I
Hal Marksley called regularly in his car to take the two girls to
school. Theo, in the rôle of chaperone, was novel, to say the least.
Occasionally he and Eileen went for long rides in the country when
classes were over. Once they were delayed by the amusing annoyance of
three punctures, and it was dinner time when they neared home. Hal
took the precaution to leave the roadster on Grant Drive, traversing
the three short blocks to Elm Street on foot. On other occasions, when
there was no danger of encountering the men-folk of the family, Mrs.
Trench would invite him in for lemonade and cake, after which she would
command Eileen to play her latest violin piece--usually a bravura of
technique, quite as incomprehensible to Mrs. Trench’s accustomed ears
as to Hal’s--during which the youth would drum the window sill with
impatient fingers.
It was understood between the young people that Mrs. Ascott alone was
in the secret, and that the engagement ring had been placed with some
of her valuables in Dr. Schubert’s vault, against the time when it
would be safe to display it. There was one drop of bitter in Eileen’s
great happiness. Her father. Even since her talk with Judith, she had
been conscious of something essentially dishonourable in her conduct.
She was beginning to look at her father with awakened eyes. He had
always been a person of little consequence in his home. Lavinia was
the dynamo that drove the plant. David was a belt or a fly-wheel, a
driving rod or some such nonessential--easily replaced if he should
break or rust. But David Trench would never rust. His wife kept him
going at such a rate that a high polish was his only alternative.
Rust gathers on unused metal. Eileen wondered what her father was
like--inside. What her mother was like, for that matter. David talked
little and Lavinia talked all the time, and the revelation of silence
was, if anything, more informing than that of incessant chatter.
Mrs. Ascott might win Lary over to a reluctant acceptance of the
engagement; but that would have small bearing on the problem of her
father. It was the way with pliant natures. You can bend them without
in the least influencing their ultimate resistance. Lavinia might be
shattered by a well directed blow, whereas David would yield courteous
response. There might be a dent in his feelings, but his convictions
would remain as they were.