The Folly of Others/A Provident Woman/Part 2/Chapter 10

breach between the sisters lasted for several weeks, and ended only with Bertha's betrothal to Mr. Seton.

Some time before that, however, Mr. Seton had spoken to Cecilia, tacitly recognizing that she and not Mrs. Clayber was the head of the family. He had been very straightforward and even ingenuous in his avowal.

"I know it may seem to you rather sudden," he said;  "but, honestly, I think it began the first time I saw her. I never was so hard hit in my life, and the more I saw of her the surer I was that it was the real thing, you know. You may think I'm too old for her—I'm twenty-nine, and she's about eighteen, isn't she? Well, that's young, I know, but I believe in girls marrying young. I don't think a woman ought to wait till she's past her youth and beauty.

"Then, Mrs. Hawley, I can give her a lot of things that women care for. Mr. Hawley can tell you about my position. He'll tell you, I think, that I'm pretty safe and solid in a business way. And—I don't think he'll tell you anything against me—in other ways—at least, to a man, I don't think my character would seem a bad one. I"

He hesitated, and Cecilia stirred uneasily.

"I've lived a free life," he went on, looking directly at her, "but I haven't any entanglements. Everything's straight in that way. And as to my bachelor habits, some of them I want to give up anyway. I don't think there would be any trouble about my habits. Of course, I should like my wife to sympathize with some of my tastes, and I think Bertha would. I think she might be happy with me. What do you think, Mrs. Hawley?"

"I don't know," murmured Cecilia, looking very grave. "It does seem rather early for Bertha. I thought she might have a year or so more in school."

"But isn't the world the best school, after all? Surely you wouldn't shut her up for two years more!—a girl as full of life as she is! Surely you'll give your consent, if that's the only objection?"

"I must think about it first."

"Yes, I suppose so. You'll want to talk with Mr. Hawley. But you'll let me know soon, won't you, what you think? Of course, I shan't say anything to Bertha till I hear from you."

This was by no means a promise not to speak to Bertha in case the decision was adverse to him, as Cecilia perceived. But, after all, he had done all that could be expected of him. He had behaved quite properly. As he rose to go, Cecilia thanked him, in some agitation, for coming to her first.

"No, it was quite the natural thing to do," he responded. "She's under your care in a way, and—may I say it?—under very good care, I think. I'd try to do as well by her if I had the chance."

The tears rose to Cecilia's eyes at that praise from him, and Mr. Seton went away rather mystified. She had really seemed, he thought, more troubled than anything else by his offer, which was certainly, in a worldly way, a brilliant one. But he respected her heartily for the feeling she had shown and for her general solicitude about Bertha. He liked the way she treated her husband too, and her quiet dress and manners. She was, in his opinion, "a brick," and he did not at all mind being related to her. It was somewhat otherwise with the mother and the other sister, but he had firmly made up his mind that they should not bother him. And he would have braved more than two such relatives to get Bertha. He was very much infatuated. Bertha, with her physical elegance, her spirit and fire, the freshness of her youth, had quite turned his head. He could afford to please himself in marrying, quite irrespective of what any other person thought, and he had the full intention of doing so. He had no idea that Cecilia Hawley would put any obstacles in his way, and he was also fairly confident that Bertha would accept him.

His confidence was justified. Cecilia, after several talks with her husband and many days' delay, was finally pressed by the impatient suitor to give her consent. She gave it, with real reluctance. Seton was a type of man that, in a vague way, she feared: she guessed that he was self-indulgent, rather sensual, rather violent. But, after all, she knew nothing definite against his character. Mr. Hawley had nothing definite to object to it, though he was not enthusiastic either. Therefore they could not forbid Mr. Seton to ask Bertha to marry him, even if he would have heeded the prohibition. The most they could do was to hope that she would refuse him, and Cecilia hoped that strongly. When she gave Mr. Seton his permission to speak, she also wrote asking Bertha to come to her.

When the girl came, Cecilia perceived at once that it had happened. There was a suppressed excitement in Bertha's manner; at the same time she looked older, more balanced, more self-possessed. She returned Cecilia's kiss lightly, asked about Frederick, who had had another attack, and was the first to speak of what filled Cecilia's mind.

"Mr. Seton came to see me last night," she said, smiling brilliantly.

"Yes?" Cecilia gazed at her sister, studying a sort of transformation in her. Bertha seemed strangely more mature, more developed. She moved and spoke differently. In the few days past she had grown into a woman.

"He said he had talked with you. And he asked me to marry him."

"Yes?"

"I promised."

"Oh Bertha, did you?"

"Yes." She pulled off her left glove and held out her hand so that Cecilia could see the hoop of diamonds. "It came this morning, just after your note. Isn't it lovely? But aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Oh Bertha, I hope with all my heart you'll be happy!"

