The brilliant Julia had taken care to let Maude’s admirers know that her
heart had long been bestowed upon a remote object; but she did not go so
far as to reveal the name of Miss Hillary’s chosen lover; and Francis
Tredethlyn had no suspicion that Maude Hillary and the beautiful heiress
of whom his master had so often spoken were one and the same person. He
knew nothing of this; he only knew that Maude seemed as remote from his
sphere as the distant stars that shone coldly upon him out of a
steel-blue winter sky when he looked from his window at the Cedars. He
spent his Christmas at the Cedars; for Mr. Hillary had been specially
cordial and hospitable to him of late, and had resumed all his old
graciousness of manner to Julia.
And the private theatricals, the elegant drawing-room exhibition of
amateur histrionics, which Maude had planned so merrily in the autumn,
were to take place on the first night of the new year--now, when the
poor girl’s heart was sinking under the dull pain of that perpetual
burden, that dreary terror of the disgrace which might be so near.
She had told her father that a miracle might be wrought before the 10th
of January. Of what had she thought or dreamed when she held out that
hope? What daring fancy had been engendered out of the excitement of the
moment? There are times when a woman feels capable of becoming a social
Joan of Arc, a bloodless Charlotte Corday; but then the enthusiasm, the
exaltation of the moment is so apt to pass _with_ the moment. There had
been a vague but desperate intention lurking in Maude Hillary’s mind
when she had encouraged her father by those hopeful speeches; but the
days were creeping past, the new year was close at hand, and nothing had
been done. Nothing had been done; and now Miss Hillary was tormented all
day long about these wonderful private theatricals, which were to
surpass every drawing-room performance since the days when the unhappy
daughter of the Caesars played a _soubrette_ for the delight of that
taciturn king and grandfather-in-law who did not like to laugh.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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