CHAPTER VIII
關燈
小
中
大
hing—then.ThenextdayAuntWellingtonhadcometoElmStreetandtoldMrs.FrederickthatshethoughtOliveshouldhavesomeofthosebuttons—GrandmotherStirlingwasjustasmuchWellington’smotherasFrederick’s.Mrs.Frederickhadagreedamiably.ShecouldnotaffordtofalloutwithAuntWellington.Moreover,thematterwasofnoimportancewhatever.AuntWellingtoncarriedofffourofthebuttons,generouslyleavingtwoforValancy.Valancyhadtornthesefromherstringandflungthemonthefloor—shehadnotyetlearnedthatitwasunladyliketohavefeelings—andhadbeensentsupperlesstobedfortheexhibition.
ThenightofMargaretBlunt’sparty.Shehadmadesuchpatheticeffortstobeprettythatnight.RobWalkerwastobethereandtwonightsbefore,onthemoonlitverandahofUncleHerbert’scottageatMistawis,Robhadreallyseemedattractedtoher.AtMargaret’spartyRobneverevenaskedhertodance—didnotnoticeheratall.Shewasawallflower,asusual.That,ofcourse,wasyearsago.PeopleinDeerwoodhadlongsincegivenupinvitingValancytodances.ButtoValancyitshumiliationanddisappointmentwereoftheotherday.Herfaceburnedinthedarknessassherecalledherself,sittingtherewithherpitifullycrimped,thinhairandthecheeksshehadpinchedforanhourbeforecoming,inanefforttomakethemred.AllthatcameofitwasawildstorythatValancyStirlingwasrougedatMargaretBlunt’sparty.InthosedaysinDeerwoodthatwasenoughtowreckyourcharacterforever.ItdidnotwreckValancy’s,orevendamageit.Peopleknewshecouldn’tbefastifshetried.Theyonlylaughedather.
“I’vehadnothingbutasecond-handexistence,”decidedValancy.“Allthegreatemotionsoflifehavepassedmeby.I’veneverevenhadagrief.AndhaveIeverreallylovedanybody?DoIreallyloveMother?No,Idon’t.That’sthetruth,whetheritisdisgracefulornot.Idon’tloveher—I’veneverlovedher.What’sworse,Idon’tevenlikeher.SoIdon’tknowanythingaboutanykindoflove.Mylifehasbeenempty—empty.Nothingisworsethanemptiness.Nothing!”Valancyejaculatedthelast“nothing”aloudpassionately.Thenshemoanedandstoppedthinkingaboutanythingforawhile.Oneofherattacksofpainhadcomeon.
WhenitwasoversomethinghadhappenedtoValancy—perhapstheculminationoftheprocessthathadbeengoingoninhermindeversinceshehadreadDr.Trent’sletter.Itwasthreeo’clockinthemorning—thewisestandmostaccursedhouroftheclock.Butsometimesitsetsusfree.
“I’vebeentryingtopleaseotherpeopleallmylifeandfailed,”shesaid.“AfterthisIshallpleasemyself.Ishallneverpretendanythingagain.I’vebreathedanatmosphereoffibsandpretencesandevasionsallmylife.Whataluxuryitwillbetotellthetruth!ImaynotbeabletodomuchthatIwanttodobutIwon’tdoanotherthingthatIdon’twanttodo.Mothercanpoutforweeks—Ishan’tworryoverit.‘Despairisafreeman—hopeisaslave.’”
Valancygotupanddressed,withadeepeningofthatcurioussenseoffreedom.Whenshehadfinishedwithherhairsheopenedthewindowandhurledthejarofpotpourrioverintothenextlot.Itsmashedgloriouslyagainsttheschoolgirlcomplexionontheoldcarriage-shop.
“I’msickofthefragranceofdeadthings,”saidValancy.