Contrary Mary

The color flooded Mary's face. "Fail him?" she faltered.

"Yes. When he first came to me, there were your letters. He used to

read bits of them aloud, and I could see inspiration in them for him.

Then he stopped reading them to me, and they seemed to bring heaviness

with them--I can't tell you how unhappy he was until he began to make

his work fill his life. Do you mind telling me what made the change in

you, my dear?"

Mary gazed into the fire, the blood still in her face.

"Cousin Patty, did you know his wife?"

"Yes. Is it because of her, Mary?"

"Yes. After Roger went away, I saw her picture. Colin had painted it.

And, Cousin Patty, it seemed the face of such a little--saint."

"Yet Roger told you his story?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't believe him?"

"Oh, I don't know what to believe."

"I see," but Cousin Patty's manner was remote.

Mary slipped down to the stool at Cousin Patty's feet, and brought her

clear eyes to the level of the little lady's. "Dear Cousin Patty," she

implored, "if you only know how I want to believe in Roger Poole."

Cousin Patty melted. "My dear," she said with decision, "I'm going to

tell you everything."

And now woman's heart spoke to woman's heart. "I visited them in the

first year of their marriage. I wanted to love his wife, and at first

she seemed charming. But I hadn't been there a week before I was

puzzling over her. She was made of different clay from Roger. In the

intimacy of that home I discovered that she wasn't--a lady--not in our

nice old-fashioned sense of good manners, and good morals. She said

things that you and I couldn't say, and she did things. I felt the

catastrophe in the air long before it came. But I couldn't warn Roger.

I just had to let him find out. I wasn't there when the blow fell; but

I'll tell you this, that Roger may have been a quixotic idiot in the

eyes of the world, but if he failed it was because he was a dreamer,

and an idealist, not a coward and a shirk." Her eyes were blazing.

"Oh, if you could hear what some people said of him, Mary."

Mary could fancy what they had said.

"Oh, Cousin Patty, Cousin Patty," she cried, "Do you think he will ever

forgive me? I have let such people talk to me, and I have listened!"