merry heart goes all the day.” Yes, and this truth came from one who knew how much a merry heart may have to carry. But once within her own room she let all go—all her heartache, all her wounded love, and wounded self-esteem. She had hoped, she had surely 98 thought, that Harry would come again; and all that day her ear and eyes had been on the watch.