Society in Springdale, such society as counted for anything, was
divided by a clearly marked line of cleavage, with Mrs. Henry Marksley
dominating one stratum and Mrs. Thomas Henderson the other. The
Hendersons were leaders in the intellectual life of the community and
staunch pillars in the Presbyterian church. Lavinia was glad that David
had been brought up a Presbyterian--or rather, that that happened to
be the fashionable church in Springdale. When it came to matters of
principle, it was not easy to manipulate David.
The Marksleys seldom went to church. On the other hand, Mr. Marksley
stood ready with three contracts, before David had finished the work
on the campus, contracts which enabled him to reap the benefit of
his labour, instead of delivering two-thirds of the profits into the
hand of the senior partner. Mrs. Marksley was particularly anxious
to rally to her standard the best looking and aggressive young women
of the town. She was trying to live down the latest escapades of her
husband and her eldest daughter, Adelaide. Such a woman as Mrs. David
Trench would be of service to her--and she could make the association
correspondingly profitable. But at the psychological moment Mrs.
Marksley went into temporary social exile, ceasing all activity until
after the birth of a son. The hiatus, together with certain whispered
stories concerning Adelaide, drove Lavinia to Mrs. Henderson and the
Browning Club. It was a step she never regretted. Within a year she
was able to send to the Bromfield Sentinel an account of a spirited
business meeting, at which “young Mrs. Trench” had been elected
secretary, over the heads of two rival candidates whose husbands were
in the college faculty. Mrs. Henderson was perpetual president, and
membership in the club gave just the right intellectual and cultural
stamp.
Years afterward, Tom Henderson and Walter Marksley began an exciting
race for Sylvia’s favour--courtship that came to nothing, as all
Sylvia’s courtship did. And now, the boy whose advent had settled,
once and for all, Mrs. Trench’s social destiny, was playing around
with Eileen, taking her to and from school in his car and ruining her
digestion with parfait and divinity. David and Larimore--to his mother
he was always Larimore, never Lary--had set their faces stubbornly
against this flattering attachment. There had been no scandal in the
Marksley family in recent years, and no other objection that a sensible
person could name. But how to persuade them.... Mrs. Ascott! To be
sure. It was providential that she had come to Springdale at such an
opportune time. She would see things in their true light--being a woman
of the world. If only Larimore could be induced to call on her. She
was--m-m-m, yes, nineteen months older than Larimore. That made it
safe. A young widow.... But Larimore Trench had never been interested
in any woman. She would trump up some reason for sending him over,
that very evening. She must have Mrs. Ascott’s assistance. Eileen’s
future--her own future, for reasons as yet but dimly apprehended--was
at stake.