DOROTHY’S MARRIAGE

New Zealand Tablet, 28 October 1915, Page 9

DOROTHY’S MARRIAGE

■So Dorothy made a ■ brilliant match, did ‘ she?’ Miss Margaret JLanahan almost snapped, as she set her suit-case down in a corner and paused fox - breath. Agnes Lehmann smiled a little wickedly and leaned back on the soft pillows of her net parlor sofa. * Yes--as the world judges. lie has a fine position in the Government service, owns a- Mount Pleasant residence, his connections are very good- —in fact, his mother is a Daughter of the American . Revolution, • and his father is a member of the Cincinnati, and, to crown all, he has a rich and childless uncle.’

. ; ‘Ah, indeed again snapped Margaret, with a frowp on her pleasant brunette face. ‘And who is “he,” may I ask ? Your description hardly tallies with my recollections of poor Tom.’ ‘ Oh, Tom,’ laughed Agnes. ‘Dorothy never looked at Tom O’Rafferty after she had a glimpse of Ned Bentley.’ The last name is not illuminating to me,’ said Margaret. ‘ One falls out of touch with one’s own in seven years of travel among strangers.’

Yes. The Bentleys came from New England the year after you left. Dorothy was introduced by the Smithsons. You know the old lad}' is a born matchmaker.’

‘ How long has Dorothy been married?’ ‘ Six years. They were married a couple of months after they met. It took all the Sullivans could rake and scrape together to buy the wedding trousseau, but they really did very well. The wedding itself was very pretty. Dorothy was very happy at first.’ '.‘Oh! So, she’s not happy now?’ asked Margaret anxiously. ‘ls that why you said a while ago that you thought I would be disappointed in Dorothy?’ 1 No—not exactly,’ returned Agnes, slowly. 1 I don’t mean that Dorothy — well, I’m sure you won’t blame her now, I’m sure she does her best. What 1 meant was, that with your strict ideas about these things, you’d think that Dorothy had made a mistake in spite of all the show and glamor of her marriage.’ ‘Oh, come — out with it. I guessed it from the first. If I had been here I would have prevented it in some way—l don’t know how, but some way. It’s too bad. Dorothy was a sweet, simple schoolgirl when I said good-bye to her seven years ago. She and Tom were looking forward to a simple, pious life under the old O’Rafferty roof. The two of them were going to Communion almost every day, and Dorothy had never a silly ambition beyond just what her life held then. I know Dorothy tried hard to bud into a strong, selfreliant woman, but I always knew it would end in failure—and a mixed marriage.’

Agnes smiled. ‘ You are very severe, Margaret, but quite right. Doi'othy’s mother had ambition enough for a dozen daughters, and the poor girl had a little enough religious training. As for her daily Mass, it didn’t last long, you know. It was just a little short-lived rainbow reflection from the great mission we had here the year she graduated. Well it ought to be a lesson to her mother and save the other two girls. But she hasn’t let them finish in the parochial school. They are through the eight, grades of the public and have entered the public high school in spite of the fact that their uncle offered to pay their expenses at the academy.’

‘ I suppose they’ve moved up north-west by this time,’ said Margaret. Yes, they are buying 1 , a newly-built house, not very substantial, but showy on the front. And they’ve “gotten in” with some very nice people.’ Margaret arose with a sigh from her comfortable O o chair.

‘ Well, Agnes, I haven’t been home yet, so I’d better go and greet the Lanahans, or my trunks will get there ahead of me.’ r ‘lt doesn’t sound very charitable,’" continued Agnes, ‘ to be showing up Dorothy’s family in this way,

but I thought if anyone could do anything with or for Dorothy, it would be you.’ ■ Margaret looked doubtful. ‘ You say she isn’t happy?’ , ‘ Well, 1 don’t know that! Rut she doesn’t look like herself, and she looks a bit careworn for her age. She has three very pretty little children, but none of them have been baptised yet.’ ‘Heavens and earth, Agues!’ screamed Margaret. ‘ Why didn’t you write me If I had known anything so serious was going on, I would have thrown the position over and come home. My poor little Dorothy! Well, I’ll go up and see her right away.’ ‘I am glad you have come back, Margaret. I was terribly worried. One can’t say a word to Dorothy these days. She looks terrified if you mention religion. And yet Ned is such a seemingly pleasant, affable young man. He’s a. perfect gentleman, and he seems to be very fond of Dorothy and the children.’ ‘ Well, good-bye. I’ll see what I can do.’ And Miss Margaret Lanahan walked down the steps of hexfriend’s handsome residence with a very thoughtful face.

