CHAPTER XIALORA SPEAKS FRANKLY
On Saturday forenoon the Colonel engaged a carriage--a substantial one,this time--and with Mary Louise drove to Jason Jones' villa, so thatAlora might return with them in time for lunch. They did not see theartist, who was somewhere about the grounds but kept out of view; butAlora was ready and waiting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alight,and she slipped her foreign little straw satchel in the carriage andthen quickly followed it, as if eager to be off.
"Father is rather disagreeable this morning," she asserted in a sharpvoice, when they were on the highway to Sorrento. "He repented hisdecision to let me go with you and almost forbade me. But I rebelled,and----" she paused; "I have found that when I assert myself I canusually win my way, for father is a coward at heart."
It pained Mary Louise to hear so unfilial a speech from the lips of ayoung girl. Colonel Hathaway's face showed that he, too, considered itunmannerly to criticise a parent in the presence of strangers. But bothreflected that Alora's life and environments were unenviable and thatshe had lacked, in these later years at least, the careful training dueone in her station in society. So they deftly changed the subject andled the girl to speak of Italy and its delightful scenery and romantichistory. Alora knew little of the country outside of the Sorrentopeninsula, but her appreciation of nature was artistic and innatelytrue and she talked well and interestingly of the surrounding countryand the quaint and amusing customs of its inhabitants.
"How long do you expect to remain here?" asked Mary Louise.
"I've no idea," was the reply. "Father seems entirely satisfied withour quarters, for he has no ambition in life beyond eating three simplemeals a day, sleeping from nine at night until nine in the morning andreading all the romances he is able to procure. He corresponds with noone save his banker in America and sees no one but the servants and me.But to me the monotony of our existence is fast becoming unbearable andI often wonder if I can stand it for three years longer--until I'meighteen. Then I shall be my own mistress and entitled to handle my ownmoney, and you may rest assured I shall make up for lost time."
They let that remark pass, also, but later in the afternoon, whenluncheon was over and the two girls were wandering in the lovelygardens of the Hotel Vittoria, while the Colonel indulged in anafternoon siesta, Mary Louise led Alora to speak freely of her pastlife.
"My grandfather says that your mother must have left you a good deal ofmoney," she remarked.
"Yes; mamma told me it was a large fortune and that I must guard itwisely and use it generously to help others less favored," repliedAlora thoughtfully.
"And she left it all in your father's keeping?"
"Not the principal. That is all invested, and thank goodness my fathercannot touch it in any way. But the income is paid to him regularly,and he may do as he pleases with it. I am sure mamma expected I wouldhave every reasonable wish gratified, and be taught every womanlyaccomplishment; but I'm treated as a mere dependent. I'm almostdestitute of proper clothing--really, Mary Louise, this is the bestdress I possess!--and I've been obliged to educate myself, making arather poor job of it, I fear. I read the best of father's books, whenhe is done with them, and note carefully the manner in which thecharacters express themselves and how they conduct themselves insociety as well as in worldly contact. I do not wish to be wholly_gauche_ when I come into my kingdom, you see, and the books are myonly salvation. I don't care much for the stories, but some of the goodwriters are safe guides to follow in the matter of dialogue anddeportment. Fortunately, father's books are all in English. He doesn'tunderstand much Italian, although I have learned to speak the languagelike a native--like our native servants, you know."
Mary Louise reflected on this confession. "I'm afraid, Alora dear, thatmodern novels are not prone to teach morality, or to develop a girl'sfiner intuitions," she said gravely. "I think you express yourself verywell--better than I do, indeed--but you need association with those whocan convey to you the right principles of thought and thus encourageyour mental development. Culture and refinement seem to come more fromassociation than from books, although there is an innate tendency inall well-born people to acquire them spontaneously. But there! you'llaccuse me of preaching and, after all, I think you've done justsplendidly under rather trying circumstances."
"You don't know how trying they are," declared Alora, with a sigh."Father and I are wholly uncongenial and we fight on the slightestprovocation. This morning our trouble was over money. I wanted a littleto take with me, for my purse hasn't a _lira_ in it; but, no! not a_centisimo_ would he give up. He insisted that if I was to be yourguest you would pay all my expenses."
"Of course," said Mary Louise. "But what does he do with all that bigincome? Is he saving it for you?"
"No, indeed! he's saving it for himself. Mamma told me, the last time Isaw her before she died, that if father was good to me, and kind andloving, I could provide for him in some way after I came into my money.She said she would leave the manner of it to my judgment. But he isn'tkind, or loving, or good, and knows very well that when I'm of agehe'll never see another cent of my money. So now he'd hoarding myincome for future use."
