Years of Grace · Part II · II · Chapter 2 2 2 (2/2)

“Stop talking about my wife!” he said suddenly. His angry voice rang out in the silent room. “Stop talking about her at least until you are out of this house!”

Mrs. Ward rose slowly to her feet, staring at Mr. Furness’s distorted face.

“I want to speak to my daughter,” said Mr. Furness. “I want to speak to her alone.” He advanced belligerently into the room. Mrs. Ward began to move with dignity toward the door. The black crepe veil fell at her feet. Mr. Furness pointed to it contemptuously.

“Take those trappings with you,” he said.

Mrs. Ward stooped, without a word, and picked up the veil. Two little spots of colour were flaming in her cheeks. She walked with composure from the room, however, her head held high. She never even glanced at Mr. Furness or at Flora. Flora, who was standing in terrified silence by the sofa, a little black streak in the gold-and-green splendour of the room.

Mrs. Lester rose hesitatingly, and moved unsteadily to Mr. Furness’s elbow. He glared at her in silence. He might never have seen her before. Mrs. Lester put out her hand and gently touched his arm. Her face was working strangely. Jane saw her try to speak, then shake her head, and stand staring at Mr. Furness while great tears gathered in her dark eyes and rolled, unheeded, down her fat, sagging cheeks. Mr. Furness just kept on glaring, like a crazy man. Mrs. Lester dropped his arm, after a minute, and followed Jane’s mother out into the hall. She hadn’t uttered a word. Jane scurried after them. She suddenly realized that she was crying. Jane’s mother was standing beside Mrs. Lester and Stephen Carver near the front door. Stephen looked awfully concerned. Mrs. Ward was talking very excitedly.

“I don’t blame him,” she was saying, “I don’t blame him a particle. He was like one distraught. And I don’t wonder⁠—with all the disgrace!”

Jane suddenly realized that Stephen Carver had seen her tears. He was looking down at her very tenderly. Mrs. Lester was getting her mother to the door.

“Jane⁠—don’t!” said Stephen. His arm was half around her. He looked very understanding.

“It’s just that Mamma⁠—” faltered Jane, “Mamma shouldn’t talk so.”

“It is a disgrace,” said Stephen solemnly.

Jane felt terribly shocked. He didn’t understand at all, after all.

“Oh⁠—no!” she said faintly. “It’s just⁠—tragedy.” Stephen still stared at her, quite uncomprehending. “Never⁠—disgrace,” said Jane. “She loved him.”

Stephen was looking at her as if he found her words quite unintelligible. Jane slipped through the front door. Her mother, on the steps, was still talking volubly to Mrs. Lester.

“I don’t think he knew what he was saying or to whom he was speaking,” she said eagerly. “But how he’ll explain it to Flora⁠—”

Jane silently followed them down to the sidewalk. She felt strangely calmed and exalted. A finished life was a very solemn, very splendid thing. She didn’t care what her mother said, now. Death had an unassailable dignity.

“And it’s not only the disgrace,” her mother was murmuring earnestly. “The whole thing seems so terribly sordid⁠—turning on the gas like that⁠—in a bathroom⁠—like any woman of the streets. Lily Furness had always so much pride.”

“I have lived and accomplished the task that Destiny gave me,” thought Jane very solemnly, “and now I shall pass beneath the earth no common shade.”