“Of all perplexing people she is the most perplexing,” said Ivy. “One day I like her, the next she is perfectly detestable. What did she talk about?”
Evereld faltered a little.
“Oh, of various things,” she said blushing. “She is getting ready a new dress for the Casket scene.”
“By the bye,” said Ivy springing up, “that reminds me that I must ask her for the pattern of a sleeve I want for Jessica. I know she has it.”
And with friendly farewells which Evereld could not find it in her heart to respond to at all cordially she took her departure.
No sooner was she out of the house than Evereld’s conscience began to prick her. She had felt very unkindly towards Ivy, and the wistful look of surprise and bewilderment which she had seen on the girl’s face as she uttered her cold farewells kept returning to her. What if Ivy went now to see Myra and learnt that they had been talking her over? What if after all this story of Myra’s was quite mistaken, or possibly one of those half truths that are almost worse and more damaging than utter falsehoods?
Shame and regret and self-reproach began to struggle with the wretched suspicions that had been sown in her heart by Myra’s words, and her long repressed tears broke forth at last,—she sobbed as if her heart would break.
“How miserably I have failed,” she thought to herself. “How ready I was to think evil, and to jump to the very worst conclusions. It would be likely enough that she should have cared for Ralph who was so kind to her when she was a child—I should only love her all the more if she had loved him. Why must I fancy at the first hint that there is sin in her friendship for him now? I won’t believe it—I won’t—I won’t.”
She took up her work again and tried to sew, but her tears blinded her, for she remembered how much harm might already have been done by her angry resentment and her ready suspicions. Ever since the hope of motherhood had come to her she had tried her very utmost to rule her thoughts, to dwell only on what was beautiful and of good report, to read only what was healthy and ennobling, to see beautiful scenery whenever there was an opportunity, and in every way to try harder than usual to live up to her ideal; she knew that in this way the character of the next generation might be sensibly affected.
Well, she had failed just when failure was most bitter to her, and being now thoroughly upset she had to struggle with all sorts of nervous terrors and anxieties and forebodings, in which her only resource was to repeat to herself the words of the Ewart motto “Avaunt Fear!” which had stood her in good stead during her flight from Sir Matthew.