Two days later, Margaret was ringing Dorothy’s bell, and while she waited she glanced down the sunlit street, lined on either side with handsome residences. In the distance she could see the gray walls of the convent school, which had sheltered, her own pure young days, and a prayer rose on her lips that this younger friend of hers might repair the mistakes brought about through lack of that wholesome training. The little maid who came to the door presently ushered her into a handsome parlor and, a moment later Dorothy herself entered. Such a changed Dorothy, Margaret thought, although the woman of twenty-six who came forward was handsomely gowned and was smiling. The face was thinner, older, less frank, and the smile was what Margaret called an artificial one.

‘ My dear little Dorrie! I don’t suppose you remember me. Never a single answer to all my letters written from Paris, Berlin, and a dozen other places ! ’

The forced smile had faded from Dorothy’s face, and she laid her head on Margaret’s shoulder with a little sob.

Margaret ! Dear Margaret ! I always leaned on you in the old days and there was one day when I wanted you terribly bad, but I didn’t have the courage to write. Somehow, it never seemed the real thing—not like a good talk with our arms around each other, you know.’

‘ Do you realise, Dorrie, that I am very angry with you?’ asked Margaret in her softest, sweetest tones. ‘ In spite of the fact that you weren’t a convent girl, you knew better. What good did your Sodality and League membership mean to you — and why ? Just because you didn’t do what I had told you.’, ‘ Oh, Margaret ! Margaret ! I was simply beset with temptations. If I hadn’t married I should have been turned out of doors. Every one’s heart was set on it.’

‘ Dorothy, I always told you that you had no backbone, didn’t I?’

‘ Yes, you did,’ sobbed Dorothy. ‘ But I tell you I didn’t have a friend in the world near enough to speak to. Father Dillon was disgusted with the whole affair and refused to marry me. The curate perfoxmied the ceremony and mamma hasn’t been to Mass in dear St. Joseph’s since. I talked a lot to Agnes Lehmann, but she said she didn’t want to meddle.’

But Dorothy, you needn’t tell me that Father Dillon refused to advise you ?’ ‘ Oh, of course, he told me at the vex’y beginning that he disapproved of it,’ answered Dorothy impatiently. ‘He was surprised that one of his sodality gii'ls would contemplate such a thing— and all that, you know. He didn’t even seem to listen to my explanations. When I told him that I was engaged, he wanted to meet Ned and see if Ned wouldn’t take instructions, but mamma wouldn’t let me mention it

