Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life

by Clara Louise Burnham

  CHAPTER III

  MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

  Dr. Ballard had gone, and his hostesses were awaiting the summons todinner. Mrs. Evringham regarded her daughter critically as the girl satat the piano, idly running her fingers over the keys.

  The listlessness expressed in the fresh face and rounded figure broughta look of disapproval into the mother's eyes.

  "You must practice that nocturne," she said. "You played it badly justnow, and there is no excuse for it, Eloise."

  "If you will let me give lessons I will," responded the girl promptly,without turning her graceful, drooping head.

  The unexpected reply was startling.

  "What are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Evringham.

  "Oh, I'm so tired of it all," replied the girl wearily.

  A frown contracted her mother's forehead. "Tired of what? Turn aroundhere!" She rose and put her hands on the pretty shoulders and turned herchild until the clear gray eyes met hers. "Now then, tired of what?"

  Eloise smiled slightly, and sighed. "Of playing nocturnes to Dr.Ballard."

  "And he is quite as tired of hearing you, I dare say," was the retort."It seems to me you always stumble when you play to the doctor, and headores Chopin."

  Eloise continued to meet her mother's annoyed gaze, her hands fallen inher lap, all the lines of her nut-brown hair, her exquisite face, andpliable, graceful figure so many silent arguments, as they always were,against any one's harboring annoyance toward her.

  "You say he does, mother, and you have assured him of it so often thatthe poor man doesn't dare to say otherwise; but really, if you'd let himhave the latest Weber and Field hit, I think he would be so grateful."

  "Learn it then!" returned Mrs. Evringham.

  Eloise laughed lazily. "Intrepid little mother!" Then she added, in adifferent tone, "Don't you think there is any danger of our being tooobliging? I'm not the only girl in town whose mother wishes her tooblige Dr. Ballard. May we not overreach ourselves?"

  "Eloise!" Mrs. Evringham's half-affectionate, half-remonstrating graspfell from her child's shoulders. "That remark is in very bad taste."

  The girl shook her head slowly. "I never can understand why it is anysatisfaction to you to pretend. You find comfort in pretending thatMr. Evringham likes to have us here, likes us to use his carriages, toreceive his friends, and all the rest of it. We've been here seven weeksand three days, and that little game of pretending is satisfying youstill. You are like the ostrich with its head in the sand."

  Mrs. Evringham drew her lithe figure up. "Well, Eloise, I hope there arelimits to this. To call your own mother an--an ostrich!"

  "Don't speak so loud," returned the girl, rising and patting hermother's hand. "Grandfather has returned from his ride. I just heard himcome in. It is too near dinner time for a scene. There is no need of ourpretending to each other, is there? You have always put me off and putme off, but surely you mean to bring this to an end pretty soon?"

  "You could bring it to an end at once if you would!" returned Mrs.Evringham, her voice lowered. "Dr. Ballard has nothing to wait for. Iknow all about his circumstances. There never was such a providence asfather's having a friend like him ready to our hand--so suitable, soattractive, so rich!"

  "Yes," responded the girl low and equably, "it is just five weeks andtwo days that you have been throwing me at that man's head."

  "I have done nothing of the kind, Eloise Evringham."

  "Yes you have," returned the girl without excitement, "and grandfathersneering at us all the time under his mustache. He knows that there areother girls and other mothers interested in Dr. Ballard more desirablethan we are. Oh! how easy it is to be more desirable than we are!"

  "There isn't one girl in five hundred so pretty as you," returned Mrs.Evringham stoutly.

  "I wish my prettiness could persuade you into my way of thinking."

  "What do you mean?" The glance of the older woman was keen andsuspicious.

  "We would take a cheap little apartment to-morrow," said the girlwistfully.

  Mrs. Evringham gave an ejaculation of impatience. "And do all our ownwork and live like pigs!" she returned petulantly.

  Eloise shrugged her shoulders. "I may flatter myself, but I fancy Ishould keep it rather clean."

