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BigC++
Cay Horstmann
Late
Objects
3/e
vi Preface
Example Table Example table activities make the student the active participant in
building up tables of code examples similar to those found in the book. The tables
come in many different forms. Some tables ask the student to determine the output of
a line of code, or the value of an expression, or to provide code for certain tasks. This
activity helps students assess their understanding of the reading—while it is easy to
go back and review.
Algorithm Animation An algorithm animation shows the essential steps of an
algorithm. However, instead of passively watching, students get to predict each step.
When finished, students can start over with a different set of inputs. This is a surpris-
ingly effective way of learning and remembering algorithms.
Rearrange Code Rearrange code activities ask the student to arrange lines of code
by dragging them from the list on the right to the area at left so that the resulting code
fulfills the task described in the problem. This activity builds facility with coding
structure and implementing common algorithms.
Object Diagram Object diagram activities ask the student to create a memory
diagram to illustrate how variables and objects are initialized and updated as sample
code executes. The activity depicts variables, objects, and references in the same way
as the figures in the book. After an activity is completed, pressing “Play” replays the
animation. This activity goes beyond hand-tracing to illuminate what is happening in
memory as code executes.
Code Completion Code completion activities ask the student to finish a partially-
completed program, then paste the solution into CodeCheck (a Wiley-based online
code evaluator) to learn whether it produces the desired result. Tester classes on the
CodeCheck site run and report whether the code passed the tests. This activity serves
as a skill-building lab to better prepare the student for writing programs from scratch.
Fundamentals
1. Introduction
Object-Oriented Design
Data Structures & Algorithms
2. Fundamental
Data Types
3. Decisions
4. Loops
A gentle
introduction to recursion
5. Functions is optional.
Section 8.1
contains the core
material
6. Arrays
6. Iteration
and Vectors
16. Trees
Appendices
Appendices A and B summarize C++ reserved words and operators. Appendix C
lists character escape sequences and ASCII character code values. Appendix D docu-
ments all of the library functions and classes used in this book.
Appendix E contains a programming style guide. Using a style guide for program
ming assignments benefits students by directing them toward good habits and reduc-
ing gratuitous choice. The style guide is available in electronic form on the book’s
companion web site so that instructors can modify it to reflect their preferred style.
Appendix F introduces common number systems used in computing.
Web Resources
This book is complemented by a complete suite of online resources. Go to www.wiley.
com/go/bclo3 to visit the online companion sites, which include
• Source code for all example programs in the book and its Worked Examples, plus
additional example programs.
• Worked Examples that apply the problem-solving steps in the book to other
realistic examples.
• Lecture presentation slides (for instructors only).
• Solutions to all review and programming exercises (for instructors only).
• A test bank that focuses on skills, not just terminology (for instructors only). This
extensive set of multiple-choice questions can be used with a word processor or
imported into a course management system.
• “CodeCheck” assignments that allow students to work on programming prob-
lems presented in an innovative online service and receive immediate feedback.
Instructors can assign exercises that have already been prepared, or easily add
their own. Visit http://codecheck.it to learn more.
EXAMPLE CODE See how_to_1/scores_vector in your companion code for a solution using vectors instead of arrays.
Walkthrough ix
These three
expressions should be related.
See Programming Tip 4.1.
The for loop neatly groups the initialization, condition, and update expressions
together. However, it is important to realize that these expressions are not executed
together (see Figure 3).
A recipe for a fruit pie may say to use any kind of fruit.
Here, “fruit” is an example of a parameter variable.
Apples and cherries are examples of arguments.
HOW TO 1.1
Describing an Algorithm with Pseudocode
This is the first of many “How To” sections in this book that give you step-by-step proce-
dures for carrying out important tasks in developing computer programs.
Before you are ready to write a program in C++, you need to develop an algorithm—a
method for arriving at a solution for a particular problem. Describe the algorithm in pseudo-
code––a sequence of precise steps formulated in English. To illustrate, we’ll devise an algo-
rithm for this problem:
How To guides give step-by-step
Problem Statement You have the choice of buying one guidance for common programming
of two cars. One is more fuel efficient than the other, but also
more expensive. You know the price and fuel efficiency (in miles tasks, emphasizing planning and
per gallon, mpg) of both cars. You plan to keep the car for ten
years. Assume a price of $4 per gallon of gas and usage of 15,000 testing. They answer the beginner’s
miles per year. You will pay cash for the car and not worry about
financing costs. Which car is the better deal? © dlewis33/Getty Images. question, “Now what do I do?” and
Step 1 Determine the inputs and outputs. integrate key concepts into a
In our sample problem, we have these inputs: problem-solving sequence.
• purchase price1 and fuel efficiency1, the price and fuel efficiency (in mpg) of the first car
• purchase price2 and fuel efficiency2, the price and fuel efficiency of the second car
Problem Statement Your task is to tile a rectangular bathroom floor with alternating Worked Examples apply
black and white tiles measuring 4 × 4 inches. The floor dimensions, measured in inches, are
multiples of 4. the steps in the How To to
Step 1 Determine the inputs and outputs.
a different example, showing
The inputs are the floor dimensions (length × width), how they can be used to
measured in inches. The output is a tiled floor.
Step 2 Break down the problem into smaller tasks.
plan, implement, and test
A natural subtask is to lay one row of tiles. If you can a solution to another
solve that task, then you can solve the problem by lay-
ing one row next to the other, starting from a wall, until programming problem.
you reach the opposite wall.
How do you lay a row? Start with a tile at one wall.
If it is Names
Table 3 Variable white, putin
a black
C++ one next to it. If it is black, put
a white one next to it. Keep going until you reach the
Variable Name wall. The row will contain width / 4 tiles.
opposite Comment © rban/iStockphoto.
1 Initialize counter
side_length = for (counter = 1; counter <= 10; counter++)
{
cout << counter << endl;
2 Initializing function parameter variable counter = 1 }
result1 =
double result1 = cube_volume(2);
2 Check condition
side_length = for (counter = 1; counter <= 10; counter++)
2
{
cout << counter << endl;
counter = 1 }
3 About to return to the caller result1 =
EXAMPLE CODE See sec04 of your companion code for another implementation of the earthquake program that you
Additional example programs
saw in Section 3.3. Note that the get_description function has multiple return statements.
are provided with the companion
code for students to read, run,
and modify.
xii Walkthrough
For example, let’s trace the tax program with the data from the
more productive with tips and program run in Section 3.4. In lines 13 and 14, tax1 and tax2 are
Hand-tracing helps you
understand whether a
initialized to 0. program works correctly.
techniques such as hand-tracing. 6 int main()
7 {
8 const double RATE1 = 0.10; marital
9 const double RATE2 = 0.25; tax1 tax2 income status
10 const double RATE1_SINGLE_LIMIT = 32000;
11 const double RATE1_MARRIED_LIMIT = 64000; 0 0
12
13 double tax1 = 0;
14 double tax2 = 0;
15
In lines 18 and 22, income and marital_status are initialized by input statements.
