"Barney, poor old boy!" A sudden thought stayed her hand from opening the letter. Where had Barney been in this picture of the future years upon which she had been feasting her soul? Aghast, she realized that, amid its splendid triumphs, Barney had not appeared. "Of course, he'll be there," she murmured somewhat impatiently. But how and in what capacity she could not quite see.
Some prima donnas had husbands, mere shadowy appendages to their courts. Others there were who found their husbands most useful as financial agents, business managers, or upper servants. Iola smiled a proud little smile. Barney would not do for any of these discreetly shadowy, conveniently colourless or more useful husbands. Would he be her husband? A warm glow came into her eyes and a flush upon her cheek. Her husband? Yes, surely, but not for a time. For some years she must be free to study, and--well, it was better to be free till she had made her name and her place in the world. Then when she had settled down Barney would come to her.
But how would Barney accept her programme? Sure as she was of his great love, and with all her love for him, she was a little afraid of him. He was so strong, so silently immovable. Often in the past three years she had made trial of that immovable strength, seeking to draw him away from his work to some social engagement, to her so important, to him so incidental. She had always failed.
His work absorbed him as her art had her, but with a difference.
With Barney, work was his reward; with her, a means to it. To gain some further knowledge, to teach his fingers some finer skill, that was enough for Barney. Iola wrought at her long tasks and practised her unusual self-denials with her eye upon the public.
Her reward would come when she had brought the world, listening, to her feet. Seized in the thrall of his work, Barney grimly held to it, come what might. No such absorbing passion possessed Iola.
And Iola, while she was provoked by what she called his stubbornness, was yet secretly proud of that silently resisting strength she could neither shake nor break. No, Barney was not fitted for the role of the shadowy, pliant, convenient husband.
What, then, in her plan of life would be his place? It startled her to discover that her plan had been complete without him.
Complete? Ah, no. Her life without Barney would be like a house without its back wall. During these years of study and toil, while Barney could only give her snatches of his time, she had come to feel with increasing strength that her life was built round about him. When others had been applauding her successes, she waited for Barney's word; and though beside the clever, brilliant men that moved in the circle into which her art had brought her he might appear awkward and dull, yet it was Barney who continued to be the standard by which she judged men. With all his need of polish, his poverty of small talk, his hopeless ignorance of the conventions, and his obvious disregard of them, the massive strength of him, his fine sense of honour, his chivalrous bearing toward women, added a touch of reverence to the love she bore him. But more than all, it was to Barney her heart turned for its rest. She knew well that she held in all its depth and strength his heart's love. He would never fail her. She could not exhaust that deep well. But the question returned, where would Barney be while she was being conducted by acclaiming multitudes along her triumphal way? "Oh, he will wait--we will wait," she corrected, shrinking from the heartlessness of the former phrasing. How many years she could not say. But deep in her heart was the determination that nothing should stand in the way of the ambition she had so long cherished and for which she had so greatly endured.
She opened the note with lingering deliberation as one dallies with an approaching delight.
"MY DEAR IOLA: I have always told you the truth. I could not see you last evening, nor can I to-day, and perhaps not for a day or two, because my face is disfigured. These are the facts: At the dinner, night before last, Dr. Bulling lied about you. I made him swallow his lie and in the process got rather badly marked, though not at all hurt. The doctor and his friends will, I think, guard their tongues in future, at least in my hearing. Dr. Bulling is a man of vile mind and of unclean life. He should not be allowed to appear with decent people. I have written to forbid him ever approaching you in public. You will know how to treat him if he attempts it. This will be a most disgusting business to you. I hate to make you suffer, but it had to be done, and by no one but me. Would I could bear it all for you, my darling. The patronage of these people, I mean Dr. Bulling's set, cannot, surely, be necessary to your success. Your great voice needs not their patronage; if so, failure would be better. When I am fit for your presence I shall come to you. Good-bye. It is hard not to see you. Ever yours, "Barney."
Alas! for her dreams. How rudely they were dispelled! Alas! for her castle in Spain. Already it was tottering to ruin, and by Barney's hand. She read the note hurriedly again.
"He wants me to break with Dr. Bulling." She recalled a sentence in the doctor's letter. "Let no one or nothing keep you from accepting this invitation." "He's afraid Barney will keep me back.
Nonsense! How stupid of Barney! He is so terribly particular! He doesn't understand these things. There has been a horrid row of some kind and now he asks me to cut Dr. Bulling!" She glanced at Barney's letter. "Well, he doesn't ask me, but it's all the same--'you will know how to treat him.' He's too proud to ask me, but he expects me to. It would be sheer madness! Wouldn't the Duff Charrington's and Evelyn Redd be delighted! It is preposterous! I must go! I shall go!"