  "You wouldn't mind your hands then." Mrs. Evringham regarded the handsworthy to be imitated by a sculptor's art, and the girl raised themand inspected the rose-tints of their tips. "I've read something aboutrubber gloves," she returned vaguely.

  "You'd better read something else then. How do you suppose you would geton without a carriage?" asked her mother with exasperation. "You havenever had so much as a taste of privation in any form. Your suggestionis the acme of foolishness."

  "I think I could do something if you would let me," rejoined the girlas calmly as before. "I think I could teach music pretty well, and keephouse charmingly. If I had any false pride when we came out here, thepast six weeks have purified me of it. Will you let me try, mother? I'masking it very seriously."

  "Certainly not!" hotly. "There are armies of music teachers now, and youwould not have a chance."

  "I think I could dress hair well," remarked Eloise, glancing at thereflection in a mirror of her own graceful coiffure.

  "I dare say!" responded Mrs. Evringham with sarcastic heat, "or I'm sureyou could get a position as a waitress. The servant problem is growingworse every year."

  "I'd like to be your waitress, mother." For the first time the girl losther perfect poise, and the color fluctuated in her cheek. She claspedher hands. "It would be heaven compared with the feeling, the sickening,appalling suspicion, that we are becoming akin to the adventuresses weread of, the pretty, luxurious women who live by their wits."

  "Silence!" commanded Mrs. Evringham, her eyes flashing and her effectiveblack-clothed figure drawn up.

  Eloise sighed again. "I didn't expect to accomplish anything by thistalk," she said, relapsing into listlessness.

  "What did you expect then? Merely to be disagreeable? I hope you may beas successful in worthier undertakings. Now listen. Some of the plansyou have suggested at various times might be sensible if you were aplain girl. Your beauty is as tangible an asset as money would be; butbeauty requires money. You must have it. Your poor father might haveleft it to you, but he didn't; so you will marry it--not unsuitably,"meeting an ominous look in her child's eyes, "not without love or underany circumstances to make a martyr of you, but according to commonsense; and as a certain young man is evidently more and more certain ofhimself every time he comes"--she paused.

  "You think there is no need for him to grow more certain of me?" askedEloise.

  "You might have saved us the disagreeables of this interview. Andone thing more," impressively, "you evidently are not taking intoconsideration, perhaps you never knew, that it was your grandfather'sconfidence in a certain course which induced your poor father to takethat last fatal flyer. Your grandfather feels--I'm sure he feels--thatmuch reparation is due us. The present conditions are easier for himthan a separate suitable home would be, therefore"--Mrs. Evringham wavedher hand. "It is strange," she added, "that so young a girl should notrepose more trust in her mother's judgment. And now that we are on thesubject, I wish you would make more effort with your grandfather. Don'tbe so silent at table and leave all the talking to me. A man of hisage likes to have merry young people about. Chat, create a cheerfulatmosphere. He likes to look at you, of course, but you have been soquiet and lackadaisical of late, it is enough to hurt his feelings ashost."

  "He has never shown any symptoms of anxiety," remarked Eloise.

  "Well, he is a very self-contained man."

  "He is indeed, poor grandfather; I don't know how you will manage,mother, when you have to play the game of 'pretend' all alone. He isgrowing tired of it, I can see. His courtesy is wearing very thin. I'msorry to make it harder for you by taking away what must have been alarge prop and support, but I heard papa say to himself more than oncein those last sad days, 'If I
had only taken my father's advice.'"

  "Eloise," very earnestly, "you misunderstood, you certainlymisunderstood."

  The girl shook her head wearily. "No, alas! I neither misunderstand norforget, when it would be most convenient to do so."

  Mrs. Evringham's fair brow contracted as she regarded her daughter withexasperation. "And you are only nineteen! One would think it was youinstead of me to whom the next birthday would bring that detestedforty."

  The girl looked at her mother, whose youthful face and figure betrayedthe source of her own heritage of physical charm.

  "I long ago gave up the hope of ever again being as young as you are,"she returned sadly. "Oh!" with a rare and piteous burst of feeling,"if dear papa could have stayed with us, and we could have had a rightsomewhere!"