16 double income;
17 cout << "Please enter your income: ";
18 cin >> income; marital
19 tax1 tax2 income status
20 cout << "Please enter s for single, m for married: ";
21 string marital_status; 0 0 80000 m
22 cin >> marital_status;
23
Special Topics present optional In each iteration of the loop, v is set to an element of the vector. Note that you do not use an
index variable. The value of v is the element, not the index of the element.
topics and provide additional If you want to modify elements, declare the loop variable as a reference:
for (int& v : values)
explanation of others. {
v++;
}
This loop increments all elements of the vector.
You can use the reserved word auto, which was introduced in Special Topic 2.3, for the type
of the element variable:
for (auto v : values) { cout << v << " "; }
The range-based for loop also works for arrays:
int primes[] = { 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13 };
for (int p : primes)
{
cout << p << " ";
}
Computing & Society 7.1 Embedded Systems The range-based for loop is a convenient shortcut for visiting or updating all elements of a
vector or an array. This book doesn’t use it because one can achieve the same result by looping
An embedded sys- would feel comfortable upgrading the duced in large volumes. Thus, the pro-
tem is a computer software in their washing machines grammer of an embedded system has
over index values. But if you like the more concise form, and use C++ 11 or later, you should
system that controls a device. The or automobile engines. If you ever a much larger economic incentive to certainly consider using it.
device contains a processor and other handed in a programming assignment conserve resources than the desktop
EXAMPLE CODE See special_topic_5 of your companion code for a program that demonstrates the range-based
hardware and is controlled by a com- that you believed to be correct, only to software programmer. Unfortunately, for loop.
puter program. Unlike a personal have the instructor or grader find bugs trying to conserve resources usually
computer, which has been designed in it, then you know how hard it is to makes it harder to write programs that
to be flexible and run many different write software that can reliably do its work correctly.
computer programs, the hardware task for many years without a chance C and C++ are commonly used
and software of an embedded system of changing it. Quality standards are languages for developing embedded
are tailored to a specific device. Com- especially important in devices whose systems.
puter controlled devices are becom- failure would destroy property or
ing increasingly common, ranging endanger human life. Many personal
from washing machines to medical computer purchasers buy computers Computing & Society presents social
equipment, cell phones, automobile that are fast and have a lot of stor-
engines, and spacecraft.
Several challenges are specific to
age, because the investment is paid
back over time when many programs
and historical topics on computing—for
programming embedded systems.
Most importantly, a much higher stan-
are run on the same equipment. But
the hardware for an embedded device
interest and to fulfill the “historical and
dard of quality control applies. Ven-
dors are often unconcerned about
is not shared––it is dedicated to one
device. A separate processor, memory,
social context” requirements of the
bugs in personal computer software,
because they can always make you
and so on, are built for every copy of
the device. If it is possible to shave a ACM/IEEE curriculum guidelines.
install a patch or upgrade to the next few pennies off the manufacturing © Courtesy of Professor Prabal Dutta.
version. But in an embedded system, cost of every unit, the savings can add
that is not an option. Few consumers up quickly for devices that are pro- The Controller of an Embedded System
Walkthrough xiii
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Don Fowley, Graig Donini, Dan Sayre, Ryann Dannelly, David
Dietz, Laura Abrams, and Billy Ray at John Wiley & Sons for their help with this
project. An especially deep acknowledgment and thanks goes to Cindy Johnson for
her hard work, sound judgment, and amazing attention to detail.
I am grateful to Mark Atkins, Ivy Technical College, Katie Livsie, Gaston College,
Larry Morell, Arkansas Tech University, and Rama Olson, Gaston College, for
their contributions to the supplemental material. Special thanks to Stephen Gilbert,
Orange Coast Community College, for his help with the interactive exercises.
Every new edition builds on the suggestions and experiences of new and prior
reviewers, contributors, and users. We are very grateful to the individuals who pro-
vided feedback, reviewed the manuscript, made valuable suggestions and contribu-
tions, and brought errors and omissions to my attention. They include:
Charles D. Allison, Utah Valley State College
Fred Annexstein, University of Cincinnati
Mark Atkins, Ivy Technical College
Stefano Basagni, Northeastern University
Noah D. Barnette, Virginia Tech
Susan Bickford, Tallahassee Community College
Ronald D. Bowman, University of Alabama, Huntsville
Robert Burton, Brigham Young University
Peter Breznay, University of Wisconsin, Green Bay
Richard Cacace, Pensacola Junior College, Pensacola
Kuang-Nan Chang, Eastern Kentucky University
Joseph DeLibero, Arizona State University
Subramaniam Dharmarajan, Arizona State University
Mary Dorf, University of Michigan
Marty Dulberg, North Carolina State University
William E. Duncan, Louisiana State University
John Estell, Ohio Northern University
Waleed Farag, Indiana University of Pennsylvania
Evan Gallagher, Polytechnic Institute of New York University
Stephen Gilbert, Orange Coast Community College
Kenneth Gitlitz, New Hampshire Technical Institute
Daniel Grigoletti, DeVry Institute of Technology, Tinley Park
Barbara Guillott, Louisiana State University
Charles Halsey, Richland College
Jon Hanrath, Illinois Institute of Technology
Neil Harrison, Utah Valley University
Jurgen Hecht, University of Ontario
Steve Hodges, Cabrillo College
xvi Acknowledgments
2.1 Variables 26
3 DECISIONS 59
Variable Definitions 26
Number Types 28 3.1 The if Statement 60
Variable Names 29 CE1 A Semicolon After the if Condition 63
The Assignment Statement 30
PT1 Brace Layout 63
Constants 31
PT2 Always Use Braces 64
Comments 31
PT3 Tabs 64
CE1 Using Undefined Variables 33
PT4 Avoid Duplication in Branches 65
CE2 Using Uninitialized Variables 33
ST1 The Conditional Operator 65
PT1 Choose Descriptive Variable Names 33
xvii
xviii Contents
6.2 Common Array Algorithms 185 7.1 Defining and Using Pointers 224
Filling 186 Defining Pointers 224
Copying 186 Accessing Variables Through Pointers 225
Sum and Average Value 186 Initializing Pointers 227
Maximum and Minimum 187 CE1 Confusing Pointers with the Data to Which
Element Separators 187 They Point 228
Counting Matches 187 PT1 Use a Separate Definition for Each Pointer
Linear Search 188 Variable 229
Removing an Element 188 ST1 Pointers and References 229
Inserting an Element 189 7.2 Arrays and Pointers 230
Swapping Elements 190 Arrays as Pointers 230
Reading Input 191 Pointer Arithmetic 230
ST1 Sorting with the C++ Library 192 Array Parameter Variables Are Pointers 232
ST2 A Sorting Algorithm 192 ST2 Using a Pointer to Step Through
ST3 Binary Search 193 an Array 233
6.3 Arrays and Functions 194 CE2 Returning a Pointer to a Local Variable 234
ST4 Constant Array Parameters 198 PT2 Program Clearly, Not Cleverly 234
ST3 Constant Pointers 235
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
Nothing could have been more perfect than her manner to her
guests. It was one of those occasions, growing constantly more rare,
when White had no reason to complain. She was charming to all,
from the most distinguished to the most socially obscure, she forgot
her prejudices, she even forgot to snub her husband’s political
protégés—to their infinite and undisguised relief—and to her own
particular coterie she was the old, charming, inimitable Margaret. As
on the occasion of her musicale, men predominated, and among
those men were all the notables at the capital. Speaking several
languages, Margaret had made her house a Mecca for all Europeans;
it was an open secret that she espoused the cause of the Russian
ambassador against his secret enemy, Lily Osborne, and espoused it
with a zeal which caused a whispered sensation in official circles. It
was an anxious question what Mrs. White might not dare to do, for it
was believed that she would pause at nothing in her determination
to defeat Mrs. Osborne. Yet it was never hinted that she concerned
herself even remotely with White’s devotion to the fair divorcée. Her
indifference to her husband was a fact too generally accepted to
cause even a ripple in the stream.
