“More than enough sometimes,” Rose replied quietly.
Lily Osborne laughed again, stooping a little to lean both hands on the window-sill as she looked out. At the touch of her flowing draperies Rose drew back with instinctive repugnance. They were naturally antagonistic, and the touch of her dress, the sound of her voice, were distasteful.
The older woman noticed the movement instantly, her perceptions were of the keenest. She looked upon the girl as rather dull, if beautiful, and as an unworthy adversary, yet she resented her manner. Her cheek reddened and she bit her lip as she stared down into the street with unseeing eyes. The offense lay deeper; she had never forgotten or forgiven the bridge whist incident, nor the day when Judge Temple, an important figure in the social world, failed to see her. She turned and saw Rose looking at a rough sketch of Fox. Allestree had done it in a few moments when Fox was talking and unconscious that he was a model. The result was remarkable; the artist had caught his happiest expression and the fine upward sweep of the brow, the noble pose of the head. Rose saw it for the first time and she had forgotten Lily Osborne. She was looking at it with an absorbed eye, her cheek pale.
The other woman read her as easily as an open page; she moved over to her side and raised her lorgnon. “Excellent,” she commented; “a splendid head, I always said so! You have heard of the great divorce—Mrs. White from the secretary?”
Rose did not reply, she glanced anxiously toward the door. They both heard steps on the stairs and Mrs. Allestree’s voice panting at every step. “Robert, I don’t care! Of course the man cheats, they all do, but it’s a beauty and only seventy-five dollars!”
Lily Osborne continued. “Of course Fox will have to marry her, that’s the code, I believe! Thank heaven, when I got my divorce I didn’t have to marry to save myself! It’s such a pity on his account, with his career, but the secretary would be a fool not to divorce her, she—”
Rose turned coldly. “Pardon me,” she said, with white lips, “I don’t care to listen to scandal,” and she walked away to meet Mrs. Allestree, her head up but her heart sinking within her. The sheer misery that swept in upon her being, chilling its natural happy calm, transforming all the cheerful amenities of life, appalled her.
XV
TWO days later Mrs. Allestree rang the bell at Margaret’s door with a sudden sensation of panic. She had felt it her duty to go, in spite of Robert’s protests, for the morning newspaper had printed a scarcely veiled account of the scandal in the Cabinet. White, it appeared, had openly quarrelled with his wife and abruptly left her the day before, publishing his private affairs by going to a large hotel which was crowded with fashionable guests. Society caught its breath and waited—with the relish that it usually waits—for a cause célèbre.
“It’s a cowardly thing to do, Robert,” Mrs. Allestree declared hotly; “no man should expose a woman to such a scandal. I shall go to see Margaret to-day, it’s my duty!”