  Mrs. Evringham threw her arms about the young creature, welcoming thesoftened mood. "You know I took you right to my own people, Eloise," shesaid gently. "We stayed as long as I thought was right; they couldn'tafford to keep us." A sound at the door caused her to turn. The erectform of her father-in-law had just entered the room.

  "Ah, good evening, father," she said in tones whose sadness was notaltogether feigned, even though she secretly rejoiced that Eloise shouldfor once show such opportune emotion. "Pardon this little girl. She wasjust feeling overwhelmed with a pang of homesickness for her father."

  "Indeed!" returned Mr. Evringham. "Will you walk out? Mrs. Forbes tellsme that dinner is served."

  Eloise, hastily drawing her handkerchief across her eyes, passed theunbending figure, her cheeks stinging. His hard voice was in her ears.

  That she was not his son's child hurt her now as often before in thepast two months, but that he should have discovered her weeping at amoment when he might have been expected to enter was a keen hurt to herpride, and her heart swelled with a suspicion of his unspoken thoughts.She had never been effusive, she had never posed. He had no right tosuspect her.

  With her small head carried high and her cheeks glowing, she passedhim, following her mother, who floated on before with much satisfaction.These opportune tears shed by her nonconforming child should make theirstay good for another two months at least.

  "You must have had a beautiful ride, father," said Mrs. Evringham asthey seated themselves at table. She spoke in the tone, at once assuredand ingratiating, which she always adopted toward him. "I noticed youtook an earlier start than usual."

  The speaker had never had the insight to discover that her father-in-lawwas ungrateful for proofs that any of his long-fixed, solitary habitswere now observed by feminine eyes.

  "I did take a rather longer ride than usual," he returned. "Mrs. Forbes,I wish you would speak to the cook about the soup. It has been servedcool for the last two days."

  Mrs. Forbes flushed as she stood near his chair in her trim black gownand white apron.

  "Yes, sir," she replied, the flush and quiet words giving littleindication of the tumult aroused within her by her employer'scriticism. To fail to please Mr. Evringham at his meals was the deepestmortification life held for her.

  "I'm sure it tastes very good," said Mrs. Evringham amiably, "although Ilike a little more salt than your cook uses."

  "You can reach it I hope," remarked the host, casting a glance at thedainty solitaire salt and pepper beside his daughter's plate.

  "But don't you like it cooked in?" she asked sweetly.

  "Not when I want to get it out," he answered shortly.

  "How can mother, how can mother!" thought Eloise helplessly.

  "There is decided spring in the air to-day," said Mrs. Evringham. "Iremember of old how charmingly spring comes in the park."

  "You have a good memory," returned Mr. Evringham dryly.

  "Why do you say that?" asked the pretty widow, lifting large, innocenteyes.

  "It is some years since you accompanied Lawrence in his calls upon me, Ibelieve."

  "Poor father!" thought Mrs. Evringham, "how unpleasantly blunt he hasgrown, living here alone!"

  "I scarcely realize it," she returned suavely. "My recollection of thepark is always so clear. It is surprising, isn't it, how relatives canlive as near together as we in New York and you out here and see oneanother so seldom! Life in New York," sighing, "was such a rush forus. Here amid the rustle of the trees it seems to be scarcely the sameworld. Lawrence often said his only lucid intervals were during therides he took with Eloise in Central Park. Do you always ride alone,father?"

  "Always," was the prompt rejoinder, while Eloise cast a glance full ofappeal at her mother.

  The latter continued archly, "If you could see Eloise on a horse youwould not blame me for trying to screw up my courage, as I have beendoing for days past, to ask you if she might take a canter on Essex Maidin the morning, sometimes, while you are away. Fanshaw assured me thatshe would be perfectly safe."

  Mr. Evringham's cold eyes stared, and then the enormity of theproposition appeared to move him humorously.

  "Which maid did Fanshaw say would be safe?" he inquired, while Eloiseglowed with mortification.

