Matt made his way home to his farm, by a tiresome series of circuitous
railroad connections across country. He told his mother of the new shape
the trouble of the Northwicks had taken, and asked her if she could not
go to see them, and find out some way to help them.
Louise wished to go instantly to see them. She cried out over the noble
action that Suzette wished to do; she knew it was all Suzette.
"Yes, it is noble," said Mrs. Hilary. "But I almost wish she wouldn't do
it."
"Why, mamma?"
"It complicates matters. They could have gone on living there very well
as they were; and the company doesn't need it; but now where will they
go? What will become of them?"
Louise had not thought of that, and she found it shocking.
"I suppose," Matt said, "that the company would let them stay where they
are, for the present, and that they won't be actually houseless. But
they propose now to give up the money that their father left for their
support till he could carry out the crazy schemes for retrieving himself
that he speaks of in his letter; and then they will have nothing to live
on."
"I _knew_ Suzette would do that!" said Louise. "Before that letter came
out she always said that her father never did what the papers said. But
that cut the ground from under her feet, and such a girl could have no
peace till she had given up everything--everything!"
"Something must be done," said Mrs. Hilary. "Have they--has Suzette--any
plans?"
"None, but that of giving up the little money they have left in the
bank," said Matt, forlornly.
"Well," Mrs. Hilary commented with a sort of magisterial authority,
"they've all managed as badly as they could."
"Well, mother, they hadn't a very hopeful case, to begin with," said
Matt, and Louise smiled.
"I suppose your poor father is worried almost to death about it," Mrs.
Hilary pursued.
"He was annoyed, but I couldn't see that he had lost his appetite. I
don't think that even his worriment is the first thing to be considered,
though."
"No; of course not, Matt. I was merely trying to think. I don't know
just what we can offer to do; but we must find out. Yes, we must go and
see them. They don't seem to have any one else. It is very strange that
they should have no relations they can go to!" Mrs. Hilary meditated
upon a hardship which she seemed to find personal. "Well, we must try
what we can do," she said relentingly, after a moment's pause.
They talked the question of what she could do futilely over, and at the
end Mrs. Hilary said, "I will go there in the morning. And I think I
shall go from there to Boston, and try to get your father off to the
shore."
"Oh!" said Louise.
"Yes; I don't like his being in town so late."
"Poor papa! Did he look very much wasted away, Matt? Why don't you get
him to come up here?"
"He's been asked," said Matt.
"Yes, I know he hates the country," Louise assented. She rose and went
to the glass door standing open on the piazza, where a syringa bush was
filling the dull, warm air with its breath. "We must all try to think
what we can do for Suzette."
Her mother looked at the doorway after she had vanished through it; and
listened a moment to her voice in talk with some one outside. The two
voices retreated together, and Louise's laugh made itself heard farther
off. "She is a light nature," sighed Mrs. Hilary.
"Yes," Matt admitted, thinking he would rather like to be of a light
nature himself at that moment. "But I don't know that there is anything
wrong in it. It would do no good if she took the matter heavily."
"Oh, I don't mean the Northwicks entirely," said Mrs. Hilary. "But she
is so in regard to everything. I know she is a good child, but I'm
afraid she doesn't feel things deeply. Matt, I don't believe I like this
protégé of yours."
"Maxwell?"
"Yes. He's too intense."
"Aren't you a little difficult, mother?" Matt asked. "You don't like
Louise's lightness, and you don't like Maxwell's intensity. I think
he'll get over that. He's sick, poor fellow; he won't be so intense when
he gets better."
"Oh, yes; very likely." Mrs. Hilary paused, and then she added,
abruptly, "I hope Louise's sympathies will be concentrated on Sue
Northwick for awhile, now."'
"I thought they were that, already," said Matt. "I'm sure Louise has
shown herself anxious to be her friend ever since her troubles began. I
hadn't supposed she was so attached to her--so constant--"
"She's romantic; but she's worldly; she likes the world and its ways.
There never was a girl who liked better the pleasure, the interest of
the moment. I don't say she's fickle; but one thing drives another out
of her mind. She likes to live in a dream; she likes to make-believe.
Just now she's all taken up with an idyllic notion of country life,
because she's here in June, with that sick young reporter to patronize.
But she's the creature of her surroundings, and as soon as she gets away
she'll be a different person altogether. She's a strange contradiction!"
Mrs. Hilary sighed. "If she would only be _entirely_ worldly, it
wouldn't be so difficult; but when her mixture of unworldliness comes
in, it's quite distracting." She waited a moment as if to let Matt ask
her what she meant; but he did not, and she went on: "She's certainly
not a simple character--like Sue Northwick, for instance."
Matt now roused himself. "Is _she_ a simple character?" he asked, with a
show of indifference.
"Perfectly," said his mother. "She always acts from pride. That explains
everything she does."
"I know she is proud," Matt admitted, finding a certain comfort in
openly recognizing traits in Sue Northwick that he had never deceived
himself about. He had a feeling, too, that he was behaving with
something like the candor due his mother, in saying, "I could imagine
her being imperious, even arrogant at times; and certainly she is a
wilful person. But I don't see," he added, "why we shouldn't credit her
with something better than pride in what she proposes to do now."
"She has behaved very well," said Mrs. Hilary, "and much better than
could have been expected of her father's daughter."
Matt felt himself getting angry at this scanty justice, but he tried to
answer calmly, "Surely, mother, there must be a point where the blame of
the innocent ends! I should be very sorry if you went to Miss Northwick
with the idea that we were conferring a favor in any way. It seems to me
that she is indirectly putting us under an obligation which we shall
find it difficult to discharge with delicacy."
"Aren't you rather fantastic, Matt?"
"I'm merely trying to be just. The company has no right to the property
which she is going to give up."
"We are not the company."
"Father is the president."
"Well, and he got Mr. Northwick a chance to save himself, and he abused
it, and ran away. And if she is not responsible for her father, why
should you feel so for yours? But I think you may trust me, Matt, to do
what is right and proper--even what is delicate--with Miss Northwick."
"Oh, yes! I didn't mean that."
"You said something like it, my dear."
"Then I beg your pardon, mother. I certainly wasn't thinking of her
alone. But she is proud, and I hoped you would let her feel that _we_
realize all that she is doing."
"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Hilary, with a final sigh, "that if I were quite
frank with her, I should tell her she was a silly, headstrong girl, and
I wished she wouldn't do it."