Chapter XXX

It was with little pause for sight-seeing on the way that Marion made her journey to Rome. A few days in Paris constituted her only delay; then, flying swiftly down through Italy--reserving until later the pleasure of seeing the beautiful historic cities which she passed--she did not stop again until she found herself within the walls of Rome.

And not even the fact of entering by means of a prosaic railway could lessen the thrill with which she realized that she was indeed within the city of the Cæsars and the Popes--the city that since the beginning of historic time has been the chief center of the earth, the mistress of the world, and the seat of the apostolic throne. It was strange to feel herself in this place of memories, yet to step into a modern railway station, resounding with noise and bustle; but even Rome was forgotten when she found herself in Claire's arms, and Claire's sweet voice bade her welcome.

What followed seemed like a dream--the swift drive through populous streets, with glimpses of stately buildings and narrow, picturesque ways; the passing under a great, sounding arch into a court, where the soft splash of a fountain was heard as soon as the carriage stopped; the ascent of an apparently interminable flight of stone steps, and pausing at length on a landing, where an open door gave access to an ante-chamber, and thence through parting curtains to a long _salon_, where a pretty, elderly lady rose to give Marion greeting. This was Claire's kind friend and chaperon, Mrs. Kerr, who said to herself, as she took the young stranger's hand, "What a beautiful creature!"

Marion, on her part, was charmed, not only with Mrs. Kerr, but with all her surroundings. The foreign aspect of everything enchanted her; the Italian servants, the Italian dishes of the collation spread for her, the soft sound of the language,--all entered into and made part of her pleasure. "O Claire!" she said, when presently she was taken to the pretty chamber prepared for her. "I think I am going to be so happy with you--if only you are not disgusted with _me_, when you hear the story I have to tell you!"

Claire laughed, as she bent and kissed her. "I have not the least fear that I shall be disgusted with you," she said. "You might do wrong things, Marion--things one would blame or censure,--but I am sure that you will never do a mean thing, and it is mean things which disgust one."

"Ah!" said Marion, with a sigh, "do not be too sure. I am not going to possess your good opinion on false pretenses, so you shall hear to-morrow all that has happened since we parted. Prepare your charity, for I shall need it."

And, indeed, on the next day Claire heard with the utmost fullness all that had occurred since the two parted at their convent school. As far as the Rathborne incident was concerned, Marion did not spare herself; and, although Claire looked grave over her self-accusation, she was unable to express any regret that, even at the cost of Helen's suffering, the engagement of the latter to Rathborne should have been ended. "I saw the man only once," she said, "but that was enough to make me distrust him thoroughly. He has a bad face--a face which shows a narrow and cruel nature. I always trembled at the thought of Helen's uniting her life to his. There seemed no possible prospect of happiness for her in such a choice. So I am glad that at almost any cost the engagement--entanglement, or whatever it was--has been ended. And I can not see that your share in it was so very heinous."

"That is because I have not made it clear to you, then," answered Marion. "I, too, always distrusted the man, but I liked his admiration, his homage; it was my first taste of the power for which, you know, I always longed. Indeed, Claire, there are no excuses to be made for me; and if the matter ended well for Helen--as I really believe it did,--I am still to blame for all her suffering; and you do not think that evil is less evil because good comes of it?"

"I certainly do not think that," said Claire. "But you had no evil intention, I am sure: you never _meant_ to hurt Helen."

"No, I did not mean to do so, but I was careless whether she suffered or not. I thought only of myself--my own vanity, my own amusement. Nothing can change that, and so I have always felt that it was right I should suffer just as I made her suffer. Retribution came very quickly, Claire."

"Did it?" asked Claire. Her soft, gray eyes were full of unspoken sympathy. "Well, suffering is a great thing, dear; it enables us to expiate so much! Tell me about yours--if you like."

