Chapter XIV: News for Vivian

“Am I mad that I should cherish
That which bears but bitter fruit?
I will pluck it from my bosom,
Though my heart be at the root.”
--TENNYSON.

“Everybody is talking about your flirtation with the handsome Essex, Viva. Why don’t you put the poor fellow out of his misery, or say ‘No’ at once and give the rest of us girls a chance at a rich husband?”

“Eve, for mercy’s sake, is it any business of yours?” cries Diana.

“My dear sister, yes; I am vitally interested.”

“Well, please do not pull all the hair out of my head! Ouch! how it hurts! Viva, do not mind her, my dear. Flirt as much as you please.”

It is a month since the disappearance of Madame Orne, and the three girls are together in Miss Kingsley’s room, where the mysteries of dressing for dinner are at their height. At least Diana is making preparations. Eve stands at the back of her chair, combing and plaiting those “lint-white” locks and keeping up a running fire of small-talk. They are not in any haste, for the gentlemen are in attendance on a bachelor dinner-party and the girls are indulging themselves in loose white wrappers. Viva, in a dainty robe of white mull and Valenciennes lace, is in a low seat at the window.

“I’m sure I never flirt, Di,” she exclaims.

“Why, my dearest girl”--Diana pulls her hair out of Eve’s merciless grasp and faces around to look squarely at her cousin--“I hope I may never see more decided flirting than you have kept up with the gentleman in question--if you intend to refuse his hand!”

“No girl in her senses would do that, I’m sure!” cries Eve. “Mr. Essex is conceded to be the best catch in Richmond--the handsomest mansion on Franklin street and the finest team in the city. The girl is blessed who has a chance to accept all that splendor.”

Vivian only laughs at her rhapsody.

“All you think of, Eve, is a fine catch--in other words, plenty of money. The man that represents it is entirely secondary, I suppose.”

“Certainly, my dear. The money is the main thing. But in this case Earle Essex is really an addition to his wealth--handsome, cultivated, well-born, as good a chance as you will ever have, my little country cousin. I hope you will have sense enough to jump at it.”

“I certainly shall not, then,” cries Vivian vexed, but laughing in spite of herself, and Diana, who prides herself on being too dignified to flirt, rejoins:

“You have been too cordial with him, then, and given him reason to anticipate the acceptance of his suit.”

“Yes, indeed,” affirms Eve, and Vivian’s dark eyes grow troubled at their verdict. After a moment’s hesitancy, she says earnestly:

“Indeed, Di, I have meant no more than simple courtesy to my brother’s friend and guest. To tell you the truth, girls, I should not like to marry Mr. Essex, anyway, for I have noticed that he drinks much more than is usual at all times, and I know positively that he has come in twice from those bachelor parties so much under the influence of liquor that the servants had to assist him in retiring. I should not like to peril my happiness in the keeping of a man like that--should you, Diana?”

“I should not hesitate a moment on that account,” Diana answers carelessly. “It is a mere bachelor habit of which you can easily break him after marriage, since you are so punctilious about it. For my part, I should not object to my husband drinking in a moderate way. All gentlemen drink.”

“Except Max Verne,” laughs Eve maliciously. “And that reminds me, Viva, that I have some news about your Max. But perhaps he has told you himself--you correspond, do you not?”

“No,” Vivian answers, turning her face away.

“Well, I had a letter from a girl in Richmond yesterday--full of news. She says there is quite a sensation in society. Mr. Verne--is about to marry. She has not heard the bride’s name, but it must be a sad mesalliance, for his uncle is furious, and has disinherited him. But here is the letter--read it if you like.”

Eve tosses it into Viva’s lap, and she and Diana look curiously at the white face and the unsteady little hands. Slowly Viva scans the perfumed sheet with its sketchy report of the light gossip afloat about the Vernes--uncle and nephew. The mistake is quite natural, considering the weak foundation on which rumor always rests. The writer has supposed it is the younger Verne who is about to commit matrimony. Of course the reader thinks the same.

“Well, what do you think about it?” queries irrepressible Eve.

“I am surprised, Eve, and sorry, too--not about the marriage, of course--but that his uncle will disinherit him.”

“You don’t care about the marriage, then?”

“No, why should I care? We were only friends,” the proud head held high. “But, really, I must go and dress.”

She is gone, and the sisters look significantly at each other.

“How could you be so cruel, Eve? You know she secretly cares for Verne.”

“But they have quarreled, and she ought to know as soon as possible that she can never make it up with him any more. Perhaps she will take Earle Essex now.”

“I thought you wanted him yourself.”

“I did, sister mine, but our lovely cousin was completely mistress of the situation before I came. What use to fight against overwhelming odds? So I have made a friend of the ‘eligible’ instead of a lover, and actually promised to plead his cause with the obdurate fair one--first bridesmaid, and pearl necklace by way of reward, you know. And I have made a discovery, too.”

“What is it you have found out now? I should think you would remember what Charlton said about your curiosity, and quit finding out things.”

“A fig for Charlton! What do I care for his silly jargon? Come closer, Di, and listen.”

“Hasten, then,” impatiently.

“It is this Di. I am sure, quite sure, that Earle Essex knows something about Madame Orne, and might furnish the clew to her remarkable disappearance if he chose.”

“That is a grave charge, Eve.”

“I don’t care. It is a true one. Oh, I don’t charge him with murder or abduction, Di. I have a better opinion of him than that. But a little accident made me suspect him, and I’m certain he knows more about Madame Orne than he chooses to tell. I shall do all I can to get a clew to what he is hiding.”

“Well, do so if you can, Eve. I know you will not rest until the secret is in your possession. But do be cautious, and don’t get us both into trouble with your prying ways.”

“Oh, I shall be discreet. I am too anxious for _la belle cousine_ to marry my lord to drop a hint of suspicion.”

“There is the dinner bell,” says Diana, and they meet Viva dancing through the hall with a song upon her lips. Eye and smile have been tutored to indifference, and she has put on woman’s mask of pride along with her dainty dinner dress.

But under the careless smile Viva’s heart is beating in anguish, and she does not pretend to eat her dinner.

“I have no appetite,” she says, and both comprehend the reason. But no word of sympathy can be spoken--Viva is too proud for that. She can suffer in silence:

“It was only a woman’s heart, so unsullied and tender and gay,
Wronged and fretted and broken by ruthless neglect and delay.”