“Dear June,” she said as she started forward, as though to embrace her, but a look from Scott checked the movement.
“Irene,” said Scott, “please bear in mind that you are a Wilmer only in name, and June is acting only from a sense of duty.”
“Mrs. Wilmer,” June said, in a voice as formal as though she were speaking to a stranger, “my brother has requested me to show you to your room. Will you come?”
“Oh, June,” Irene sobbed, as she arose to her feet, and stood trembling before her; “you used to be so good to me; can’t you forgive me, either?”
“Irene,” she said, “I can be kind to you still, and I can do all that my noble brother requests me to do for you, but I never can overlook the terrible wrong you have done him. If he asks me to bring you a cup of cold water I can do it willingly, but I cannot say that I forgive you when I do not. I cannot be a hypocrite even for Scott. I do pity you, and will do all I can for you, but I cannot say that I forgive you.”
She led Irene to her room—the same that she had occupied before she left their home, then she arranged the pillows, and turning down the snowy spread, bade Irene good-night, and left her to her own reflections.
“This is my reception. I know I have no right here, but I did think that June and mama would forgive me if Scott did not,” Irene said as she slowly undressed herself. “June was always so tender hearted. I thought perhaps Scott might take me back, for some men will forgive anything for a beautiful face, but,” she added, as she glanced in the tall mirror before her, “my beauty is fading; oh, dear, and I have lost it all through my own foolishness; and now I know that I might as well give up all hope of ever being loved by Scott again, for the look that he gave me meant even more than the words he uttered, though they were decided enough, Heaven knows, and there is no hope for me here—only to have a shelter. It is strange that my father acts as he does; but, oh, dear, I could neither live nor die with him. Well, I may as well make up my mind that there is nothing left for me but to lie here and die. Oh, God, how I dread it. I wish I could put it off a few years, but, oh, I can’t. I must meet it. Oh, I could curse the man who brought me to this. After all, it was my own foolishness.”
“Paul, Paul,” she heard a voice calling.
“Come, Bob,” said June, “Paul is not here; it is time to go to bed, too. What has started you to calling his name?”