East of the Shadows

by Mrs. Hubert Barclay

"But every one thinks a man wrote the books."

"Let them continue to think so," said Isabella easily. "I don't mind. As a matter of fact I had no intention of deceiving any one when I published my first book under my initials only, but they all jumped to the conclusion that I. V. was a man; and when, later, my publisher thought it would be better for me to take a name instead of initials only, I saw no reason to undeceive the world at large, and chose a name to fit the letters."

"I think it is wonderful," said Philippa, after a slight pause. "I cannot tell you how interested I am. When I think of the times without number that my father and I tried to build up a personality for the writer from the books, and the intense interest we took in him, and now to find that after all, if he had but known it, it was an old friend of his who wrote them and not a 'he' at all."

"I am glad he liked my books. I wonder if he thought The Millstone true to life," she said musingly. "I think, somehow, that he would have understood. Oh yes, it is true to life, my dear. I have been a plain woman, and I ought to know."

"But how can you say that beauty is everything when you have such a wonderful gift? It is no small thing to be Ian Verity, and bring pleasure to thousands."

"That may be so. I grant you that is the case. But it has come too late to give me the joy of youth. I am not holding it lightly, do not think so for a moment. It is everything to me now—or nearly everything—but it did not help me to climb the heights, it only makes my journey across the plains fuller and brighter. Oh," she cried, with a sudden ring of feeling in her voice, "if I had a daughter I know what I should say to her. If she was pretty I would say, 'My dear, make the very most of your looks and of your time. Don't try to be clever, because you are probably a fool, but that doesn't matter. Keep your mouth shut, and look all the brilliant things you haven't the wit to say.' And if she were ugly I would say, 'For heaven's sake be amusing, and cultivate the gift of patience, and don't hope for the impossible.'" Isabella smiled. "Why did no one give me any good advice when I was young, I wonder? When I think of what I was as a girl—shy, awkward, and insufferably dull! I was unselfish. Oh yes, revoltingly unselfish. So pitifully anxious to please that I couldn't have said Boo to a goose, if I could have found a bigger one than myself, which is extremely doubtful. In fact, I was thoroughly worthy; and, my dear, God help the girl to whom her friends apply that adjective."

She leaned forward, clasping her knees with her hands, and with her eyes fixed on the distant heathland. She spoke without a trace of bitterness. "One day, it is very long ago now, but I have not forgotten, I happened to overhear a conversation which was not intended for my ears. I heard my name mentioned, and I heard some one answer, 'Isabella! Oh, we all love old Isabella—she is just like a nice sandy cat.' And the person who said that was the one whose opinion I valued more than anything else in the wide world. That remark showed me exactly where I stood, it left no loophole for self-deception. A man does not want to marry a sandy cat."

Philippa could not help smiling at Isabella's tone. "A very pleasant companion for the fireside," she said decidedly.

"That may be; but who thinks of the fireside when the sun is shining, and spring is in the air and in the blood? Not a bit of it. It is human nature—beauty rules the world, and it does not matter whether the particular world she rules over is large or small, her dominion is the same. Beauty is queen, and although her reign may be short it is absolute. The queen can do no wrong."

Isabella spoke half jestingly, and Philippa thought of her conversation with the doctor and his judgment, or rather his vindication, of a beautiful woman. It seemed a proof in favour of the argument.