MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
In the cosy chamber of an apartment located in a fashionable quarter
of New York Louise Merrick reclined upon a couch, dressed in a
dainty morning gown and propped and supported by a dozen embroidered
cushions.
Upon a taboret beside her stood a box of bonbons, the contents of
which she occasionally nibbled as she turned the pages of her novel.
The girl had a pleasant and attractive face, although its listless
expression was singular in one so young. It led you to suspect that
the short seventeen years of her life had robbed her of all the
anticipation and eagerness that is accustomed to pulse in strong young
blood, and filled her with experiences that compelled her to accept
existence in a half bored and wholly matter-of-fact way.
The room was tastefully though somewhat elaborately furnished; yet
everything in it seemed as fresh and new as if it had just come from
the shop--which was not far from the truth. The apartment itself
was new, with highly polished floors and woodwork, and decorations
undimmed by time. Even the girl's robe, which she wore so gracefully,
was new, and the books upon the center-table were of the latest
editions.
The portiere was thrust aside and an elderly lady entered the room,
seating herself quietly at the window, and, after a single glance at
the form upon the couch, beginning to embroider patiently upon some
work she took from a silken bag. She moved so noiselessly that the
girl did not hear her and for several minutes absolute silence
pervaded the room.
Then, however, Louise in turning a leaf glanced up and saw the head
bent over the embroidery. She laid down her book and drew an open
letter from between the cushions beside her, which she languidly
tossed into the other's lap.
"Who is this woman, mamma?" she asked.
Mrs. Merrick glanced at the letter and then read it carefully through,
before replying.
"Jane Merrick is your father's sister," she said, at last, as she
thoughtfully folded the letter and placed it upon the table.
"Why have I never heard of her before?" enquired the girl, with a
slight accession of interest in her tones.
"That I cannot well explain. I had supposed you knew of your poor
father's sister Jane, although you were so young when he died that it
is possible he never mentioned her name in your presence."
"They were not on friendly terms, you know. Jane was rich, having
inherited a fortune and a handsome country place from a young man whom
she was engaged to marry, but who died on the eve of his wedding day."
"How romantic!" exclaimed Louise.
"It does seem romantic, related in this way," replied her mother. "But
with the inheritance all romance disappeared from your aunt's life.
She became a crabbed, disagreeable woman, old before her time and
friendless because she suspected everyone of trying to rob her of her
money. Your poor father applied to her in vain for assistance, and I
believe her refusal positively shortened his life. When he died, after
struggling bravely to succeed in his business, he left nothing but his
life-insurance."
"Thank heaven he left that!" sighed Louise.
"Yes; we would have been beggared, indeed, without it," agreed Mrs.
Merrick. "Yet I often wonder, Louise, how we managed to live upon the
interest of that money for so many years."
"We didn't live--we existed," corrected the girl, yawning. "We
scrimped and pinched, and denied ourselves everything but bare
necessities. And had it not been for your brilliant idea, mater dear,
we would still be struggling in the depths of poverty."
Mrs. Merrick frowned, and leaned back in her chair.
"I sometimes doubt if the idea was so brilliant, after all," she
returned, with a certain grimness of expression. "We're plunging,
Louise; and it may be into a bottomless pit."
"Don't worry, dear," said the girl, biting into a bonbon. "We are
only on the verge of our great adventure, and there's no reason to
be discouraged yet, I assure you. Brilliant! Of course the idea
was brilliant, mamma. The income of that insurance money was
insignificant, but the capital is a very respectable sum. I am just
seventeen years of age--although I feel that I ought to be thirty, at
the least--and in three years I shall be twenty, and a married woman.
You decided to divide our capital into three equal parts, and spend a
third of it each year, this plan enabling us to live in good style and
to acquire a certain social standing that will allow me to select a
wealthy husband. It's a very brilliant idea, my dear! Three years is a
long time. I'll find my Croesus long before that, never fear."