There had been much secret comment on her changed and haggard
looks, but her dryadlike loveliness to-night silenced every whisper,
and her gayety, her ease, her clever, reckless talk proclaimed her the
same Margaret they had always known and loved and feared, whose
wit was as keen as it was cruel.
Mrs. O’Neal was the first to bid her good-night. The old lady in her
gorgeous panoply of silk and velvet tottered on, like an ancient war-
horse answering the bugle call, her white head vibrating as she
talked. Still athirst for social power and success, no one was a
keener judge of achievements, and she patted Margaret’s hand.
“My dear,” she whispered, “you’re the most charming creature in the
world when you choose! I’m old enough to tell you.”
“I can never equal you,” Margaret retorted lightly, “even when I
choose!”
“There! It was worth the risk to get the compliment!” the older
woman laughed back; “and your husband, he looked most
distinguished to-night, and those dear children—I saw them in the
park! Be good, my child, and you’ll be happy!” and she smiled
complacently at the axiom as she moved away, a figure of ancient
gayety in tight shoes and costly stays. An hour later when her maid
had taken her to pieces, she presented a spectacle at once
instructive and amazing.
Following Mrs. O’Neal’s exit, the accepted signal for departure,
Margaret’s guests began to flow past her in a steady stream,
stopping a moment for the individual farewells or congratulations on
the pleasures of a brilliant evening. She was standing just inside the
ballroom door alone, for White had been summoned unexpectedly to
the White House a half-hour previously, his departure adding to the
zest of gossip and speculation upon the political situation. Margaret’s
slim figure in its shimmering dress, her animated face, the peculiar
charm of her smile, had never been more observed; she was
beautiful. Those who had questioned it, those who had been only
half convinced and those who had denied it, were alike overwhelmed
with its manifestation. It seemed as if the intangibility of her much
disputed charm had vanished and her beauty had taken a visible
shape, was crystallized and purified by some fervent emotion which
made her spirit illuminate it as the light shines through an alabaster
lamp.
One by one they pressed her hand and passed on, feeling the
inspiration of her glance; one white haired diplomat bent gracefully
and kissed her fingers, an involuntary tribute which brought a faint
blush to her cheek.
Fox was among the last to approach, and as he did so she stopped
him with a slight but imperative gesture. “Stay a moment, William,”
she murmured, with almost a look of appeal, “I want to speak to
you.”
Thus admonished he turned back, conscious that by so doing he
startled a glance of comprehension in the eyes of Louis Berkman,
who was following him, which annoyed him for Margaret’s sake. He
went over to the fireplace and stood watching the falling embers
while the remaining guests made their adieux, then as the rustle and
murmur of their departure grew more distant and lost itself in the
rooms beyond, he turned and saw her coming down the long room
alone and was startled by the extreme youthfulness and fragility of
her appearance, and by the discovery, which came to him with the
shock of surprise, that her radiant aspect had slipped from her with
her departing guests, that her face was colorless and pinched,
though her eyes were still feverishly bright.
“It was good of you to stay,” she said, coming to the fire and holding
out her hands to the blaze; “how cold it is for the first of April. Sit
down, William, and let me send for wine and cigarettes; you look
tired.”
He raised a deprecating hand. “No more hospitality,” he said firmly;
“you’ve done enough; you’ve lost all your color now.”
“Except what I put on with a brush,” she said dryly, clasping her
hands and letting her long white arms hang down before her as she
looked across at him with a keen glance. “I know—you’ve eaten
nothing here since Wicklow broke his word and the rest of it. You
won’t eat his bread!”
Fox colored. “Should I be here in that case?” he asked.
She shook her head, glancing at the fire. “You can’t fool me—I
understand.”
“Come, I must go,” he said firmly; “it is very late and you look
wearied to death. You must be, you were absolutely the life of it to-
night; you should have heard old de Caillou rhapsodize!”
“Did I do well—did I look my best?” she asked, her lip quivering like
a child’s, her eyes still on the fire.
“You were your own happy self!” he replied.
She looked up, her slight figure swaying a little as she wrung her
hands together; the tears rained down her cheeks. “Billy,” she
sobbed, “I’m wretched—I—I can’t stand it any longer, it will kill me!”
XI
FOX stood aghast at the force, the agony, the abandon of Margaret’s
confession. Any presentiment which might have warned him had
been disarmed by her previous gayety.
Almost unconsciously his hand met hers, which was stretched out in
a mute appeal. He drew her to a chair. “Sit down,” he said, in an
unsteady voice, with an impotent impulse of resistance; “try to calm
yourself! This is dreadful!”
She obeyed him mechanically; sinking into the great armchair and
turning her face against it, she continued to weep, her whole
delicate frame shaken and quivering with her emotion.
