“Proud and haughty,” was Alice’s first thought. That was always the first impression Margaret made on others, and only in the measure that new acquaintances won their way into her heart did she unbend; only to the nearest and dearest did she show the child of nature that she really was. It was not long, however, until winsome, pretty Alice had found that way, and for a while Margaret dropped the proud air that became her so well and descended to the mimic and burlesque. She recited selections of emotions and passion, until tears filled the eyes of her auditors, then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the broad brogue of Irish Bridget caused them, with blinded eyes, to hold their sides, convulsed with laughter. Then followed a negro song, ending with an Indian war-whoop; whereupon she sat down upon the floor at their feet and asked them if they did not think it rather foolish to so exert themselves with laughing, such a warm day. “It is so exhausting, you know, and so vulgar!” and waving her fan back and forward in the most approved languid, lady-like style, she elevated her slightly retrousse nose, while her companions went into new convulsions of laughter.
Leaving them to recover their composure she rose and stepping to the window drew aside the curtains. In a moment she was lost to her surroundings; her thoughts following her eyes into the distance, into the future. Incomprehensible dreamer she was, as she gazed up into the azure sky. The pearly teeth sank deep into the crimson lips. Tightly the white slender hands were interlaced, while the large eyes became soft and lustrous, a mist rising therein, and presently tears were falling upon the folded hands, recalling her from dreamland to the realistic present. Just then Imelda’s arm was wound about the snowy neck and her quick eye caught sight of the tear drops. Her heart gave a quick apprehensive bound.
“What is it?” grasped the paling lips as she caught the tear-bedewed hands in hers. “Am I the cause?”
But already Margaret’s mood had changed; a bright smile played about the sensitive mouth.
“No, dearest,” she said, “how could you.”
But Imelda was not so easily satisfied. The cruel fear entered her heart that Wilbur might be the cause. The painful thought was reflected in her eyes. All in an instant Margaret understood. Folding her arms about her friend’s neck she said:
“Not that, Imelda, never that! I am not so foolish, but I do not understand myself today. It is a day of my many moods. I am as changeful as an April day. I was thinking of the future, what it may bring me. Do not think, silly child, that your pure love for Wilbur has caused my tears. Not of that was I thinking. Oh, the curse of poverty! I love beautiful things. I love fame. I love wealth. I love a home, and I love little children. [This last came almost in a whisper.] What will, oh what will the future bring? Any of these? and which of these? will any of my dreams be realized? Sometimes a sort of despair comes over me when I think of the hours of trial, of pain, of suffering my dear mother has been compelled to endure, with her nature so well fitted to enjoy and to bless. A kind of wild anger sometimes takes possession of me. It has been nothing but plod and work. Then I think if her fate is to be mine, over again, I could curse the day I was born.
“But those feelings do not often last long. The determination to conquer buoys me up. I mean to sway the world, and—I will! I will fight for freedom until I obtain it. I will not permit myself to be shackled and fettered. Society has placed fetters enough upon me at my birth; and I will not add to their number. Free as the wild winds I mean to be. I will conquer fate. The day shall dawn that victory shall be mine; and then those I love shall be happy as the laughing sunshine of a summer’s day.
“And to curb some one else!—to curb you, my sweet Imelda, could I do that and be consistent with my ideas of justice? Never again, my dear girl, never again insult me with that suspicion. Now good bye, my precious one, this evening I expect you to be with me.”
Bending she kissed her, and without bestowing a single glance upon the surprised Alice, Margaret was gone ere Imelda had fully comprehended her meaning.