“No,” said the doctor. “Those who have real dignity are never afraid of losing it.”
“Young ladies’ schools of to-day are very different, I think, from those of my time,” said Mrs. Forest. “The teachers I used to know never descended from their dignity pedestal, and if they had I don’t think they would have been able to get back again with the grace of Miss Marston.” Here Mrs. Forest inquired particularly about the late visit of that lady to the White Mountains, and this lead easily to the object Mrs. Forest had nearest at heart. The doctor sat very quiet while she urged Clara in the most earnest way, to make up her mind to be reconciled to her husband. “You do not feel as I do in this matter,” she said, appealing to the doctor. “I do so wish you did.”
“If I could feel it to be for the best, Fannie, I would use every effort in my power to bring about a reconciliation.”
“Then why do you not do it?” Mrs. Forest asked, brightening up suddenly.
“Because, simply, I can’t believe it for the best.” Mrs. Forest’s countenance fell. Clara sighed but said nothing while her mother talked of Dr. Delano, wondering why she spoke so confidently of his sentiments toward his wife. Mrs. Forest urged the natural goodness and uprightness of Albert, his anxiety for his wife’s return, the blessedness of forgiveness, and then the terrible evils that would result if idle tongues were not made to cease their gossiping.
“Have I not been taught,” replied Clara, wearily, “to avoid doing wrong, not from fear of punishment, but from the love of right, and faith in the beneficent results of a wise course—to defy all scandal, if only I was sure of being guided by my best feelings?”
“Our feelings are a blind guide,” said Mrs. Forest, reproachfully. “That is your father’s teaching, and I must confess I don’t see the good effects of it.”
“One good effect was going contrary to your advice, mother dear, and befriending Susie Dykes.”
“The end is not yet,” said Mrs. Forest, sententiously, and apparently much occupied with her sewing. “I believe such latitudinarian sentiments weakened your chances of gaining the permanent respect of your husband. Had you firmly insisted at first that you would not have that ill-regulated Miss Wills in your house, your husband would have honored you all the more for it.”
“I never should have dreamed of such a policy,” said Clara, very earnestly. “If we had gone and settled in the Desert of Sahara immediately after marriage, where Albert had never seen any woman but me, to be sure, he might not have changed; but I am not proud of a love that I cannot hold against all the flirts in the world. Miss Wills has certainly a greater charm for Albert than I have, and I wish her joy of her conquest. I’ve cried out about all the tears there are, as Susie said of Dan, and I mean to be sensible, and see if I cannot live without a husband who is the lover of another woman. I mean to go into the flower business with good, true-hearted Susie Dykes.”