Fox stood still holding her hand and looking down at her in deep
perplexity. He was intuitively aware of the extreme peril and delicacy
of the situation for them both, only too certain of her wild and
unguarded impulses, and that moment—more supremely than ever
—revealed to him the absolute demise of his own passion. He tried
to quiet her, speaking a few gentle and soothing words, sharply
conscious of their inadequacy.
But she scarcely heeded them. After a moment the storm spent
itself, and she turned, revealing her white, tear-stained face which
was still beautiful in spite of her weeping. “There comes a time,” she
said, in a low voice, “when one can bear it no longer—when one
would rather die.”
“For God’s sake, Margaret, don’t say such things!” he exclaimed,
profoundly moved.
Her lips quivered. “Is it so dreadful to say them?” she retorted
passionately; “when you feel them? When they are burned into your
flesh? I’m so weary of conventionalities. I tell you that I can’t bear it,
that I will not bear it any longer!”
As she spoke she rose and stood facing him, her eyes feverishly
bright and moist with unshed tears. “You ask too much of me, you
have no right to ask it—no one has!” she continued, her lip quivering
again; “I cannot be silent—it’s killing me by inches!”
Fox colored deeply; he was suddenly forced into an impossible
position. “My dear Margaret,” he said gravely, “I have no words to
meet it; you must know how profoundly I feel it!”
“If I did not—if I were not sure of you!” she replied, a little wildly, “it
would kill me sooner. Sometimes I have wanted to die. The doctors
say that I have heart trouble—I hope I have! If I believed in prayer I
should have prayed to die.”
“Margaret! is it as bad as that?” he cried, in sudden uncontrollable
pity; he remembered her as so young, so beautiful, so happy!
Her lips twitched. “As bad as that?” she repeated wildly; “I feel like a
trapped squirrel, a rabbit in a snare, I can only shriek because it
hurts me—it isn’t bad enough yet to kill! I’m caged—oh, William,
William, help me get out!”
“Margaret!” he exclaimed sharply, “don’t you know that I can’t hear
this? This is White’s house, I’ve broken his bread. My God, how
dreadful it all is!”
Her hand clenched unconsciously at her side, her white neck rose
and fell with her tortured breathing, a horrible doubt had assailed
her. Then the light broke over her face; he loved her, that was it, and
he was too honorable to speak! She held out both hands. “William,
forgive me,” she murmured softly, “but what have we gained by
silence? What does it all matter to the world? But you must go,
perhaps I did wrong to tell you now! Good-night, I—I—”
Her lips quivered pitifully. “I have always loved you—don’t think me
a wicked woman.”
“Margaret!” he groaned, deeply, terribly touched, yet with a
sickening consciousness of his own unresponsive heart.
She smiled faintly, moving away from him toward the stairs. “Oh,
you must go, good-night!” she repeated, as he paused half reluctant.
“I’m resolved, nothing shall change me—in a little while—” she
paused and he saw the change in her face, its lighting up and
softening, the revelation of its beauty, its subtle charm; saw it with a
slow agony of remorse and reluctance; “in a little while,” she said,
and her smile was wonderful, “I shall be free!”
Fox scarcely knew how he got out of the house; he left it in a dream
and went directly home to his own apartments in an uptown flat.
The distance was not great and he scarcely allowed himself to think.
His mind was almost confused by the sudden and blinding climax.
But as he opened his door, and the dog, Sandy, leaped to meet him,
a rush of feeling swept away his passive resistance; he forced
himself to turn on the lights more fully and to look about at the
familiar objects which met his eyes on all sides, his books, his
pictures, his littered writing-table; he even picked up the evening
mail, which his clerk had left in its accustomed place, and looked
over the pile of letters and pamphlets. But it cost him an effort.
It was very late, but sleep was impossible, and picking up his hat
and stick he whistled to Sandy and the two went out into the almost
deserted streets. The dog leaped about him with quick, joyous
barks, rejoicing in the unexpected outing, and Fox turned his face
northward, walking steadily along the brilliantly lighted and strangely
quiet avenue which led him through the heart of the northwest
section and up on the hill. The tumult of his mind found relief in the
physical exercise and the fresh cold air of an early April night.
In spite of that central egotism of his, which was capable of much
when unkindly stirred, Fox believed that he possessed strong
convictions on the nicer points of honor. If he had drifted often to
White’s house and been much in Margaret’s society it was with no
intention of offending against his host. His indolence, his
carelessness of what was mere gossip and tittle-tattle, had made
him indifferent to the conclusions of others, but he was not unaware
of the talk and the surmises of his enemies; he was not unaware
that Margaret stood on delicate ground and that, if she separated
from White, there would be a wild burst of excited comment—the
comment which costs a woman her good name. Such being the case
she had suddenly thrown herself upon his sympathy, she had torn
away the thin veil of conventionality which had saved them, and it
was for him to desert her or to defend her when the supreme
moment came.
That moment would involve not only his own happiness but—he
paused in his thoughts with a shock of feeling which flooded his
consciousness with a lucidity, an insight, which appalled him. Was he
mistaken, or did it also involve the happiness of the young and
innocent girl whom he loved? At the thought of Rose his heart sank;
he felt instinctively her abhorrence, her complete lack of
understanding of his peculiar situation. To Rose’s mind, doubtless,
he would appear in the likeness of Mephistopheles!
Good God, what would she think of him? he thought; but yesterday
he had held her hand, looked into her pure, young eyes, almost
spoken the final words which would have laid bare his very soul—
and now! He seemed to feel the heated, perfumed atmosphere, the
pressure of Margaret’s fingers on his arm, her wild, sweet smile
when she proclaimed her love for him without shame—how vividly
he saw it! And her absolute belief in his unchanged love for her!
Infatuation, madness, self-deception, it might be all these and more,
but she was a woman—and she had flung herself upon his mercy!
As yet that other aspect of the affair, the blighting of his public
career which such a scandal might in a measure effect, had not
thrust itself upon him; his only thought was for Rose. In that hour
he learned how profoundly he loved her; it was part of his nature
that the very denial of a gift increased his desire to obtain it.
He walked long and far; the night was lightly clouded; but once the
moon broke through a rift and flooded the upper sky with light. As
he turned on the heights the city lay at his feet, dark and slumbering
save for the lighted streets. A policeman tramping past glanced
keenly at him. The air had a crispness that was not wintry, and once
or twice the sweetness of hyacinths reached him from some flower-
studded lawn. Sandy trailed at his heels, faithful but anxious; the
way was new and the hour strange.
They walked on; it was toward morning when the man and the dog
returned and, when they entered his rooms again, Fox’s face was
white, his eyes and mouth were haggard, with the look of a man
who has passed through a great crisis with much agony of soul. For
he had found but one solution, and that sealed his lips.
