Hubert's Wife Part 9

"Don't love you! What has put such a notion as that in your head?"

"You know you don't, John; that is enough."

"But if I tell you I do?"

"That is just what you never do tell me; that is what makes me so miserable."

"Am I unkind to you? What have I done that you complain of?"

"You don't tell me every day that you love me."

"Bless me! You are not expecting me to repeat that over every day? Is not once enough for all? Did I not prove it beyond all words by marrying you?"

"I never expected our honeymoon to wane. If you calculated to settle down at once into sober old married people, I did not, nor will I. I wish we had never got married, and always stayed lovers; that was ever so much nicer. Don't you say your _Ave Maria_ every day?"

"I do," answered John, "or rather I used to," failing to perceive what connection this question could have with the subject.

"Well, then, why do you do that? Why don't you say it once for all and have done with it, as you say of your love for me? But no, all your devotion must be given to a woman that lived thousands of years ago! You think more of her picture than of your own wife! This is what one gets by marrying a Catholic!"

Juliet's temper was fast overcoming her grief.

John Temple was agitated by a variety of emotions. He looked at his wife, who had re-buried her face in the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, and thus addressed her, inaudibly:

"You foolish, little simpleton! you ignorant little heretic!--dest.i.tute both of religion and common sense. Good Heavens, what a wife! Jealous of Mary, our Mother in Heaven! O, Holy Mary in Heaven, pray for her."

The dinner-bell rang.

"Come, Juliet," said her husband, kindly, "let us go to dinner; I am hungry as a bear."

"You can go; I have no appet.i.te, I never care to eat again as long as I live," came out dismally from the depths of the pillows.

John ate a hearty dinner, when, failing to conciliate his wife, he went to his office. No sooner had the hall-door closed on him than Juliet arose out of her sackcloth and ashes, bathed her face, arranged her hair, and proceeding to the dining-room, so far forgot her intention of never eating again as to surprise the cook by her greediness. She then dressed, ordered her carriage, and was driven to her mother's.

To this mother, who was a confirmed invalid, and confined to the house, Juliet poured out the exaggerated tale of her grievances. It was not enough that her husband was a Catholic; he was also heartless, stoical, unsympathizing, and unloving.

Mrs. St. Leger listened silently to the end. At the conclusion she flew into a rage.

"You shall go back to him no more," she exclaimed. "You see now the folly of your persisting in marrying him. He was beneath you in every respect. But you shall not live with him. My daughter shall not be treated disdainfully by John Temple, an Irishman and a Catholic. I will send for my lawyer and have divorce papers drawn at once. Ring for Richard."

"But, mamma--I--I--I never thought of getting a divorce. I love my husband. It is because I love him so well that I feel so bad if--if--"

"Juliet, you are a goose," interrupted the irritated parent; "if you are so fond of your husband, what are you here for with your complaints? If you are bound to live with him, why, live with him, and hold your tongue. When it comes that you are willing to separate and get a divorce, then come to me, but not till then."

Juliet returned to her home a wiser woman. The very thought of separation from her husband was distracting. What was mother or sister compared to him? She had really no doubt of his affection, and it suddenly flashed upon her mind that such scenes as she had just gotten up, if frequently repeated, might have a tendency to alienate him. She would make it all up; she would tell him how sorry she was; she would be so glad to see him; he _should_ love her, even though he did not tell her so.

John came home that night wondering if he should find his wife's face still hidden in the cus.h.i.+ons, her hair standing out in a thousand dishevelled threads. It was not a pleasant picture. Yet it _was_ a pleasant picture that met him at the door. Juliet was all smiles, blooms and roses. There was joy in her eyes, and gladness in her tones. Never had she looked quite so beautiful to John Temple--even when first her beauty won him. It was such a surprise! What wonder he committed the folly--but no matter. Juliet learned a lesson to her advantage. Tears and upbraidings had failed to move him. A happy face, smiles, charming toilettes, joy at his coming had brought out those expressions which demands had failed to elicit.

Juliet was not satisfied yet. She had to tell him how shocked she had been at the mere thought of losing him. John opened his eyes, and felt considerably hurt as she detailed the visit to her mother, and that mother's proposition for a divorce. For Juliet touched very lightly upon her own fault of having made outrageous complaints against him.

