Mabel went on with her work, and did not reply.
"I have had uncomfortable suspicions about certain passages in her
intercourse with us, since I heard this news," continued Mrs.
Sutton, edging her chair toward her niece, and dropping her voice.
"I am afraid I can date the beginning of her cruelty to Alfred back
to that September she spent here--to the latter part of it, I mean.
Little scenes come to my memory that caused me trifling uneasiness
then. I shall never forget, for instance, how she eyed you, the
morning Winston came home so unexpectedly."
And she described the incident recorded in the latter part of our
opening chapter.
"Can it be," she pursued, "that she had even then designs upon the
man she is about to marry? She knew all the circumstances of the
trouble that ensued, and if disposed to be meddlesome, she had the
means at her command."
"I told her nothing," said Mabel briefly.
"But she pumped me pretty effectually," confessed the aunt
shamefacedly. "I thought there could be no harm in giving her a
synopsis of the case--she being your intimate friend."
Another gleam of pensive amusement crossed Mabel's face. She knew
too well the nature of her aunt's "synopsis" to doubt that Rosa was
conversant with every phase of the affair, concerning which her own
lips had been so sternly sealed.
"You have nothing with which to reproach yourself," she said,
tranquilly. "She marries with her eyes open."
"You don't imagine for one instant that she would be annoyed by any
such scruples as beset you!" cried Mrs. Sutton scoffingly. "Why, the
woman would sooner go to the altar with a handsome, dashing
libertine, who had broken hearts by the dozen, than marry a quiet,
honest Christian, who had never breathed of love to any ears except
hers. The aim of her life is to create or experience a sensation. I
don't quite see how she could have made trouble in that sad affair,
but I should like to be positive that she did not."
"You may safely acquit her of that sin," rejoined Mabel. "There was
neither need nor room for her interference. Whatever may have been
her inclination, she was shrewd enough to perceive that the natural
course of events was bringing about the desired end--if it were a
desirable one to her--without her help or hindrance. But, aunt!
doesn't it strike you that this is a very profitless talk, and very
uncharitable? It is a sorry task, this volunteering our assistance
to the dead past to bury its dead. And I, for one, have too much
bound up in the future to offer my service in the painful work.
Look! is not this pretty?"