If his careless preference for her, for her gayety and her wit, if his
thoughtless seeking of her society, if the coupling of his name with
hers, had led her to this breaking of her life, then there was no
question, there could be no question—he thrust the thought deep
down out of sight but it remained there, coiled like the serpent,
ready to strike at the heart of his happiness.
XII
IT was ten o’clock in the morning, and Rose was clipping the dead
leaves from her flowers in the bow-window of the library, while
Judge Temple still read the morning paper in his great high-backed
chair; a shaft of sunlight stealing through the open carving touched
his scanty white hair and showed the crumpled lines of the blue
veins on his temples. He was an old man; he had married late in life
and Rose, the youngest born and only survivor of five children, was
proportionately dear to him. There was a warm sympathy between
them and a companionship beautiful to see.
“There’s some trouble in the Cabinet,” he observed, as he turned his
paper; “there are hints here about Wicklow White.”
Rose looked thoughtful but continued to arrange her flowers.
“Margaret seems very unhappy and very gay, as usual,” she
remarked softly.
“Too gay, my dear,” the judge commented; “old-fashioned fogies like
myself get easily shocked. Never go to her dressmaker!”
Rose laughed, her scissors sparkling in the sun. “Why, father, people
rave about her and copy her everywhere.”
“Let them,” said the judge dryly, “let them—but not my daughter!
Rose, I’d—I’d whip you!”
“You never did that in your life,” she smiled, “I’m almost tempted to
try it and see.”
“Better not,” he retorted grimly, taking off his spectacles and putting
them into his pocket; “you’d get a lesson!”
“Poor Margaret!” Rose colored a little; she had caught the glance
which Margaret had bestowed on her and Fox.
“Poor fiddlesticks!” replied the judge, rising and folding his paper;
“she’s made her bed, child, and she must lie on it; that’s the law of
life; we reap as we sow.”
Rose looked across at him affectionately, but she was wondering
what he thought of William Fox; she had never dared to ask. “It’s a
hard law, father,” she said gently, “we all want to be happy.”
“You will be—just in proportion to your right to be,” he retorted
calmly; “it’s a matter of the heart anyway, Rose, and not of external
matters.”
“I suppose so,” she replied, with a slight sigh; “but one would like to
have externals and internals agree, don’t you think?”
The old man laughed pleasantly. “Most of us would,” he admitted,
“but we never have our way in this world, not in my observation.”
As he spoke there was a stir in the hall, and a young girl appeared at
the drawing-room door.
“It’s Gertrude English,” Rose said; “don’t go yet, father, I’ll take her
away.”
But it appeared that the judge had to go to court, and he went out,
patting little Miss English on the shoulder as he passed. “We children
grow,” he said laughing.
“I wish I’d grown more,” she retorted ruefully; “everybody calls me
‘a little thing,’ and I’m not, really, I’m five feet four.”
“Napoleon was small,” remarked the judge teasingly, “and William
Third and Louis Fourteenth.”
“I know what you think of two of those!” objected Gertrude; “we
remember our history lessons here, don’t we, Rose?”
“Well—but when a rogue’s famous!” said the judge, and went out
smiling at his own jest.
Miss English walked over to the window and watched Rose water her
plants and turn them religiously to the sun.
“Take off your hat, Gertrude,” she said pleasantly; “you really look
tired; can’t you stay awhile?”
Gertrude shook her head. “No,” she said firmly; “I’ve got about a
million notes to write for Margaret and the lunch cards to get ready
for to-morrow; to-night she dines the President. I’m tired of it; I
wish I could make money cracking stones!”
“Poor Gerty!” Rose looked at her with gentle concern; “you’re very
pale, you look as if you hadn’t slept.”
“I haven’t,” said Miss English flatly, “not a wink.”
“I hope Margaret doesn’t make you work late,” Rose murmured,
beginning to search again for dead leaves.
“Margaret?” the little secretary sat down and leaned her elbows on
her knees, her chin in her hands; “Rose, I’m so sorry for her!”
“She seems gay enough,” Rose observed quietly.
“I should say so! I was there very late last night; it was one of her
entertainments, and little Ward was sick. I sat with him. You know
she treats the children sometimes like playthings, and again—like
rats! I was in the nursery watching him and helping the nurse until
all the guests went. Then I went down stairs; I wanted to tell
Margaret what I’d done, and I went to the ballroom door. She didn’t
hear me call to her, and I went back up stairs feeling like a sneak.
She was there with Mr. Fox and she was crying dreadfully when I
saw her.”
Rose’s scissors clipped sharply and a fresh young twig fell unnoticed
to the floor. There was a long pause. Miss English had mechanically
taken off her gloves and she was drawing them through her fingers,
her face full of honest trouble.
“After awhile she came up stairs,” she continued, “and came into the
room where I was—”
“Gertrude,” interrupted Rose suddenly, “ought you to tell me this?”
“Every one will know soon,” said Gertrude dryly; “she came over and
looked at the child and said she was glad he was better—he was
asleep then and the nurse had gone out of the room for some extra
milk. Margaret’s face was white, and her eyes—I never saw her eyes
so wonderful. Suddenly she flung her arms around my neck and
began to cry, softly so as not to wake the child. She told me—she’s
going to get a divorce!”
Rose put aside her scissors and sat down, looking across at Gertrude
with a strange expression, but she said nothing.
Miss English sighed, folding her gloves again. “Of course I know how
bad it’s been,” she said; “he’s a brute to her sometimes and swears
at her before everybody but, well, Rose, don’t you think you’d swear
at Margaret if you had to live with her?”
Rose smiled a little, her lips pale. “I don’t know, Gerty,” she said, “I
never did—in my life.”
“Didn’t you?” Miss English sighed again; “well,” she said, “when
you’re poor, downright, disgustingly poor, you just have to say
‘damn’ once in awhile, if you didn’t you’d kill somebody!”
“But White isn’t poor,” objected Rose, “he’s only vulgar.”
“Well, of course there’s Lily Osborne,” Gertrude shrugged her
shoulders; “there won’t be any trouble about the divorce in the State
of New York or anywhere else, I fancy! I wonder if she means to go
to Omaha.”
“Do you believe it’s really settled?” Rose asked, with a strong feeling
of self-abasement; she thought herself a scandal-monger, an
unworthy creature, but her heart quaked within her with an
unspoken dread, and Miss English’s next remarks drove it home.
“Without doubt,” she said; “I know it is and,”—she colored a little
and looked out of the window at the April sunshine on the garden
wall—“Rose, do you believe she’ll marry William Fox?” she
whispered.