Nevertheless he felt convinced of the facts, knowing Juliet had gone there with unkindness in her heart. By his repeated questionings she admitted all, but he fully forgave her, considering the good results of her thoughtless action.

On the day following this domestic breeze and subsequent calm, Philip St. Leger had arrived from the Orient. Two months previously they had been apprised of his coming. A family conclave had been held, at which it had been decided that to Juliet should Philip's child be consigned; for reasons already explained by Philip to Duncan Lisle.

Juliet had now been married six months. She was twenty-five years of age; old enough to have exhibited more sense and discretion than we have seen her to do. She was, however, one of those who will be childish as long as they live. Her faults and delinquencies were due more to improper training than to natural defects. With such characters is hope of reformation.

Juliet was delighted with the child, which was just commencing to walk, and could say a few words. She had the dark eyes and hair, and creamy complexion of the St. Legers.

Juliet had been, even among girls, distinguished for her love of dolls.

To make dresses and hats for her troop of a dozen had formed one of the chief pleasures of her childhood, continued far up into youth.

In Althea she saw the quintessence of all dolls. For her she could embroider, ruffle, and tuck; search the city over for the daintiest of baby shoes and the showiest of infant hats. Althea should have a nurse, and a carriage, and a poodle dog. Santa Claus should not only give her his choicest gifts at Christmas but should shower down toys every day in the year. After a little, in another year, she would take her with her to St. Mark's, where she should attract all eyes by her dress and beauty.

That Althea had a soul to be trained, carefully guided and directed to G.o.d, entered not into the calculations of this giddy, superficial woman.

CHAPTER XII.

THE CHRISTENING.

A year afterward came little Johnny into the house of the Temples. Words altogether fail to do justice to the mother's pride and joy.

Leonora, who wore proudly her husband's grand name of Van Rensaleer, looked down on the Temples; nevertheless, as a duty, she called to congratulate them upon the birth of a son.

"Yes, a fine babe," she replied to the father's questioning look of admiration. "A nice baby, I dare say," she said in answer to Juliet's glowing extolations, finished by a "do you not think so?" "But all babies look alike to me," she added. "I fail to see the charm, I prefer my poodle."

"Sour grapes," returned Juliet, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"Sweet grapes, my dear," said her sister, softly. "Well, I wish you much joy, and may the child prove a blessing to you."

Then came Estelle. She was Mrs. Lang. She had married an Englishman, and would have gotten along comfortably had she not been "worried to death"

with "those children." Hugh was now four years old, the twins two and a-half, and Robby in his eleventh month. Four boys, and they kept the house in commotion from one year's end to another.

To Juliet's joyful outbursts Estelle answered: "O, it is all very well just now; I know all about it; but wait until you have four! Why, I cannot get from the sound of their noise; it rings in my ears now. There isn't a moment when I am not on the keen jump, expecting some limb to be broken, some eye to be put out, or some dreadful disease to come around.

I dread the warm season on account of its summer-complaints; and the cold for its croups, scarlet fevers, measles, and whooping cough. I warn you, Juliet, you are seeing your happiest days." And Estelle, with a weary look and dreary tone, took her departure for her luxurious, but uproarious home.

"What are _you_ going to do with the baby?" asked Mr. Temple of the little Althea.

"I yock it," she answered, placing her hand upon her own small crib, rocking it to and fro.

The young mother, excited and nervous, would not heed the Doctor's cautions to keep herself quiet. Like many another foolish person, she thought she knew better than any physician could tell her. As a result of her indiscretion, she was attacked with a long and dangerous illness, which had nearly proved fatal.

Upon her recovery, Johnny was three months old; and Juliet began to talk about having him baptized. The first time she went out to drive she purchased the finest christening robe she could find. Nothing was too expensive for such an occasion. For herself also she obtained an entirely new outfit. If John could only be induced to go to the christening! Possibly he might; she would make one more effort.

One day when he came home at noon she met him smilingly at the door.

"John, come with me a minute," she said, and led the way up the winding stairway, into the finest chamber. The bed and every article of furniture was made to do duty in supporting beautiful and costly fabrics.