While the two physicians discussed a disturbing case, the one with
understanding, the other blindly, a different conversation was under
way in Eileen’s bedroom. Mrs. Trench had sent for Judith as soon as the
coast was clear of tale-bearers.
“He--said this morning that he was going to take you and Eileen with
him when he goes to New York, Thursday night. I thought we’d better lay
out the details.”
It was all so bald, so matter-of-fact. The woman cringed, as from a
desecration. She turned for relief to the white face on the pillow.
Mercurial tears glistened in the dove-gray shadows that lurked beneath
the swollen eyes, and the mouth wore the old rebellious look. Eileen
was still smarting from the crass, polluting things her mother had
said, after the physician’s departure. She had brought this disgraceful
thing on the family, and Lavinia did not intend that she should shirk
one minim of her punishment.
“For my part, I don’t see how you are going to hide it by going to New
York ... where everybody knows you. All your friends will see at the
first glance that Larimore and Eileen are brother and sister. They look
exactly alike.”
“Thanks for the compliment!” The girl tossed aside the sheet and sat
up. “We both have noses running lengthwise of our faces, and mouths
that cut across. That’s all the resemblance you ever saw--when you were
telling me how handsome Lary was and how ugly I was. I have it all
figured out. I am going to be Lary’s cousin--young Mrs. Winthrop, whose
husband was lost on that Alaska steamer that foundered two weeks ago.
Ina and I worked out the situation in a play we did last winter.”
“And Ina will recognize your situation--and spread it all over town.”
“Mamma! Please credit me with a little sense. This story isn’t for home
consumption. It’s for Judith’s friends--when we get to New York.”
“There will be few of them,” Mrs. Ascott interrupted. “That danger
is negligible. A few acquaintances at Pelham and Larchmont. With the
exception of my father and the Ramsays, who live at Rye--”
“But the neighbours!” Lavinia cried irritably.
“There are none. We can go up and down in the same lift with them
for months without knowing what they look like. New York is too
self-absorbed to care about any one’s happiness or misery.”
“But your father!” the woman snapped. Her triumph was short-lived.
“Papa could live in the same house with Eileen for a year without
knowing whether she was Miss Trench or Mrs. Winthrop--Lary’s cousin or
mine. He has forgotten all but the outstanding facts of my life. As for
the Ramsays, they would take the situation as I do--if it should become
necessary to tell them.”
Vine shook her head. She had no words with which to express her
disapproval of a city that could be thus cold-bloodedly immoral. What
sort of people were the Ramsays, that one could tell them of a girl’s
fall from virtue without shocking them? What sort of woman was Mrs.
Ascott, that she could carry out such a wickedly dishonest piece of
business? Still, we must praise the bridge that carries us over.