Rose sat regarding her and said nothing. What could she say, poor
child? That vividly pictured scene of Margaret weeping and Fox as
her comforter was burning deep, and Rose had been brought up by
an Old Testament Christian!
“It would be a great pity,” Miss English observed, after a long
silence; “it would ruin Mr. Fox—people would say everything.”
Rose colored painfully. “People say very cruel things, Gerty,” she said
slowly, “and, perhaps, we’re as bad as any just now.”
Gertrude shook her head vigorously, her pleasant round face flushing
a little too. “I don’t mean to be,” she said, “of course it’s a great
temptation; we secretaries know everything, it’s like turning a dress
inside out and finding the lining’s only paper-cambric with a silk
facing; it’s all a big sham, we’re on the inside and know! But,
goodness, it would ruin Fox, and I know, Rose, I know she’s in love
with him.”
Rose looked steadily away; she, too, saw the ivy leaves fluttering
gently in the sunshine as the light breeze rippled across them.
Miss English sighed. “Well,” she said, “I don’t care; Margaret’s so
unhappy, it seems as if she ought to try over again, only there are
the children. I forgot though, Rose, you’re very stiff-necked; I
suppose you hate divorces?”
Rose shook her head. “I don’t believe in marriage after divorce,” she
said; she was very young and she had rigid standards, like a great
many people who have never had to test them in their hearts’ blood.
Gertrude English opened her mild blue eyes. “Don’t you?” she said,
“I didn’t, either, until I saw Margaret; then I began to think it was
awful to have to live out a mistake; and there’s White too; really he’s
had his trials. I don’t know whether it would be wicked or not for her
to marry again.”
“It isn’t Scriptural,” said Rose firmly, her face colorless now.
Miss English rose and began to put on her gloves. “Well, there isn’t
any marrying or giving in marriage in heaven,” she remarked, “so I
suppose most of us have got to do it all here. As far as I’m
concerned, I don’t find any rush for a poor girl. It’s amazing to me
that the male creatures can’t see the advantages of the habit of
economy!” she added, with a good humored laugh.
“I wish you’d stay to lunch,” said Rose mechanically; she had not
Gerty’s keen sense of humor, and her heart felt like lead in her
bosom.
“I can’t!” the little secretary went to the mirror and adjusted her hat-
pins; “I’ve got to go and write notes. Margaret has no head, and
she’s probably in bed now. You know she really has heart trouble; I
shouldn’t wonder if she died in one of her fandangoes.”
“And she’s talking of divorce and marriage!” Rose looked gravely into
the other girl’s troubled face.
“Of course; isn’t it like her?” Miss English moved slowly to the door,
buttoning her gloves, and Rose followed.
In the hall she turned. “After all, who’s to blame?” she said stoutly;
“Margaret’s awfully unhappy, and Fox—goodness, he used to almost
live there, he was there to everything until that row with White over
the Cabinet business. I’d like to know what you think of him, Miss
Moralist, a man who flirts with a married woman!”
“I try not to think of it,” Rose replied quietly.
Miss English had opened the door and the sunlight streamed in. “Oh,
good gracious!” she exclaimed; “why, Rose, what’s the matter?
You’re as white as a sheet!”
“I’ve—I’ve got a headache,” Rose faltered, the fib lodging in her
throat, for she had been reared to tell the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth.
“And I’ve been teasing you! I’m a brute. Go and lie down, you poor
dear!” Gertrude kissed her affectionately and penitently; “try
phospho-caffein; your hands are like ice!”
“Oh, it’s nothing—only a headache,” fibbed Rose, more easily the
second time; she realized it with a shudder. The way of the
transgressor is not always hard, the road is wide, also it is agreeable
—but she had not discovered that yet!
“I’ll stop by to-night and inquire,” said Gertrude.
But Rose shivered at the thought of continued deception. “Oh, I’ll be
all right,” she called after her visitor, then she closed the door and
laid her head against it; everything turned dark for a minute and
swam around her.
She went back to the library and picking up her scissors put them
away, and quite mechanically arranged her father’s chair and his
footrest and looked up the book he would want in the evening. She
tried not to let her mind dwell too much on what Miss English had
told her, but her lips tightened and her eyes darkened with
controlled emotion. She had led, hitherto, a happy, sheltered life,
she had never suffered much, and her capacity for suffering was
very great. Her character, which was just emerging from the
malleable sweetness of girlhood, had begun to feel the impress of
her father’s stern morality. With Rose right was right, and wrong was
wrong; there was no middle course. She had an exalted conception
of duty and the sacrifices that one should be ready to make for a
principle. She had never tested any of these admirable theories in
the fiery furnace of temptation, but she had a shadowy notion that if
she had lived in the age of Nero she should have offered her body to
be burned to save her soul alive. It is unfortunate for some of the
modern Christian martyrs that they did not live at that time; a diet of
prepared breakfast foods and French entrées is not conducive to the
production of heroes.
Rose had been so happy the day before, the birth of a new and
beautiful emotion had so transfigured her young soul, that this
sudden and dreadful revelation was in the nature of a thunderbolt
from a clear sky; her heart shrivelled and shrank within her. Yet to
question Fox, to doubt him was, to her simple, loyal nature a
hideous possibility.
If this were true, if he had all the while loved a married woman—
Rose knelt down by her father’s vacant chair and laid her head on
her arms. She tried to thrust the thought away, but it haunted her
and that verse—she had been brought up on the Scriptures, she
knew them by heart, their denunciations had frightened her when
she was a little girl, they chilled her still—For whosoever shall keep
the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all. She
shuddered; what should she do? O God, would it be very hard? She
caught herself pleading; was she begging off? The stern conscience
in her made her start up from her knees with a sob.
XIII
IT fell out—most unseasonably for the Vermilions—that Mrs. O’Neal
had planned her annual reception for the same night as their fancy-
ball. All the world was sure to go to Mrs. O’Neal’s sooner or later,
and it broke up the mask-ball at an unusual hour, just before the
champagne began to take effect, which was, on the whole, rather a
mercy to the Vermilions, though they knew it not and suffered some
keen pangs of anger and jealousy. Mrs. O’Neal had, of course, done
it on purpose, Cynthia Vermilion said, and, perhaps she had! Mrs.
O’Neal was a thoroughly worldly old person who would have driven
her social chariot over a hundred Vermilions, figuratively speaking,
and felt a grim pleasure in doing it. The world is not precisely the
place for the cultivation of the more tender feelings, or an undue
love for your neighbor, and Martha O’Neal had long since forgotten
that there might be really serious reasons for considering any one
but herself.
