Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-09-13
CHAPTER XIII.
The Two Ladies Holland.

her study. Her workbasket was by her
side and she was enjoying long morning
of drawn-linen work. a luxury OF semi
ideness which she often allowed herself
now. The American desk, with its neatly
kept account books and Its drawers and
pigeonholes, was no longer the tyrant OF
her working hours. Its lid was drawn
down and locked. and the key was in her
sons pocket. Her years of strenuous and
capable toll were over; the heavy burden
OF responsibility. which she had borne so
long and so bravely had been laid upon
younger shoulders: and she was learn
ing now to enjoy her rest--the rest which
twelve years of loving devotion to hard
duty of self sacrificing toll for the absent
son had hitherto denied her
The drawn-linen work had formerly been
her relaxation after the weary round of
the days work. Now 1t was the days work
itself-and she was content, and thank
fully found 1t enough.
She had accepted the change without
| regret For 1T is not always the case that
the sudden freedom from CALLING harness
long worn proves in itself deprivation,
and leaves a persistent sense of loss. II
the vigor for the fight remain, no doubt
the fight Itself Is missed; but If the vigor
has been overstrained or used UP In the
fighting, there is quarrel with the bless
edness of the rest, when the rest at last
comes. And 1t was so with Eustace
mother.
The shock which she had received by the
news of her sons death and the subse-
quent reaction of oyerpowering JOY when
the son himself came back alive and well
had left their mark upon her. She mad
become an old woman suddenly; she cared
for little now except her hobby of drawn
linen work. and was content to wipe the
record of the past like wet slate. The
Lady Holland who had reckoned up the
figures of that last remittance and had re-
joiced to find it thirty pounds more than
ever before. was an alert and capable
business woman-whtte- haired, indeed. but
with few of the real signs of age: the Lady
Holland who rose now with a puzzled look
at the maids announcement of Mrs. Wort
ley. from Oporto" was an older woman
than that other by twenty years.
The name at first conveyed nothing to
her, or rather she took some little time to
grasp its full significance. 1t was not that
there was any real failure of power, but
alertness of mind had ceased to be a habit.
and her thoughts were consequently less
quick to respond to an unexpected stlmu-
lus from outside. Moreover that name OF
Wortley was part of the past which she
had resolutely set herself to blot out and
forget. The moment when she had bid
den that Harvey Wiseman be shown to
the door, had been to her the dividing line
between the now" that she found good
and the then" that she would think of no
more. She had set herself to forget that
she had ever written to her son and put
took a pride in asking him no questions
about years that he seemed as willing to
forget as she. and from that first evening
OF his return, when she had sat with her
hand in his and had poured out the treas
ures of her mothers love before him. she
had never spoken again of the wife whom
he had married in his exile He had tod
her then that the marriage was not a nap
by one. She saw that he did not wish to
speak of 1t, and she resolutely put that too
In the tale of the miseries that were to be
ignored, and. by the simple process OF
starving them of recollection, in time for
gotten entirely.
OF course il was impossible.
For his sake she might pretend to forget,
but II would only be d pretenSe; presently
both he and she would have to remember.
A may forget debt, often; dishonor,
sometimes; but a wife whom he does not
love never. And II ne tries to do so, there
| is a nemesis, for him and for those whom
| he does love.
The Dowager Lady Holland heard That
name. Mrs. Wortley, from Oporto,' and
| saw the woman standing before her; and
| she knew that the nemesis had come. The
| past refusing to be buried. But yet
surely this woman could not be her sons
| wife! Why. she was common She was
| dressed like a lady, 1t was true and she
| was very handsome. and as yet she had not
| spoken to let her voice betray her: but the
| dowager made no mistake in Judging her.
She had taken a little time to grasp the
sinister significance of the name, but when
| she did, look of simple amazement came
| into her face.
| Really. 1 must beg your pardon she
| said Did understand the maid to say"
She said Mrs. Wortley,' Eustace's wife
| answered. She had seen the look of dis
| paraging criticism, and she saw now the
older ladys slight SILVER followed by a
| sighter smile of utter disbelief at the sound
| of her voice. These things made her angry,
| and stifed the vague feeling of pity for the
| white haired old lady with which she had
waited for the first words OF greeting.
Il told her to that she went
| because to announce Lady Holland to
| Lady Holland would have seemed silly.
| wouldn't it? Yes, 1 am your daughter-in
| law"
The dowager stared coldy. The indeci-
| sion of manner OF a minute ago gone.
| Her whole attitude expressed active disbe-
| lief
| My sons wife. Your
The tone was almost insulting, and yet 1t
! was not Intentionally so. But incredulity
rang in it. and Eustace's wife was quick
| to hear and resent. She had, indeed. ex-
pected to be met exactly In this way, but
| the fact that her expectations were realized
| did not lessen her anger. 1t Is one thing to
| have an inward consciousness of social in
| feriority. and quite another thing to be told
| that one is inferior. She did the dowager
| the justice Of believing that she had not
meant her tone to be insulting: but that
hardly improved matters, for II meant that
the insult was unconscious, and therefore,
| In a sense. inevitable. She was not of the
| class from which this aristocratic old lady
|
| that was all. 1t was beautifully simple and
| natural, but 1t reused the devil In the
younger woman's nature.
| Yes. your sons wife. Eustace's wife"
| she said demurely. Wont you call me
| Ellen. It's my name. and II will make
| things easier. We hardly call each
! other Lady Holland. can we? That would
| be too silly"
The dowager had gone to an ld-fashioned
beli-rope and pulled II. Eustace's wife mis-
| Interpreted the action.
| Going to have me turned out? % she
asked. In low. almost menacing tone Il
| shouldn't, II were you. I'm quite genuine
| though can see that you find it hard to
| believe"
She broke into a soft ripping laugh 1t
| was pretty laugh. and she knew it. Peo-
| pie who heard 1t were invariably disap-
pointed when they afterward heard her
| speak.
You mistake me-" said the dowager
! with dignity. II am ringing for my daugh-
| ter. We did not expect you. My son has
| not said that you were coming"
| Then he speaks OF me?'' came the quick
| question.
| No"
| Eustace's wife laughed again.
| You see We didn't get on very we'll to-
| gether," she explained. I'm afraid he
won't be very pleased to see me- But it