"I feel as if I had come here just to tell you," said Marion. And then followed the story of her engagement to Brian Earle, her anger because he would not comply with his uncle's wishes, their parting, her unexpected inheritance of Mr. Singleton's fortune, Rathborne's revenge in finding the lost heir, her surrender of the fortune to him, and her rejection of his suit.

"So here I am," she observed in conclusion, with a faint smile, "like one who has passed through terrible storms: who has been shipwrecked and has barely escaped with life--that is, with a fragment of self-respect. I am so glad I had strength to give up that fortune, Claire! You know how I always desired wealth."

"I know so well," said Claire, "that I am proud of you--proud that you had the courage to do what must have cost you so much. But I always told you that I knew you better than you knew yourself; and I was sure that you would never do anything unworthy, not even to gain the end you had so much at heart. But, Marion"--her face grew grave,--"I have something to tell you that I fear may prove unpleasant to you. Brian Earle is here."

"Brian Earle here!" repeated Marion. She became very pale, and for a moment was silent. Then she said, proudly, "I hope no one will imagine that I suspected this. I thought he was in Germany. But it will not be necessary for me to meet him."

"That must be for you to decide," said Claire, in a somewhat troubled tone. "He comes to see us occasionally--he is an old friend of Mrs. Kerr's--but, if you desire it, I will ask her to let him know that it will be best for him to discontinue his visits."

"No," said Marion, with quick, instinctive recoil; "for that would be to acknowledge that I shrink from seeing him. If I _do_ shrink, he shall not be made aware of it. Perhaps, when he knows that I am here, he will desire to keep away. If not, I am--I will be strong enough to meet him with indifference."

Claire looked at her steadily, wistfully; it seemed as if she were trying to know all that might be known. "If you do not feel indifference," she said, gently, after a moment, "is it well to simulate it?"

"How can you ask such a question?" demanded Marion, with a touch of her old haughtiness. "It is not only well--it is essential to my self-respect. But I do not acknowledge that it will be simulation. Why should I be other than indifferent to Brian Earle? As I confessed to you a few minutes ago, I suffered when we parted, but that is over now."

"You care for him no longer, then?"

"Is it possible I could care for a man who has treated me as he has done? For I still believe that it was his duty to have remained with his uncle, and if--if he had cared for me at all he would have done so."

"But perhaps," said Claire, "he perceived that passionate desire of yours for wealth, and thought that it would not be well for you to have it gratified. I can imagine that."

"You imagine, then, exactly what he was good enough to say," replied Marion, dryly. "But I suppose you know enough of me to be also able to imagine that I was not very grateful for such a form of regard. He talked like a moralist, but he certainly did not feel like a lover, and so I let him go. I am not sorry for that."

"Then," said Claire, after a short pause of reflection, "I cannot see any reason why you should avoid meeting him. There may be a little awkwardness at first; but, if you have really no feeling for him, that will pass away."

"I should prefer to avoid such a meeting, if possible," answered Marion; "but if not possible, I will endure. Only, if you can, give me warning when it is likely to occur."

"That, unfortunately, is what I can hardly do," said Claire, in a tone of regret. "Our friends have established a habit of dropping in, without formality, almost any evening; and so we never know who is coming, or when."

"In that case there is, of course, nothing to be done. I can only promise that, whenever the occasion occurs, I will try to be equal to it."

"I have no doubt of that," answered Claire.

But she looked concerned as she went away, and it was evident to Mrs. Kerr that she was more than usually thoughtful that evening. As she had said, their friends in Rome found it pleasant to drop informally into their pretty _salon_. Artists predominated among these friends; so it was not strange that she watched the door, thinking that Brian Earle might come, and conscious of a wish that he would; for Marion, pleading fatigue, declined to appear on this first evening after her arrival; and Claire said to herself that if Earle _did_ come, it would give her an opportunity to tell him what meeting lay before him, and he could then avoid it if he chose to do so. When, as the evening passed on, it became at length clear that he was not coming--and there was no reason beside her own desire for expecting him,--Claire thought, with a sigh, that events must take their course, since it was plainly out of her power to direct them.