So she gave her famous annual ball on that beautiful spring evening
when the scent of the lilacs in her garden came in through the open
windows. She had the house decorated with Easter lilies—it was
Eastertide—and she had made her offering from the front pew in the
most fashionable church in town, wearing her new bonnet while her
head vibrated sufficiently to make the roses dance in weird mockery
on its brim. She had remembered to mention, too, that she gave a
thousand dollars a year to the church, because it is quite useless to
hide your light under a bushel. Having done all these things she
gave her ball on the Vermilions’ evening, and it was a very beautiful,
a very select and a very famous affair, made more famous in the end
by an incident which she had not foreseen.
Those poor Vermilions! They had spent many thousands, and yet
people hurried away or came late, only to eat the supper; old
Vermilion was a magnificent provider. Of course there were some
who never went to the Vermilion’s at all, but always to Mrs. O’Neal’s;
among these were the Temples and old Mrs. Allestree, who made a
point to be present at Martha’s house, for she and Martha had been
schoolmates and were still good friends, although nothing could
have been more amusing than the contrast; the one in her old-
fashioned dress with her placid face and her kindly smile, and the
other, tight-laced, over-burdened with satin and jewels, her old head
wagging and quivering under its high white pompadour and its
jewelled aigrette.
Her rooms were thronged; the dark polished floors, the old
mahogany furniture, the glittering mirrors, the bewildering array of
candles, tall candles and short candles, huge seven-armed silver
candelabra, short, stout silver candlesticks, the masses of white
lilies, the sweet, heavy odor of them; what a beautiful, dazzling,
fanciful scene it was, when the lovely women in their rich dresses
began to throng every room and corridor and even lingered laughing
and talking on the wide stairs and in the gallery above which
commanded the lower hall and the ballroom, where the fluted pillars
were festooned with vines and crowned with capitals of roses. The
old, old woman, with her white head and her false teeth and her
gorgeous gown, receiving her guests, chattering and smiling and
proud; truly the ruling passion is strong in death. She stood there
nobly, heroically, cheerfully, though her tight satin shoes pinched her
poor, old feet, and the draughts from the door sent a shiver of
rheumatic pain across her poor, old, bare, shrivelled shoulders; and
the wide expanse of her ample neck and bosom, clad in jewels and
the imagination, felt the breeze too.
After awhile the guests from the fancy-ball began to drift in, a few at
first in costume, and then more and more, until the ballroom took on
the look of a harlequin show, and there was much gay laughter and
criticism of each new arrival from those who had disdained the
Vermilion ball or who had never been asked.
Mrs. Osborne came, beautiful and striking, dressed as an Eastern
sorceress, and almost at once she had a circle around her in the
corner of the conservatory, and was telling fortunes and interpreting
dreams with all the arts of a charlatan and the charm of a lovely
woman. The crimson tunic, the dark blue petticoat worked with gold,
the shapely ankles with broad gold bracelets, the glittering scarfs
which draped her shoulders and revealed her white arms, the dull
gold band on her forehead, binding back the masses of glossy
auburn hair, all combined to make her a charming and seductive
picture. She told fortunes well; it is an alluring art, it shows pretty
hands and delicate wrists, and the downward sweep of soft
eyelashes, the arch of a white brow, besides that swift glance
upward from bewilderingly lovely eyes—
The women looked at her over their shoulders and stiffened, while
the men all had their fortunes told and found the lines on their
palms of sudden and absorbing interest. One or two elderly women,
the mothers of grown boys and girls, were seized with a sudden
desire to go home, but it was no easy matter because the elderly
gentlemen belonging to them, and also the fathers of grown boys
and girls, found that corner too attractive to leave.
Judge Temple, observing it with his shrewd common sense, smiled
with much secret amusement and looked about to see if Rose saw it,
for Rose would understand though she had not his sense of humor.
But he discovered Rose greeting William Fox with an expression on
her sweet young face which startled him. She was smiling and
speaking easily, he saw that, but what was it in her eyes, her lips,
which seemed almost too subtle to interpret? The judge stopped
talking to his nearest neighbor and looked at his own child oddly;
could it be? Then he looked at Fox and there he read something too,
the look of a man in pain, physical or mental, a pain which he meant
to hide. The old judge had been to the supper-table and was
standing at the door when he saw them; he quite forgot the plate in
his hand, he almost let a strawberry roll off on to the floor when he
heard Mrs. Allestree’s voice.
“Dear me, judge, do remember that I’m wearing my one evening
gown and strawberries stain!” and she laughed as she saw his start;
“there, see what it is to be a philosopher out for an evening with a
frivolous old woman!”
“My dear Jane,” replied the judge—he had gone to school with Mrs.
Allestree—; “I’d forgotten that it wasn’t a strawberry vine. Do you
remember those we stole from old Mr. White’s patch a thousand
years ago?”
“Do I?” the old woman sighed; “Stephen,” she said, “how much nicer
they were than these! I wonder if I stole some now—”
“I should send you to jail,” he retorted, twinkling, “the second
offense, you know!”
“You stole those yourself!” she replied indignantly, “I was only
accessory after the fact! Who in the world is that?” she added,
catching her breath and craning her neck to peep through the
throng.
It was Margaret White. She had just come from the fancy-ball where
it had been her whim to appear as Ophelia. Perhaps her conscience
had pinched her for her treatment of Mrs. Vermilion in Allestree’s
studio, or it had merely pleased her to go. It was often impossible to
find the key to her conduct. At any rate she had gone, and she came
late to Mrs. O’Neal’s, where she was to meet her husband, for he
had refused to go in costume to the Vermilions’. He was a man of
too heavy common sense to trick himself out in fancy dress, and on
that one point he knew his own limitations; he had never been able
to play a part to his own satisfaction, and he had too high an opinion
of Wicklow White to belittle him with a failure. So it happened that
he had already had his fortune told by the enchantress in the
conservatory when a ripple of excitement from the ballroom reached
him.
When Mrs. Allestree spoke the crowd had parted to let Margaret
pass through it. She wore a flowing, soft, white gown, thin, clinging,
revealing her neck and arms and the long slim lines of her figure;
her hair, which was beautiful and an unusual tint of pale brown, was
unbound and hanging, trimmed with flowers, while her arms were
full of them.
There was a silence; every eye was on her, and there was an
instantaneous recognition of her remarkable fitness for the part; the
delicate, subtle beauty of her face, her brilliant eyes, with the dusky
shadows below them, the longing, the pain, the uninterpreted
feeling of her expression, her wild hair, her slim, graceful figure, the
appealing beauty of her slender white hands as she held them out,
offering rosemary and rue and daisies, was she really an actress
born or—the very nymph herself? That mystic atmosphere of
tragedy which sometimes seemed to pervade her being had at last
found an expression at once visible and beautiful.
