Rosalind was extravagant to a fault, and a bold coquette—they could not deny either charge.
But Rosalind had been their schoolmate and chum; she was in their set, she was handsome in her way, and they would not be ashamed of her, as they must be of poor little Berenice, the lowly born bride of their only brother.
So they held out for Rosalind, declaring it was only loyal to do so, and beseeching their father not to jilt her as Charley had done.
He, on his part, promised faithfulness, and the interview ended, much to the relief of all parties, having been productive of no good on either side.
The young wives, having told everything to their proud and exceptionable husbands, were consoled and sympathized with, and told that they had acted right.
So Senator Bonair, who had almost promised Charley that they should have a family reunion and reconciliation at Paris, was obliged to write to his son that his sisters were obdurate and unforgiving and that when he came to bid him farewell, he could not meet the kindred he loved so well; because, in their loyalty to Rosalind, they would not forgive his folly nor recognize his bride.
It was cruelly hard on Charley, who had hoped so much from his father’s intercession, and when he showed the letter to Berenice, he said bitterly:
“They were sweet, loving girls before they came under Rosalind’s baleful influence, and I wish they could know her as well as I do, and realize her catlike, revengeful nature, then they would not harden their hearts against us any longer. It is by her cruel machinations I am sure that Marie and Lucile have become so heartless.”
“But, Charley, even if we could turn their hearts against her, by telling any harm we knew, it would not be right, because we have already injured her in her tenderest affections,” his lovely bride said gently.
“Affections!” laughed Charley scornfully. “All her love is for money and position, and in wedding my father she will gain more than she lost in me.”