The meal promised to pass,with some constraint,it is true,but without any embarrassing incident,when Mrs.Mayhew was the means of placing poor Ida in a very painful dilemma.Under a general impulse to conciliate her daughter and make amends,and with her usual want of tact,she suddenly and sententiously said:
"Well,I think Ida's very brave to be able to drive for herself."There was a moment of embarrassed silence after this unexpected remark,and then Miss Burton made matters far worse by saying,with the kindest intentions:
"After Miss Mayhew's adventure in the stage no one can doubt her courage,and I'm sure I admire a brave woman much more than a brave man.Men are brave as a matter of course."Then she saw from the sudden scarlet that flamed up into Ida's cheeks,and the manner of the artist,who suddenly became wholly absorbed in his supper,that she had made an unfortunate allusion.There was nothing to do but promptly change the subject,so she turned and asked:
"What is the greatest number of miles you have ever driven in a day,Mr.Stanton?""I beg your pardon!"said the preoccupied young man,starting at the sound of his name.
Miss Burton repeated her question.But in the meantime it was evident a severe conflict was going on in Ida Mayhew's mind.How could she obey Mr.Eltinge's injunction to be honest and true,if she let this false impression concerning her behavior in the stage remain?How could she hope to win a particle of respect from Van Berg if she received again this undeserved praise?How could she look her kind old friend in the face if she continued silent?She felt she must either speak or take the pear leaves out of her hair.
It was hard,bitter hard to speak then and there before them all,but her indecision soon gave place to the resolve to lay at once what Mr.Eltinge had called the corner-stone of character.
"Miss Burton,"she said abruptly,as Stanton was trying to collect his wits so as to make a suitable reply.
They all looked at her involuntarily.Her face was pale now,and had the white,resolute aspect often seen in those about to face great danger.
"Miss Burton,I am sorry to say you have a false impression of my conduct in the stage.So far from showing presence of mind and courage on that occasion,I was terror-stricken and,I believe,hysterical.With all my faults,I shall at LEAST try to tell the truth hereafter.""By Jupiter!"cried the impulsive Stanton,"that's the pluckiest thing I ever saw a woman do,or man either.Ida,from this day I'm proud of you,though you have little occasion to be so of me."The poor girl had looked steadily at Miss Burton while speaking,but the moment the ordeal was over her lip quivered like that of a child,and she hastily left the table.
She had scarcely mounted half the stairs that led to her room before Van Berg was at her side.
"Miss Mayhew,"he said eagerly,"I did not sleep last night,nor can I to-night until assured of your forgiveness.Myself I can never forgive."Her heart was full and her nerves overstrained already.She could not speak,but she bowed her head on the rail of the balustrade,hiding her face against her arm,and strove hard to check the rising sobs.
"Miss Mayhew,"he continued,in low,pleading tones,"in all my life I never condemned myself so bitterly as I have for my treatment of you.I can only appeal to your generosity.I NEED your forgiveness,"and he waited for her answer.
But she could not answer.It seemed as if she could not maintain even her partial self-control a moment longer.Her heart forgave him,however,and she wished him to know it,so without lifting her head she held out her hand in the place of the words she could not trust herself to utter.He seized it eagerly,and it so trembled and throbbed in his grasp that it made him think of a wounded bird that he once had captured.
"I take your hand,Miss Mayhew,"he said earnestly,"not as a sign of truce between us,but as a token of forgiveness,and the pledge of reconciliation and friendship.Your brave truth-telling to-night has atoned for your past.Please give me a chance at least to try to atone for mine."His only reply was a faint pressure from her hand and then she sped up the stairway.He did not see her again till she came down to breakfast the following morning,when she treated him with a quiet,distant,well-bred courtesy that did not suggest the sobbing girl who had fled from him the evening before,much less the despairing,desperate woman who had given him the drug with which she had intended to end her existence.They who see conventional surfaces only know but little of life.
Truthful as she was trying to be,she was puzzling him more than ever,although he was giving a great deal of thought to the problem.