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A lady is one thing, and a girl of the class Dahlia had sprung from altogether another. He could not help imagining the sort of appearance she would make there; and the thought even was a momentary clog upon his tongue. How he used to despise these people! Especially he had despised the young men as brainless cowards in regard to their views of women and conduct toward them. All that was changed.
The dahlia, for instance, was called after Dahl, a Swedish botanist, who was a pupil of the great botanist Linnæus, after whom the chief botanical society in England, the Linnæan Society, is called.
They looked at her all through the service, and the lady certainly looked at them in return; nor could they, with any distinctness, imagine why, but the look dwelt long in their hearts, and often afterward, when Dahlia, upon taking her seat in church, shut her eyes, according to custom, she strove to conjure up the image of herself, as she had appeared to the beautiful woman in the dress of grey-shot silk, with violet mantle and green bonnet, rose-trimmed; and the picture she conceived was the one she knew herself by, for many ensuing years.
The best people in Pendragon would have nothing to do with the Feverels. Aunt Clare, unaware that they were friends of Robin's, pronounced them "commonly vulgar." The mother was more in evidence than she had been at Cambridge, and Robin passed from dislike to horror and from horror to hatred. Dahlia, too, seemed to have changed.
"What have you there?" "You are my enemy, dear, in some things," Dahlia replied, a muscular shiver passing over her. "I think," said Rhoda, "I could get a little money to send you away. Will you go? I am full of grief for what I have done. God forgive me." "Pray, don't speak so; don't let us talk," said Dahlia. Scorched as she felt both in soul and body, a touch or a word was a wound to her.
She went to her bed, upon which her mother's Bible was lying, and taking it in her two hands, held it under Rhoda's lips. "Swear upon that?" "What am I to swear to, dearest?" "Swear that he is not in the house." "He is not, my own sister; believe me. It is no deceit. He is not. He will not trouble you. I speak truth. Come to me, dear." Rhoda put her arms up entreatingly, but Dahlia stepped back.
L'Encuerado had dug up some dahlia roots, which he baked under the ashes; but either this food was not exactly to our taste, or our still irritated palates could not appreciate its delicacy. Night came on, and the sky was full of gray clouds violently driven by the wind, although just round us the trees remained quite motionless.
Dog and what had been cat crashed through the sash of my Dahlia frame, and in the rebound ploughed into the soft earth that held the carnations. The next minute Mr. Vandeveer absolutely leaped over the wall, and seeing the dog, apparently in the midst of the broken glass, turned almost apoplectic, shouting, "Ah, his legs will be cut; he'll be ruined, and Julie will never forgive me!
"There's another thing I have the kind of feeling that I can't have hurt Dahlia so very much if she's the kind of girl to carry that sort of thing through; if, I mean, she takes it like that she isn't the sort of girl that would mind very much what I had done " "Is she," said Harry, "that sort of girl?" "No, I don't think she is. That's what's puzzled me about it all.
Rhoda followed him from the garden. She was immediately plied with queries and interjections of wonderment by Miss Wicklow, and it was not until she said: "You saw him go out, didn't you? into the cab?" that Rhoda awakened to a meaning in her gabble. Was it Dahlia's husband whom they had seen? And if so, why was Dahlia away from her husband?
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