Rosa Mundi | Page 8

be atoned
for, but never, never effaced. It hurt her--oh, it hurt her. But it did her
good. It showed her how she was on the verge of taking a wrong
turning, of perhaps--no, almost certainly--dragging down the man who
loved her. She saw suddenly the wickedness of marrying him just to
escape her own prison. She understood clearly that only love could
have justified her--no other motive than that. She saw the evil of
fastening her past to an honourable man whose good name and family
demanded of him something better. She felt as if the writer had torn
aside a veil and shown her her naked soul. And--and--though the book
was a good book, and did not condemn sinners--she was shocked, she
was horrified, at what it made her see."
Rosemary suddenly closed her hand upon the shining stone, and turned
fully and resolutely to the man beside her.
"That night changed Rosa Mundi," she said; "changed her completely.

Before it was over she wrote to the young man who loved her and told
him that she could not marry him. The letter did not go till the
following evening. She kept it back for a few hours--in case she
repented. But--though she suffered--she did not repent. In the evening
she had an engagement to dance. The young man was there--in the
front row. And he brought his friend. She danced. Her dancing was
superb that night. She had a passionate desire to bewitch the man who
had waked her soul--as she had bewitched so many others. She had
never met a man she could not conquer. She was determined to conquer
him. Was it wrong? Anyway, it was human. She danced till her very
heart was on fire, danced till she trod the clouds. Her audience went
mad with the delight of it. They raved as if they were intoxicated. All
but one man! All but one man! And he--at the end--he looked her just
once in the eyes, stonily, piercingly, and went away." She uttered a
sharp, choking breath. "I have nearly done," she said. "Can you guess
what happened then? Perhaps you know. The man who loved her
received her letter when he got back that night. And--and--she had
bewitched him, remember; he--shot himself. The friend--the writer--she
never saw again. But--but--Rosa Mundi has never forgotten him. She
carries him in her heart--the man who taught her the meaning of life."
She ceased to speak, and suddenly, like a boy, sprang to her feet,
tossing away the stone that she had treasured in her hand.
But the man was almost as quick as she. He caught her by the shoulder
as he rose. "Wait!" he said. "Wait!" His voice rang hard, but there was
no hardness in his eyes. "Tell me--who you are!"
She lifted her eyes to his fearlessly, without shame. "What does it
matter who I am?" she said. "What does it matter? I have told you I am
Rosemary. That is her name for me, and it was your book called
Remembrance that made her give it me."
He held her still, looking at her with a growing compassion in his eyes.
"You are her child," he said.
She smiled. "Perhaps--spiritually. Yes, I think I am her child, such a
child as she might have been if--Fate--had been kind to her--- or if she

had read your book before--and not after."
He let her go slowly, almost with reluctance. "I think I should like to
meet your--Rosa Mundi," he said.
Her eyes suddenly shone. "Not really? You are in earnest? But--but---
you would hurt her. You despise her."
"I am sorry for her," he said, and there was a hint of doggedness in his
voice, as though he spoke against his better judgment.
The child's face had an eager look, but she seemed to be restraining
herself. "I ought to tell you one thing about her first," she said.
"Perhaps you will disapprove. I don't know. But it is because of
you--and your revelation--that she is doing it. Rosa Mundi is going to
be married. No, she is not giving up her career or anything--except her
freedom. Her old lover has come back to her. She is going to marry him
now. He wants her for his wife."
"Ah!" It was the man who was eager now. He spoke impulsively. "She
will be happy then? She loves him?"
Rosemary looked at him with her clear, unfaltering eyes. "Oh, no," she
said. "He isn't that sort of man at all. Besides, there is only one man in
the world that she could care for in that way. No, she doesn't love him.
But she is doing the right thing, and she is going to be good. You will
not despise her any more?"
There was such