Read A Tangled Web for Free Online Page B

tangled, crisscrossed thing life was, anyhow. And here they were all sitting in rows, waiting for Ambrosine Winkworth to bring down the jug about which they were all ready to tear each other in pieces. Truly a mad world. Joscelyn was unblessed with the sense of humor which was making the affair a treat to Tempest Dark, sitting behind her. Tempest had made up his mind on considered opinion to shoot himself that night. He had nearly done it the night before, but he had reflected that he might as well wait till after the levee. He wanted, as a mere matter of curiosity, to see who got the old Dark jug. Winnifred had liked that jug. He knew he had no chance of it himself. Aunt Becky had no use for a bankrupt. He was bankrupt and the wife he had adored had died a few weeks previously. He couldn’t see any sense in living on. But just at this moment he was enjoying himself.
    6
    Donna Dark and Virginia Powell sat together as usual. They were first cousins, who were born the same day and married the same day—Donna to her own second cousin, Barry Dark, and Virginia to Edmond Powell—two weeks before they had left for Valcartier. Edmond Powell had died of pneumonia in the training camp, but Barry Dark had his crowded hour of glorious life somewhere in France. Virginia and Donna were “war widows” and had made a solemn compact to remain widows forever. It was Virginia’s idea, but Donna was very ready to fall in with it. She knew she could never care for any man again. She had never said her heart was buried in any especial place—though rumor sometimes attributed Virginia’s famous utterance to her—but she felt that way about it. For ten years they had continued to wear weeds, though Virginia was always much weedier than Donna.
    Most of the clan thought Virginia, with her spiritual beauty of pale gold hair and over-large forget-me-not eyes, was the prettier of the two devoted. Donna was as dark as her name—a slight, ivory-colored thing with very black hair which she always wore brushed straight back from her forehead, as hair should be worn only by a really pretty woman or by a woman who doesn’t care whether she looks pretty or not. Donna didn’t care—or thought she didn’t—but it was her good luck to have been born with a widow’s peak and that saved her. Her best features were her eyes, like star-sapphires, and her mouth with its corners tucked up into dimples. She had bobbed her hair at last, though her father kicked up a fearful domestic hullabaloo over it and Virginia was horrified.
    â€œDo you think Barry would have liked it, dear?”
    â€œWhy not?” said Donna rebelliously. “Barry wouldn’t have liked a dowdy wife. He was always up-to-date.”
    Virginia sighed and shook her head. She would never cut off her hair—never. The hair Edmond had caressed and admired.
    â€œHe used to bury his face in it and say it was like perfumed sunshine,” she moaned gently.
    Donna had continued to live with her father, Drowned John Penhallow—so called to distinguish him from another John Penhallow who had not been drowned—and her older half-sister, Thekla, ever since Barry’s death. She had wanted to go away and train for nursing, but Drowned John had put his not inconsiderable foot down on that. Donna had yielded—it saved trouble to yield to Drowned John at the outset. He simply yelled people down. His rages were notorious in the clan. When reproached with them he said,
    â€œIf I didn’t go into a rage now and then, life here would be so dull my females would hang themselves.”
    Drowned John was twice a widower. With his first wife, Jennie Penhallow, he had quarreled from the time they were married. When they knew their first baby was coming, they quarreled over what college they would send him to. As the baby turned out to be Thekla, there was no question—in Drowned John’s mind, at least—of college.