AN UNFAIR ENDOWMENT
To Bettina Vanderpoel had been given, to an extraordinary extent, the extraordinary thing which is called beauty--which is a thing entirely set apart from mere good looks or prettiness.
This thing is extraordinary because, if statistics were taken, the result would probably be the discovery that not three human beings in a million really possess it.That it should be bestowed at all--since it is so rare--seems as unfair a thing as appears to the mere mortal mind the bestowal of unbounded wealth, since it quite as inevitably places the life of its owner upon an abnormal plane.There are millions of pretty women, and billions of personable men, but the man or woman of entire physical beauty may cross one's pathway only once in a life-time--or not at all.In the latter case it is natural to doubt the absolute truth of the rumours that the thing exists.The abnormal creature seems a mere freak of nature and may chance to be angel, criminal, total insipidity, virago or enchanter, but let such an one enter a room or appear in the street, and heads must turn, eyes light and follow, souls yearn or envy, or sink under the discouragement of comparison.With the complete harmony and perfect balance of the singular thing, it would be folly for the rest of the world to compete.Ahuman being who had lived in poverty for half a lifetime, might, if suddenly endowed with limitless fortune, retain, to a certain extent, balance of mind; but the same creature having lived the same number of years a wholly unlovely thing, suddenly awakening to the possession of entire physical beauty, might find the strain upon pure sanity greater and the balance less easy to preserve.The relief from the conscious or unconscious tension bred by the sense of imperfection, the calm surety of the fearlessness of meeting in any eye a look not lighted by pleasure, would be less normal than the knowledge that no wish need remain unfulfilled, no fancy ungratified.
Even at sixteen Betty was a long-limbed young nymph whose small head, set high on a fine slim column of throat, might well have been crowned with the garland of some goddess of health and the joy of life.She was light and swift, and being a creature of long lines and tender curves, there was pleasure in the mere seeing her move.The cut of her spirited lip, and delicate nostril, made for a profile at which one turned to look more than once, despite one's self.Her hair was soft and black and repeated its colour in the extravagant lashes of her childhood, which made mysterious the changeful dense blue of her eyes.They were eyes with laughter in them and pride, and a suggestion of many deep things yet unstirred.She was rather unusually tall, and her body had the suppleness of a young bamboo.The deep corners of her red mouth curled generously, and the chin, melting into the fine line of the lovely throat, was at once strong and soft and lovely.She was a creature of harmony, warm richness of colour, and brilliantly alluring life.
When her school days were over she returned to New York and gave herself into her mother's hands.Her mother's kindness of heart and sweet-tempered lovingness were touching things to Bettina.In the midst of her millions Mrs.Vanderpoel was wholly unworldly.Bettina knew that she felt a perpetual homesickness when she allowed herself to think of the daughter who seemed lost to her, and the girl's realisation of this caused her to wish to be especially affectionate and amenable.She was glad that she was tall and beautiful, not merely because such physical gifts added to the colour and agreeableness of life, but because hers gave comfort and happiness to her mother.To Mrs.Vanderpoel, to introduce to the world the loveliest debutante of many years was to be launched into a new future.To concern one's self about her exquisite wardrobe was to have an enlivening occupation.To see her surrounded, to watch eyes as they followed her, to hear her praised, was to feel something of the happiness she had known in those younger days when New York had been less advanced in its news and methods, and slim little blonde Rosalie had come out in white tulle and waltzed like a fairy with a hundred partners.
"I wonder what Rosy looks like now," the poor woman said involuntarily one day.Bettina was not a fairy.When her mother uttered her exclamation Bettina was on the point of going out, and as she stood near her, wrapped in splendid furs, she had the air of a Russian princess.
"She could not have worn the things you do, Betty, said the affectionate maternal creature."She was such a little, slight thing.But she was very pretty.I wonder if twelve years have changed her much?"Betty turned towards her rather suddenly.
"Mother," she said, "sometime, before very long, I am going to see.""To see!" exclaimed Mrs.Vanderpoel."To see Rosy!""Yes," Betty answered."I have a plan.I have never told you of it, but I have been thinking over it ever since Iwas fifteen years old."
She went to her mother and kissed her.She wore a becoming but resolute expression.
"We will not talk about it now," she said."There are some things I must find out."When she had left the room, which she did almost immediately, Mrs.Vanderpoel sat down and cried.She nearly always shed a few tears when anyone touched upon the subject of Rosy.On her desk were some photographs.One was of Rosy as a little girl with long hair, one was of Lady Anstruthers in her wedding dress, and one was of Sir Nigel.
"I never felt as if I quite liked him," she said, looking at this last, "but I suppose she does, or she would not be so happy that she could forget her mother and sister.
There was another picture she looked at.Rosalie had sent it with the letter she wrote to her father after he had forwarded the money she asked for.It was a little study in water colours of the head of her boy.It was nothing but a head, the shoulders being fancifully draped, but the face was a peculiar one.It was over-mature, and unlovely, but for a mouth at once pathetic and sweet.