"You ought to," returned the mother, thoughtfully. "But if you fail,
we shall be entirely ruined."
"A strong incentive to succeed." said Louise, smiling. "An ordinary
girl might not win out; but I've had my taste of poverty, and I don't
like it. No one will suspect us of being adventurers, for as long as
we live in this luxurious fashion we shall pay our bills promptly and
be proper and respectable in every way. The only chance we run lies in
the danger that eligible young men may prove shy, and refuse to take
our bait; but are we not diplomats, mother dear? We won't despise a
millionaire, but will be content with a man who can support us in good
style, or even in comfort, and in return for his money I'll be a very
good wife to him. That seems sensible and wise, I'm sure, and not at
all difficult of accomplishment."
Mrs. Merrick stared silently out of the window, and for a few moments
seemed lost in thought.
"I think, Louise," she said at last, "you will do well to cultivate
your rich aunt, and so have two strings to your bow."
"You mean that I should accept her queer invitation to visit her?"
"Yes."
"She has sent me a check for a hundred dollars. Isn't it funny?"
"Jane was always a whimsical woman. Perhaps she thinks we are quite
destitute, and fears you would not be able to present a respectable
appearance at Elmhurst without this assistance. But it is an evidence
of her good intentions. Finding death near at hand she is obliged to
select an heir, and so invites you to visit her that she may study
your character and determine whether you are worthy to inherit her
fortune."
The girl laughed, lightly.
"It will be easy to cajole the old lady," she said. "In two days I can
so win her heart that she will regret she has neglected me so long."
"Exactly."
"If I get her money we will change our plans, and abandon the
adventure we were forced to undertake. But if, for any reason, that
plan goes awry, we can fall back upon this prettily conceived scheme
which we have undertaken. As you say, it is well to have two strings
to one's bow; and during July and August everyone will be out of town,
and so we shall lose no valuable time."
Mrs. Merrick did not reply. She stitched away in a methodical manner,
as if abstracted, and Louise crossed her delicate hands behind her
head and gazed at her mother reflectively. Presently she said:
"Tell me more of my father's family. Is this rich aunt of mine the
only relative he had?"
"No, indeed. There were two other sisters and a brother--a very
uninteresting lot, with the exception, of your poor father. The eldest
was John Merrick, a common tinsmith, if I remember rightly, who went
into the far west many years ago and probably died there, for he was
never heard from. Then came Jane, who in her young days had some
slight claim to beauty. Anyway, she won the heart of Thomas Bradley,
the wealthy young man I referred to, and she must have been clever to
have induced him to leave her his money. Your father was a year or so
younger than Jane, and after him came Julia, a coarse and
disagreeable creature who married a music-teacher and settled in some
out-of-the-way country town. Once, while your father was alive, she
visited us for a few days, with her baby daughter, and nearly drove us
all crazy. Perhaps she did not find us very hospitable, for we were
too poor to entertain lavishly. Anyway, she went away suddenly after
you had a fight with her child and nearly pulled its hair out by the
roots, and I have never heard of her since."
"A daughter, eh," said Louise, musingly. "Then this rich Aunt Jane has
another niece besides myself."
"Perhaps two," returned Mrs. Merrick; "for her youngest sister, who
was named Violet, married a vagabond Irishman and had a daughter
about a year younger than you. The mother died, but whether the child
survived her or not I have never learned."
"What was her name?" asked Louise.
"I cannot remember. But it is unimportant. You are the only Merrick of
them all, and that is doubtless the reason Jane has sent for you."
The girl shook her blonde head.
"I don't like it," she observed.
"Don't like what?"
"All this string of relations. It complicates matters."
Mrs. Merrick seemed annoyed.
"If you fear your own persuasive powers," she said, with almost a
sneer in her tones, "you'd better not go to Elmhurst. One or the
other of your country cousins might supplant you in your dear aunt's
affections."
The girl yawned and took up her neglected novel.
"Nevertheless, mater dear," she said briefly, "I shall go."