CHAPTER XVII
But there was a truce for a time. Lily came and went withoutinterference, and without comment. Nothing more was said about Newport.She motored on bright days to the country club, lunched and played golfor tennis, rode along the country lanes with Pink Denslow, accepted suchinvitations as came her way cheerfully enough but without enthusiasm,and was very gentle to her mother. But Mademoiselle found her tense andrestless, as though she were waiting.
And there were times when she disappeared for an hour or two in theafternoons, proffering no excuses, and came back flushed, and perhaps alittle frightened. On the evenings that followed those small excursionsshe was particularly gentle to her mother. Mademoiselle watched andwaited for the blow she feared was about to fall. She felt sure that thegirl was seeing Louis Akers, and that she would ultimately marry him. Inher despair she fell back on Willy Cameron and persuaded Grace to invitehim to dinner. It was meant to be a surprise for Lily, but she hadtelephoned at seven o'clock that she was dining at the Doyles'.
It was that evening that Willy Cameron learned that Mr. Hendricks hadbeen right about Lily. He and Grace dined alone, for Howard was away ata political conference, and Anthony had dined at his club. And in themorning room after dinner Grace found herself giving him her confidence.
"I have no right to burden you with our troubles, Mr. Cameron," Gracesaid, "but she is so fond of you, and she has great respect for yourjudgment. If you could only talk to her about the anxiety she iscausing. These Doyles, or rather Mr. Doyle--the wife is Mr. Cardew'ssister--are putting all sorts of ideas into her head. And she has met aman there, a Mr. Akers, and--I'm afraid she thinks she is in love withhim, Mr. Cameron."
He met her eyes gravely.
"Have you tried not forbidding her to go to the Doyles?"
"I have forbidden her nothing. It is her grandfather."
"Then it seems to be Mr. Cardew who needs to be talked to, doesn't it?"he said. "I wouldn't worry too much, Mrs. Cardew. And don't hold tootight a rein."
He was very down-hearted when he left. Grace's last words placed a heavyburden on him.
"I simply feel," she said, "that you can do more with her than we can,and that if something isn't done she will ruin her life. She is too fineand wonderful to have her do that."
To picture Lily as willfully going her own gait at that period would bemost unfair. She was suffering cruelly; the impulse that led her to meetLouis Akers against her family's wishes was irresistible, but there wasa new angle to her visits to the Doyle house. She was going there now,not so much because she wished to go, as because she began to feel thather Aunt Elinor needed her.
There was something mysterious about her Aunt Elinor, mysterious andvery sad. Even her smile had pathos in it, and she was smiling lessand less. She sat in those bright little gatherings, in them but not ofthem, unbrilliant and very quiet. Sometimes she gave Lily the sense thatlike Lily herself she was waiting. Waiting for what?
Lily had a queer feeling too, once or twice, that Elinor was afraid. Butagain, afraid of what? Sometimes she wondered if Elinor Doyle was afraidof her husband; certainly there were times, when they were alone, whenhe dropped his unctuous mask and held Elinor up to smiling contempt.
"You can see what a clever wife I have," he said once. "Sometimes Iwonder, Elinor, how you have lived with me so long and absorbed solittle of what really counts."
"Perhaps the difficulty," Elinor had said quietly, "is because we differas to what really counts."
Lily brought Elinor something she needed, of youth and irresponsiblechatter, and in the end the girl found the older woman depending on her.To cut her off from that small solace was unthinkable. And then too sheformed Elinor's sole link with her former world, a world of dinners andreceptions, of clothes and horses and men who habitually dressed fordinner, of the wealth and panoply of life. A world in which her intereststrangely persisted.
"What did you wear at the country club dance last night?" she would ask.
"A rose-colored chiffon over yellow. It gives the oddest effect, like anOphelia rose."
Or:
"At the Mainwarings? George or Albert?"
"The Alberts."
"Did they ever have any children?"
One day she told her about not going to Newport, and was surprised tosee Elinor troubled.
"Why won't you go? It is a wonderful house."
"I don't care to go away, Aunt Nellie." She called her that sometimes.
Elinor had knitted silently for a little. Then:
"Do you mind if I say something to you?"
"Say anything you like, of course."
"I just--Lily, don't see too much of Louis Akers. Don't let him carryyou off your feet. He is good-looking, but if you marry him, you will beterribly unhappy."
"That isn't enough to say, Aunt Nellie," she said gravely. "You musthave a reason."
Elinor hesitated.
"I don't like him. He is a man of very impure life."
"That's because he has never known any good women." Lily rose valiantlyto his defense, but the words hurt her. "Suppose a good woman came intohis life? Couldn't she change him?"
"I don't know," Elinor said helplessly. "But there is something else. Itwill cut you off from your family."
"You did that. You couldn't stand it, either. You know what it's like."
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