‘That is his business, not ours; but I believe his family live in the States. However, he will never return to San Diego, and so you see how little you will gain, and how much you may lose, by indulging in this sentimental folly. Indeed, I cannot understand you, Quita! Your one desire last month was to hear that this most objectionable young man had left the island, and now you are moaning after him as if he had been your dearest friend instead of your worst enemy.’
‘He loved me!’ sobbed Maraquita.
‘I don’t think he did love you,’ rejoined Mrs Courtney. ‘No man who loved you would have treated you in so dishonourable a manner. However, he has been ready enough to run away from you, and now the best thing you can do is to forget all about him. Indeed, you must compel yourself to do so, my dear. You owe it not only to your husband, but to your father and mother. And just think what a wicked thing you are doing too—crying after another man when you are Sir Russell’s wife. You horrify and grieve me beyond measure!’
Yes, Mrs Courtney was perfectly right!
It was both weak and wicked of Lady Johnstone to let old memories obtrude themselves upon her wedded life, but she had been far weaker and wickeder when she gave them up against her inclination. An eligible marriage is no cure for an ill-placed love, and the laws neither of God nor man have any power to quench passion in the human heart. They may help the victim to keep it under, but it is the one feeling that refuses to be silent until it has died a natural death. Whilst poor faulty Maraquita believed that Henri de Courcelles was lying in ambush somewhere ready to appear before her at any moment, holding the pledge of their love in his arms, as he did upon her wedding-day, she had had a great fear mingled with her insane desire to see him again; but now that her mother assured her he had left San Diego for ever, and she should never be able to ask his forgiveness, her dread of him vanished, to give place to a morbid regret. She wept so much and ate so little during the first days of her installation at Government House, that Mrs Courtney (who had been invited by Sir Russell to stay with her daughter) became quite seriously alarmed for the consequences of her grief, and tried all she could to rouse her by a description of the splendid preparations which were being made for the ball to be given in honour of their return.
‘My dear girl, I never saw anything like it! Sir Russell is certainly the most generous of men, and the whole island is talking of him. He has given a carte blanche order for all the white flowers procurable, and the ballroom will be decorated with nothing else. It will look like a huge bridal bouquet.’
‘Or a funeral shroud,’ suggested Quita, with a disagreeable laugh.
‘My darling! what a strange thing to say. We won’t have it too white, if you have such unpleasant comparisons to make. I will suggest to Sir Russell to have the wreaths tied with blue ribbons; or pink roses interspersed with the white ones, would look very pretty.’
‘I’m sure I shouldn’t take the trouble, if I were you, mamma! Let him have his own way. What does it signify what it looks like?’
‘I think it signifies a great deal,’ returned Mrs Courtney warmly; ‘and when I come to consider the matter, white will not set off the dresses as a little colour would do. For most of the ladies will be in white; and you will wear your wedding-dress, of course, Maraquita.’