"Isn't it strange that your mother should have trusted him so fully?"asked Mary Louise.
"Yes, it does seem strange. I remember her saying that he loved luxuryand all the comfort that money will buy, and so she wanted him to havethis income to spend, because he was my father and because she felt shehad ruined his career as an artist by surrounding him with luxuriesduring their early married life, and afterward had embittered him bydepriving him of them. But the man doesn't know what luxury means, MaryLouise. His tastes are those of a peasant."
"Yet once your mother loved him, and believed in him."
"I--I think she believed in him; I'm quite sure she did."
"Then his nature must have changed. I can imagine, Alora, that whenyour mother first knew him he was hard-working and ambitious. He wastalented, too, and that promised future fame. But when he married awealthy woman he lost his ambition, success being no longer necessary.After a period of ease and comfort in the society of his lovely wife--for Gran'pa says your mother was very lovely--he lost both the wife andthe luxuries he enjoyed. A big man, Alora, would have developed a newambition, but it seems your father was not big. His return to povertyafter your mother's desertion made him bitter and reckless; perhaps itdulled his brain, and that is why he is no longer able to do good work.He was utterly crushed, I imagine, and hadn't the stamina to recoverhis former poise. He must have been ten years or so in this condition,despairing and disinterested, when the wheel of fortune turned and hewas again in the possession of wealth. He had now the means to live ashe pleased. But those years had so changed him that he couldn't respondto the new conditions. Doubtless he was glad, in a way, but he was nowcontent merely to exist. Doesn't that seem logical, Alora?"
Indeed, Mary Louise was delighted with her solution of the problem. Itwas in keeping with her talent for deducing the truth from meagre factsby logically putting them together and considering them as a whole. Itwas seldom she erred in these deductions. But Alora seemed unimpressedand noting her glum look Mary Louise said again: "Doesn't all this seemlogical, dear?"
"No," said Alora. "Father isn't the man to be crushed by anything. He'sshrewd enough, in his _bourgeois_ way. Once, long ago--back in NewYork--a woman made him give her money; it was money, you know; and Ihave often thought he ran away from America to escape her furtherdemands."
"Who was the woman?"
"My mother's nurse."
"Oh. Was it her wages she demanded?"
"Perhaps so. I may have misjudged father in that case. But it seemed tome--I was a mere child then--that it must have been a larger sum thanwages would have amounted to. Yet, perhaps not. Anyhow, he left Americaright afterward, and when we had wandered a year or so in variouscountries we settled down here."
"Won't he have to account for all the money he has spent and givenaway, when you come of age?" inquired Mary Lou
ise.
"No. Mother distinctly told me I was to ask for no accounting whatever.Her will says he is to handle the income as he sees fit, just as if itwere his own, so long as he provides properly for his daughter andtreats her with fatherly consideration. That's the only reason he keepsme with him, guarding my person but neglecting the other injunctions.If he set me adrift, as I'm sure he'd like to do, I could appeal to thecourt and his income would cease and another guardian be appointed. Ibelieve there is something of that sort in the will, and that is why heis so afraid of losing me. But he gives me no chance to appeal toanyone, although I sometimes think I shall run away and leave him inthe lurch. If I could get to Chicago and tell Judge Bernsted, mymother's lawyer, how I am treated, I believe he could make the courtset aside my father's guardianship. But I can't get ten miles away fromhere, for lack of money."
"How your dear mother would grieve, if she knew her plans for yourhappiness have failed!" exclaimed Mary Louise.
Alora frowned, and somehow that frown reminded Mary Louise of thegirl's father.
"My mother ought to have known my father better," she declaredsullenly. "I must not criticize her judgment, for her memory is my mostprecious possession and I know she loved me devotedly. But there is onething in her history I can never understand."
"And that?" questioned Mary Louise curiously, as Alora paused.
"My mother was an educated woman, well-bred and refined."
"Yes; Gran'pa Jim told me that."
"Then how could she have married my father, who is not a gentleman andnever could have impressed a lady with the notion he was one?"
Mary Louise hesitated, for to admit this would send her deductions, socarefully constructed, tumbling in ruins. But Alora ought to know theman.
"If that is true, dear," said she, "it is the strangest part of yourstory; and, of course, we can only guess the reason, for the only onewho could have explained it properly was your mother."
Mary Louise Solves a Mystery Page 11