"Well, you're not going to cry about it, are you? What a gloomy old person you are! Of course I shall be happy. I like him very much. You like him too, don't you?"

"Yes—yes. But I thought you might wait—you're so young"

"Oh, I'm old enough. Arthur thinks so, and so do I. I suppose I shall be married this winter some time."

"Then you'll go quite away from me," said Cecilia in a low voice. "I thought we'd be together for some time yet."

"Oh, you'll be glad to get rid of me. It'll be one worry less for you, poor Cis. You will worry about us all. What's the matter?"

Cecilia was crying. She said through her tears, "I feel badly to lose you—so soon."

Bertha bent over and kissed her sister's cheeks and patted her hand. "No, you won't lose me. I shall be around more or less. But I didn't think you would mind at all. I thought you would be pleased. Aren't you glad at all?"

"I shall be, if you're happy."

"You're good, Cecilia," Bertha said, with a shade more feeling than she had shown before. Then she added with some embarrassment, looking down and turning the diamond hoop round her finger: "I want to apologize for what I said the other day. I—you know what a terrible temper I have—I didn't mean it. I'm awfully sorry."

"No, no, don't speak of it—it's all right. Perhaps I was wrong"

Bertha looked up sharply with some alarm in her face. "No, don't say that. I think you were quite right. You have more head than I have. I was very silly."

"You'll forgive me, won't you, if I have been wrong sometimes?" cried Cecilia. "I've tried to do my best, but very likely I've made mistakes."

"No, you haven't, Cis. Please don't cry. You've done well—for everybody. And you've been awfully sweet and good to me. I want to thank you." The sisters kissed again. "And now," cried Bertha, springing up, "let's be cheerful and talk about something else. How do you think '*'Mrs. Arthur Paget Seton' will look on a card? I shall be a married woman soon after I'm eighteen—isn't that exciting? I'm glad I'm going to be married. I should hate hanging on at home the way poor Mabel does. We must try and marry off Mabel, only I don't know whatever mother would do alone. Shall I be married in church, Cis?"

"You must be married from here, of course," said Cecilia, smiling wanly, "and I shall give you your trousseau."

"Oh, no, that would be too much. You know I shall have so much afterwards—I shall have piles of things!" Bertha's eyes sparkled.

"But Frederick and I will want, of course, to do something for you." "Oh, you dears! How nice everything is—I'm so happy!" Bertha whirled round before the mirror and contemplated her radiant image. "How do you do, Mrs. Seton? I'm very glad to see you. How is your husband?" she said mincingly with her head on one side. "Are husbands awful nuisances, Cis?"

"Oh, no, not if you manage them well," Cecilia said with an attempt at lightness.

"Well, I shall manage mine within an inch of his life. I shall henpeck him. Don't you think he looks good-tempered?"

"Very."

"And jolly?"

"Oh, yes; decidedly."

"And he's rather handsome?"

"Yes, quite."

"And dresses well?"

"Yes."

"And likes to amuse himself?"

"I believe so."

"Well, I think I shall get on with him. Wish me joy, Cis, I must go home. He's coming to have tea at five. Mother's dead in love with him, so I must get there first or she'll be cutting me out."

Bertha fastened her little fur scarf round her neck and submitted to be kissed again; then she ran downstairs, and Cecilia heard her gay voice in the hall as she went out humming a light tune.

Cecilia, at the window, watched out of sight the girl's graceful figure; then she went into Mr. Hawley's room, where he lay in bed, his left arm across his chest, and his body rigid with the pain that shot through his heart. He smiled faintly up at Cecilia.

"Are you any easier?" she asked with the gentlest voice, bending over him.

"A little."

"Shall I tire you if I sit here a little and talk to you?"

"No, do."

"Bertha has just been here. She is engaged to Mr. Seton. She seems very contented. I wish—I were!"

"Why, now?"

"Oh, we know so little about him. He might make her unhappy. And then I should be—it would break my heart!"

"Cecilia, you mustn't feel it so. You're not responsible."

"Yes, in a way, I am."

They were both silent, thinking of the night some weeks before, when Cecilia had talked with Tom. She had told Mr. Hawley afterwards that she had interfered between Tom and Bertha, and he understood her sense of responsibility to point partly to that.

"None of us can be responsible," said Mr. Hawley faintly, "for all the chances—of life. Nor for another person. You take too much care—for others, Cecilia. My dear girl!"

Cecilia slipped her hand into his and sat silent, drying quietly the tears that rose now and then to her eyes. The broad windows of the room faced the west, where a red glow of sunset lit the wintry sky. That light was already fading, the early dusk closing in. The room was full of shadows and very quiet. The hand that touched Cecilia's was relaxed, its faint grasp slipping away. Her eyes, as she gazed into the light, were wide and sad. The road of life, which was the road of duty, seemed all a blur of grayness before her.