to:.,Ned.. . We „ were married at home—and— I f haven't seen Father Dillon since. " ! .:, ' - | ~' Where do you go to Mass asked Margaret with, a frown. ' I suppose them is a more fashionable church ■somewhere up in this neighborhood. - " ! " r v * I Dorothy winced and studied the pattern of her V Turkish rug. ;: ■.•;? '_ | ' Mamma thought it would look queer if I went away down north-east every Sunday, and she thought I I had better go just occasionally -to High Mass at St; ,;: Paul's, and ' not make religion too conspicuous you know, because the Bentleys are so funny about those things. And now, with three babies to look after, I ? hardly get near a church, even on Sundays.' ' Oh, the babies! I'd like to look at those little Chinese babies if . I .may,' said Margaret softly. ' Chinese!' said Dorothy, with a pout. Then her fair face flushed and two big tears dimmed the large, sad, violet eyes. Margaret, you are cruel.' • ' Yes, I know it, dear. So is the devil. He uses sharp weapons. Why shouldn't we on occasions?' .'■"■: But Dorothy had left the room. A moment later she returned with an infant in her arms, and two tiny tots of five and three running before her. Margaret took the little golden-headed girl of five into her arms with a tearful hug which made that small maiden open her eyes very widely. Then she threw her free arm around the little dark-haired boy, who was wholly unlike Dorothy and must look like Ned. ' What are their names?' Dorothy smiled through her tears. ' Didn't I always promise you, Margaret ' Dorothy paused. ' Yes, I know. I hoped some day to be god-mother to a Margaret O'Rafferty,' said Margaret stiffly. ' Well, that's Margaret Mary,' said Dorothy with another pout. ' And you would have thought I had some backbone if you had seen how I faced Bentleys, Sullivans, Smithsons, and all the rest, to have it so, instead of Violet, or Ethel, or Gladys, or some other fancy thing.' ' Well, it's too bad I wasn't here to stand for her.' ' It isn't too late,' said Dorothy, weakly. ' Of course, I knew that,' said Margaret severely. And this is Edward, and the baby is named Helen, for Ned's favorite sister. She's my favorite, too, but she never seemed to care for me and doesn't come here at all.' Margaret's eyes had grown a trifle dreamy as she sat and stroked the golden curls of the younger Margaret Mary. Dorothy sat opposite to her, looking rather uncomfortable. 'Of course, Dorothy,' said that lady's visitor, after a long silence. ' This can not go on much longer.' Dorothy looked frightened and stared out of the window. What I propose to do is to come here for a visit of two pr three weeks and study the character of Edward Bentley, Esq. I don't know just how long it will take us to get acquainted, but when that is accomplished I shall know what the next move will be. I don't believe in blundering along without knowing your enemy's position and methods. The whole thing, of course, was started in the wrong way. It's too late to go back and start over, but we can patch things up and make them what they should be now.' Dorothy stared helplessly before her. ' Margaret started to school last week,' she said presently. ' There's a school just around the corner. And Dell Bentley—that's one of Ned's sistershinted at taking her to Sunday school. They are Episcopalians.' i 'Well, it does seem, Dorothy,' said Margaret with an air of patient resignation, that you intend going the full limit of mixed marriage possibilities.' ■ '&■'-''( Well, she hasn't gone yet,' said Dorothy sullenly. ..'.Ned. said she was too little.' 'Well, good-bye, Dorothy, and Margaret Mary, and Edward,' said. Margaret, kissing them all. 'lf

you ; still have a pair of beads, Dorothy, I'd advise you to take to saying them occasionally; even if* you do it on the sly. It will help my tactics wonderfully. And, then, the Morning Offering—-I suppose you've forgotten that long ago—l'll send you a leaflet and a badge. With a last kiss to take away some of the sting, Margaret hurried away to the nearest Catholic church to pray for an hour or so before the Blessed Sacrament. A few days later Margaret quietly took up her abode in Dorothy. Bentley house, to the huge and undisguised delight, as it proved, of the young Bentleys. Aunt Margaret' was the dearest gift they had ever found in their small lives. Dorothy was nervous and frightened, but docile. She said her prayers in secret, but faithfully. Margaret studied Ned systematically and patiently. At the end of the first week she sat down opposite to Dorothy one day and looked at her gravely. 1 There's nothing Wrong with Ne.d, my dear,' she said abruptly. ' I never thought there was,' said Dorothy with a quick upward look. ' But I'm glad you like him, too. He admires you terribly. He hasn't found out that you are a Catholic yet.' ' Oh, yes, he has,' said Margaret. 'I told him that important fact within an hour after you introduced us.' ' Margaret, what was the use V began Dorothy. 'Well, I'll tell you of what use it proved. I told him that I was a Roman Catholic, and a practical one. I did not make any comment whatever on my religion or the Catholicity of the Sullivan family, or on any other religion. I simply stated the fact. Ned launched forth immediately into a long story of praise for an old college chum of his who was a Catholic. Ned, if you please, admired this chum more than any one whom he met in all his school and college days, but boy-like they never talked about religion, though Ned felt, somehow, all along that religion and piety was at the bottom of his friend's sterling character. One day they were talking history, he says, a whole bunch of boys, and each one was saying what leader or king he would have liked to fight under, some choosing Caesar, Alexander, and so on. He himself had just said Napoleon. -His friend was the last to speak and seemed a trifle reluctant to speak at all, but he said at last: "The king and leader I. would choose is He," and drew from his breast-pocket a picture. Well, Dorrie, whose picture do you think it was? Not any one of the world's heroes. It was a picture of the Sacred Heart.' ' How do you know it was V asked Dorothy. ' Ned wouldn't know.' ' No, he didn't know, but I know it quite well! for he showed me the picture. He begged it from his friend, who could easily get another, you know," and has carried it with him all these years. It was the keynote of his friend's character. He thought it would bring him a blessing, somehow, good luck, he would say. College days soon came to an end after this little incident, and the friend went to a distant land. There was never any one in the busy years which followed to whom this reticent young man could open his heart, although occasionally that little picture aroused "a strange longing in his heart. Well, the day came when he met —Dorothy Sullivan, the Catholic maiden.; I know it sounds awfully harsh, Dorothy dear. Well, I won't tell you all he said. But you must know that he was terribly disappointed. He never dreamed of a Catholic Sullivan ashamed of their religion, afraid to talk about it, indifferent, and all that. But, then, of course, he loved you and he knew very little, almost nothing, about the religion itself. He had been willing' enough to learn, but no one had opened the pathway, pointed the way, andoh, well, he grew indifferent himself after the first few months. What difference/ did it make anyway ? Dorothy was sweet and good without being over-pious. Possibly this friend of the past would have been just as attractive if he hadn't been so fond of slipping out to a nearby church during recess. Well, Dorothy, there's the whole story for