  "Well, if you think Eloise can't ride, try her some time!" exclaimedthe widow gayly. It had been a matter of surprise and afterward ofresentment that Mr. Evringham could remain deaf to her hints so long,and she had determined to become frank. "Or else ask Dr. Ballard," shewent on; "he has very kindly provided Eloise with a horse several times,but the child likes a solitary ride, sometimes, as well as you do."

  The steely look returned to the host's eyes. "No one rides the Maid butmyself," he returned coldly.

  "I beg you to believe, grandfather, that I don't wish to ride her," saidEloise, her customary languor of manner gone and her voice hard. "Motheris more ambitious for me than I am for myself. I should be very muchobliged if she would allow me to ask favors when I want them."

  Mrs. Forbes's lips were set in a tight line as she filled Mrs.Evringham's glass.

  That lady's heart was beating a little fast from vexation, and also fromthe knowledge that a time of reckoning with her child was coming.

  "Oh, very well," she said airily. "No wonder you are careful of thatbeautiful creature. I caught Eloise with her arms around the mare's neckthe other day, and I couldn't help wishing for a kodak. You feed herwith sugar, don't you Eloise?"

  "I hope not, I'm sure!" exclaimed Mr. Evringham sternly.

  "I'll not do it again, grandfather," said the girl, her very earsburning.

  Mrs. Evringham sighed and gave one Parthian shot. "The poor child doeslove horses so," she murmured softly.

  The host scowled and fidgeted in his chair with a brusque gesture toMrs. Forbes to remove the course.

  "Harry has turned up again," he remarked, to change the subject.

  "Really?" returned his daughter-in-law languidly. "For how long Iwonder?"

  "He thinks it is permanent."

  "He is still in Chicago?"

  "Yes, for a day or two. He and his wife sail for Europe immediately."

  "Indeed!" with a greater show of interest. Then, curiously, "Are yousending them, father?"

  "Scarcely! They are going on business."

  "Oh," relapsing into indifference. "They have a child, I believe."

  "Yes, a girl. I should think perhaps you might have remembered it."

  "I hardly see why, if Harry didn't--a fact he plainly showed bydeserting the poor creature." The insolence of the speaker's tone wasscarcely veiled. Her extreme disapproval of her father-in-law sometimeswelled to the surface of her suave manner.

  Mr. Evringham's thoughts had fled to Chicago. "Harry proposed leavingthe girl here while they are gone," he said.

  Mrs. Evringham straightened in her chair and her attention concentrated."With you? What assurance! How like Harry!" she exclaimed.

  The words were precisely those which her host had been saying tohimself; but proceeding from her lips they had a strange effect uponhim.

  "You find it so?" he asked. The clearer the proposition became to Mrs.Evringham's consciousness the more she re
sented it. To have the childin the house not only would menace her ease and comfort, but meanta possibility that the grandfather might take an interest in Harry'sdaughter which would disturb Eloise's chances.

  "Of course it does. I call it simply presumptuous," she declared withemphasis.

  "After all, Harry has some rights," rejoined Mr. Evringham slowly.

  "His wife is a dressmaker," went on the other. "I had it directly froma Chicago friend. Harry has scarcely been with the child since she wasborn. And to saddle a little stranger like that on you! Now Eloise and_her_ father were inseparable."

  There was an ominous glitter in Mr. Evringham's eyes. "Eloise's father!"he returned slowly. "I did not know that she remembered him."

  The hurt of his tone and words sank deep into the heart of the girl, butshe looked up courageously.

  "Your son was my father in every best sense," she said. "We wereinseparable. You must have known it."

  "You appeared to be separable when your father made his visits toBel-Air Park," was the rejoinder. "Pardon me if I knew very littleof what took place in his household. A telegraph blank, please, Mrs.Forbes, and tell Zeke to be ready to go to the office."

  There was a vital tone in the usually dry voice. Mrs. Evringham lookedapprehensively at her daughter; but Eloise gave her no answering glance;her eyes were downcast and her pretense of eating continued, while herpulses beat.