It was her whim to play the part out, and people watched her,
fascinated; those who did not approve of her, those who disliked her,
as well as those who fell under her spell, watched her with
undisguised eagerness. She drew all eyes and knew it. She looked
up and saw her husband standing in the door of the conservatory;
their eyes met with a challenge; they had quarrelled woefully over
her coming in this dress, and it only needed the sight of him to
kindle her wilful daring, her abominable obstinacy. Some one called
her by name and spoke to her but, unheeding, she began to sing
Ophelia’s song, throwing flowers as she walked slowly, very slowly
down the crowded room.
“Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny!” she sang.
There was a little breathless applause, but she met it with a vacant
look, coming on, tossing a rose here, a lily there, to be caught by
some ready hand.
Mrs. Wingfield, unhappily, stood in her path. She had been watching
her approach with an expression which needed no explanation, but
she could not be content with silent disapproval, she rushed upon
her fate. “Why, how do you do, Mrs. White,” she said, in her audible
voice, “I really didn’t know it was you; I thought it must be some
actress!”
Margaret looked at her blankly, then she put her head on one side.
“‘Well, God ’ild you!’” she exclaimed, “‘they say the owl was a baker’s
daughter.’”
Mrs. Wingfield turned painfully scarlet. There was a titter, an audible
and wavering titter around her. Alack, there were only too many who
remembered, with the memory of society, that her father had dealt
in loaves and fishes!
But Margaret had passed on; she handed a flower to Fox as she
passed, rosemary for remembrance; she gave a rose to Rose Temple
and to the judge a sprig of rue with a little malicious smile.
“Call it herb of grace o’ Sundays!” she said lightly, and the judge
laughed good humoredly with the others, for he knew that his stiff,
old-fashioned manners and customs were often meat for jests.
After all, it was not so bad, people were obviously entertained;
White began to draw a breath of relief, he tried to signal to her to
stop. But Margaret was not done, instead, the very spirit of defiance
seemed to possess her. She suddenly knelt in the centre of the room
and began to make a wreath of flowers, singing Ophelia’s lament,
her sweet, high voice carrying far in the great rooms. The throng of
gayly dressed women drew farther away, the circle widened, necks
were craned, those behind stood on tip-toe.
It was too much for Wicklow White, he could endure no more; he
walked abruptly across the space. “Margaret,” he said, in a low
peremptory voice, “this is too much, we must go home!”
She looked up and shook back her soft, wild hair as she tossed a
flower at him.
“‘For bonny, sweet Robin is all my joy!’” she sang maliciously.
He crimsoned and bit his lip. Again some one applauded; there was
a slight murmur of talk.
Margaret rose abruptly from her knees and began to laugh, herself
again, gay, debonair, indifferent. “What a fool I can be to entertain
you,” she said, her delicate face bright as a child’s.
People gathered about her at once; she was congratulated, praised,
but in the corners others disapproved and thought her a little mad.
Mrs. Osborne glanced meaningly at her nearest friend and tapped
her forehead, and Mrs. Wingfield laughed furiously.
“What a delightful side-show!” she said; “they say White will lose his
place—no wonder!”
The throng had closed up again, the gay murmur of talk rose; the
musicians were just beginning to play a waltz and the ballroom was
filling with dancers.
Margaret, laughing and talking gayly, stood in the door. Fox, looking
across at her, experienced a feeling of deep amazement. What an
actress a woman can be! It seemed to him that he had dreamed
that scene in White’s house, that it was impossible, untrue, a
phantasm of his troubled brain. Then, as he watched her, pondering
on a woman’s unfathomable moods, he saw a sudden gray
whiteness spread over her face like a veil, her eyelids quivered, her
lips parted and she swayed.
In an instant he had reached her and caught her as she fell. Judge
Temple helped him hush the stir it made, and he carried her quietly
and swiftly down stairs to a reception room below where he could
get help at once.
An hour later Rose joined Mrs. Allestree on the way to the studio.
The old lady was out walking in the spring sunshine, her fine aged
face mapped close with delicate wrinkles and little puckers and her
keen old eyes bright and alert in spite of the weight of years.
She took Rose’s proffered arm with a smile. “I forgot my cane,” she
said; “I always forget that I’m more than twenty-four until I try to go
up stairs. I tell Robert that I can’t climb up to his studio much longer,
he’ll have to have an elevator. I’m going now to see your picture, he
means to send it to your father to-morrow; it’s been hard to part
with it!”
Rose colored deeply, much to her own chagrin. “Father is anxious to
have it,” she said, “he spoke about it this morning.”
“Wants to pay for it, I presume,” the old woman retorted shrewdly;
“I’ve always said that Stephen Temple would offer to pay for his
halo! Tell him not to try to pay Robert, Rose, it would hurt.”
Rose looked at her helplessly. “He’s written about it,” she said
reluctantly; “I told him, but he would do it.”
Mrs. Allestree’s sensitive face colored almost as vividly as the girl’s
and she stopped, her hand on Rose’s arm, and looked down
thoughtfully. “It’s in your father’s writing, of course?” she said at
last.
“Yes, he wrote this morning and posted it himself.”
The old woman drew a long breath. “I’m going to commit a felony,
Rose,” she said, “I’m going to get that letter; Robert’s mail comes to
the house, I see it first. I shall send the check back to your father
myself.”
“I’m afraid he’ll be angry,” said Rose thoughtfully; “I didn’t know
what to do; I was sure Robert didn’t want to—to be paid for it.”
“Paid for it!” Mrs. Allestree shook her head sadly; “my dear child, it
has been a labor of love. You couldn’t ask Robert to take money for
it.”
Rose was silent, she felt herself a mere puppet in Mrs. Allestree’s
hands; the old woman was as shrewd and as skilful as the most
worldly matchmaker in her gentle and affectionate way; besides she
adored her son and, like most mothers, she was willing to offer up
any sacrifice which seemed to her sufficiently worthy for immolation.
There was a moment of embarrassment on Rose’s part, and she was
glad to see the Wicklow White motor-car coming swiftly toward
them. At the sight of the liveries Mrs. Allestree turned quickly and
caught an indistinct view of a woman’s figure, a white chiffon hat
and a feather boa.
“Why, it’s Margaret!” she exclaimed, half stopping to look back.
“No, it’s Mrs. Osborne,” Rose said quietly; “she’s taken off her half
mourning.”
Mrs. Allestree’s face changed sharply. “In White’s motor-car?” the old
woman glanced after the vanishing juggernaut with an eloquent