“Why, what do you mean?” the doctor asked, and she replied:
“I mean that as Everard Forrest’s divorced wife, married to another man, I am to be tabooed in this town. Didn’t you notice how the ladies we passed on the street pretended to be looking another way so as not to see me. They did not wish to recognize me even with a nod, and you surely noticed the insulting bow which Miss Belknap gave me. There was not a particle of cordiality in it. I knew it would be so, and that was why I was so opposed to coming here. I wish I had remained firm to my first resolution.”
She was more than half crying with anger and vexation, but the doctor only laughed at what he termed her groundless fears. Supposing she was a divorced woman, with her first husband living in the same town, what did that matter? He knew of many such instances, and if the people in Rothsay were disposed to slight him at first, he should live it down, for money could accomplish everything.
But Josephine was not to be soothed by his words, and bade him mind his business and leave her to herself. It was the first ebullition of temper she had shown toward him; so he received it good-humoredly, and touched her playfully under her chin, and had his way in everything, and took down to dinner a most beautiful and elegantly-dressed woman, who looked as if made for just the place she was occupying at the head of that handsomely appointed table.
No one called either that evening, or the next, or the next, and when Sunday came she was really sick with mortification and disappointment, and the doctor went to church without her, and met only cold words from those to whom he tried to talk after service was over. Nobody mentioned his wife, although he spoke of her himself, and said that she was sick, and asked Mrs. Rider to tell her husband to call in the afternoon and see her. Even that ruse failed, for there was no solicitude expressed for the lady’s health, no inquiry as to what ailed her, and the doctor drove home in his handsome carriage, feeling that after all Josephine might be right, and that the people were determined to show their disapprobation. But he meant to live it down, and not let the good fortune he had so coveted turn to ashes on his hands. But living it down was not so easy as he had supposed, and as day after day went by, and no one came to see his grandeur, or paid the least attention to him, his spirits began to flag, and he half-suspected that he had made a mistake in bringing his wife to Rothsay, where the Forrest star was evidently in the ascendant.
Once he decided to fill the house with young men from New York and Cincinnati, but when he thought of Josey he gave that up, for his love, or rather passion, for her was strong enough to make him wish to keep her smiles and blandishments for himself; and so the New York guests were given up, and he spent his time driving his fast horses through the country during the morning, and in the afternoon lounging, and smoking, and reading, and looking over his handsome house until his elaborate dinner, which was served at half-past six, and notice of which was given to the portion of the town nearest him by the loud bell which he caused to be rung as a signal to himself and wife that dinner was ready. The doctor was very particular and exacting on every point of table etiquette, and required as much form, and ceremony, and attention, as if a multitude of guests sat daily at his board, instead of himself and Josephine, who was always elegantly dressed in silks, and laces, and diamonds, and looked a very queen as she took her seat at the head of her table with a languor which was not feigned, for in her heart she was tired and sick to death of the grand, lonely life she led. Nobody came near her, and when by chance she met any of her old acquaintances they were too much hurried to do more than bow to her; while even the tradespeople lacked that deference of manner which she felt was her due. The doctor seldom asked her to join him in his drives, and as she did not care to go out alone and face the disapproving public, she spent her time mostly in her room reading French novels and eating candy and bonbons, with which she was always supplied.
Everard she had never met face to face, though she had seen him in the distance from her window, and watched him as he went by with a strange feeling at her heart which wrung a few hot, bitter tears from her, as she remembered the summer years ago when her boy-lover was all the world to her, and the life before her seemed so fair and bright. Not that she really wanted Everard back, but she wanted something; she missed something in her life which she longed for intensely, and at last made up her mind that it was Agnes, the despised sister, who was in Holburton, earning her own living as housekeeper for Captain Sparks.
When they first returned to the Forrest House, Dr. Matthewson had signified to her his wish that Agnes should remain where she was. She would hardly be ornamental in his household, he said. He liked only beautiful objects around him, and Agnes was not beautiful. She would be an ugly blot upon the picture, and he did not want her, though he was willing to supply her with money, if necessary. But Agnes did not wish for his money. She could take care of herself, and was happier in Holburton than she could be elsewhere. But as the summer went by, the longing in Josephine’s heart for the companionship of some woman grew so strong that she ventured at last to write, begging her sister to come, and telling how lonely she was without her.
“I have been hard and selfish, and wicked, I know,” she wrote, “but, Aggie, I am far from being happy, and I want you here with me so much that I am sure you will come. I believe I am sick or nervous, or both, and the sight of your dear old face will do me good.”
Josephine did not tell her husband of this letter, lest he should forbid her sending it. She was beginning to be a good deal afraid of him, but she thought she knew him well enough to feel sure that if Agnes were once in the house he would make no open opposition to it, and she was willing to bear a good deal in private for the sake of having her sister with her again. So she wrote her letter, and as the day was fine, took it to the post-office herself, in order to insure its safety.