you to ponder on. I got it in sections, while you were with the children upstairs jtlst after dinner, and Ned and I waited , for you in the parlor/ Poor little Dorothy did ponder bitterly and tried to comfort herself with the thought that, after all, Ned might not have been willing to enter the Church then. But the uncomfortable thought followed that ,even if he had refused, she would have had the consolation of at least having tried. V ‘ Isn’t it strange, Margaret?’ she said one day after the whole matter had been happily arranged under the friend’s skilful management, ‘ Ned has just had a letter from that old college friend. It is the first time he has heard from him in all these years. He’s going to stop here on a visit

‘ Well, I suppose he’ll be glad to find Ned on the threshold of the Church, and know that he is married to a Catholic,’ returned Margaret. He didn’t marry much of a Catholic, did he?’ asked Dorothy sadly. ‘But I am going to be good now. I’m so blessed to have it turn out so. So many act just as silly as I do, but perhaps only a few throw away a chance at conversion that I did.’ ‘ Yes,’ said Margaret, ‘a great many act just as silly. A man who won’t even let you show him what you do believe, certainly isn’t worth’ marrying, leaving other more important points aside.’ * I begin to see why you’ve never married, Margaret. You have always been very critical,’ said Dorothy, with a smile. ‘ I promised the Sacred Heart on my graduation day,’ returned Margaret, ‘ that 1 would never marry any one but a Catholic. I will tell you in confidence that I had a much more brilliant opportunity than yours as far as wealth and position go, and I refused it because he was not a Catholic. I have never regretted it.’

‘ Perhaps you did not love him,’ suggested Dorothy. ‘I think I did,’ said Margaret, laughing, ‘but I got over it. The marriage would have brought sorrows and worries which time would only have accentuated, not healed.’

The years sped by on golden wings for-one happy family. Dorothy developed into a rosy, sweet-faced matron, Catholic to the heart’s core. She had no ambition for her growing daughters to make good matches in the worldly sense, and in spite of protests from her mother, the Bentleys and the Smithsons, every child received a parochial school education. Ned’s old maid sister, Helen, had discovered a wonderful liking for her brother’s wife after Margaret’s visit. Helen had been a very devout Episcopalian and nobody was much surprised when she entered the Catholic Church soon after Ned.

As for Margaret, she has not remained an old maid after all. When Ned’s old college friend came across the seas, he fell an easy victim to the charms of the stately Margaret. They live across the way from the Bentley family and the children of both families play together under the shadows of Catholic homes. — Messenger of the Sacred Heart.