a self-supporting and economic factor, and it looks as if she were
going to have to, it's only fair she ask for her part in making the
laws she'll work under. And if woman is to be a self-supporting factor
as well as a homemaker, it's only wisdom on her part to get about
fitting herself to do both things."
Mrs. Cumming having struggled up out of her chair by means of her cane,
was on her old feet now. "If woman's going to be an economic factor,
she's a long ways to travel before she'll be one. If she hopes to see
herself arrive she'd better set about starting."
Cousin Anna Tomlinson, of all persons, in grenadine, bustle and plums,
was on her feet and being recognized by the chair. When one saw her
fumbling for her pince-nez, as she called her eye-glasses, and having
found the same, peer about until the angle desired was obtained
between them and a slip of paper in her hand, it grew clear that she
was recognized for reasons, someone, pushing her to her feet as a
mouthpiece, having put the paper there.
Mrs. Sally Jones Sampson and her clique in truth had put it there,
scribbling it hastily on a bit of paper secured from those young girl
pages, Mrs, Sampson's clique including Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Carter, Mrs.
Grosvenor, and, yes, Mrs. Wistar, a very bright spot on either cheek,
torn from the cause of her sister Juanita by the compelling magic of
that call to culture.
"It is moved," read Cousin Anna Tomlinson stumblingly, and continuing
to shift her glasses to keep the angle "that the purpose of this
organization of women be for the furthering of its members in the
arts, including music and literature, and indirectly the community in
which it lives----"
This being seconded by loud acclaim, it was promptly put to the vote
and adopted with applause, before it was realized Mrs. Tomlinson was
still on her feet and still by the aid of her pince-nez endeavoring to
complete her motion.
"--and further that the name of this organization be The Woman's
Culture Club of Blankington."
Mrs. Wistar, an even brighter spot on either cheek, was on her feet at
this. Truly a star too long eclipsed, she spun madly in this sky of
sudden opportunity. Auntie next her, dear soul, sought to restrain her.
"At least _act_ as if you remembered Juanita," she begged in a cautious
whisper, "if only for the looks of the thing, Lavinia."
But Mrs. Wistar shook Ann Eliza's hand off her arm. She had scented
culture and it had fired her brain. She even would hold them to
culture's finer distinctions. "I rise to deplore Mrs. Tomlinson's use
of the word woman. And would suggest that in its place she substitute
the customary and more pleasing word, lady."
Mrs. Jinnie Cumming at that last reseating of her old self had shown
fatigue. But at this she emerged again, reached out a veined and
withered hand for a grip on the wrist of her nearest neighbor and
pulled herself to her feet. Shrewd and dry she gazed around. Her old
eyes ran appraisingly over the faces of that assemblage. With here and
there a sophisticated one, as in the cases of Mrs. Harrison and Mrs.
Carter, for the most these ninety women's faces were naïve, credulous,
pleased, the faces of children grown to maturity, eager, excited.
Mrs. Jinnie Cumming took her time in surveying them. Ninety women,
most of whom she considered fools, if one believed her statements,
couldn't hurry _her_! She even communed with herself. "Our mothers and
our grandmothers were women with women's capacities. Nobody shielded
them as these weakling creatures have been shielded. The world and its
brutal facts met 'em square, and sophisticated 'em. I go back eighty
years myself and I remember 'em."
Whereupon she spoke. "I rise for two things, ladies. The first is to
put myself on record with Miss McRanney, Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Higginson
and to say that by the platform you've just adopted you've set the
impulse among you back into dilettantism by--who shall say how many
years? And next to say that I take issue with the last speaker who
would have the word _lady_ substituted for that of _woman_ in the
name of this organization. It is my feeling the day of the lady, so
denominated, is passing, and the hour of woman is come."
* * * * *
"Great old girl," said Preston Cannon when he heard about it
afterwards. But that was later.
Right now the meeting adjourned, after the appointment of committees
to draw up working plans. And as Mrs. Jinnie Cumming tottered out
with the assistance of her maid, the ninety ladies followed in pairs,
in trios, and groups; in grenadines, silks, buntings and bustles; in
apricots, apples, peaches and plums; whereupon the young girl page
and usher, Selina Wistar, slim and fair and aghast, beneath a wreath
of strawberries and their blossoms, looked at her companion pages and
ushers, Maud Allison beneath white grapes crystallized, and Adele
Carter in her jaunty hat with cherries that didn't suit her.
"And we have to break it to Aunt Juanita and Mrs. Higginson!" said
Selina. Tears were in her eyes. Tears of outrage and indignation! She
seemed to have glimpsed something for her sex that loomed big and
pertinent! And here was an end to it!
"Where's the telegram?" asked Maud tersely.
Selina produced and unfolded it and the three of them read it over:
Organization effected. Mrs. Cumming responsible. Congratulations. Our
rights and our realms our platform.
"We can't send that," said Maud. "Give it to me."
She seized a pencil from the table and edited the message sternly.
Organization effected. Mrs. Cumming not responsible. Apologies. Our
rights and our realms rejected.
At which light seemed to break upon Maud! And she saw things through
a revealing sense of proportion. Glimpsed humor and truth which go to
make proportion at last!
"They'll be as funny in their war-paint, hunting culture, as we've been
carrying around the wisdom that was to die with us!"
* * * * *
And all the while during this afternoon a note lay in Selina's
pocket-book, along with that telegram, a note written on French gray
paper, embossed and monogrammed The postman had handed it to her at her
gate and she had read it on the way here. The contents came back to her
as later, after sending the telegram she walked home in company with
Maud and Adele.
My dear Selina, I am going as usual to my cottage at the Virginia
springs about the middle of June. Bereft of companionship by the
marriage of the last daughter in our family, it occurs to me to wonder
if you will come and be my guest for July? Tuttle's vacation will lend
him to us for part of that time. I need hardly say that he adds his
entreaties to mine.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
ALICIA TUTTLE JONES.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Selina, reaching home a bit before dinner, read and re-read her note
from Mrs. Jones. The springs in Virginia! She felt she knew all that
this meant, and knew, too, what it would mean to be the young guest of
Mrs. Samuel Jones at her cottage at these springs!
After dinner, for some reason she couldn't define, she took the note,
not to her mother, but her father. He was alone downstairs with his
paper. He looked worn and tired, even a bit broken and haggard.
Standing by his chair while he read the letter, she slipped an arm
about his shoulders, though again she could not have explained why. His
free hand went up, sought her hand there on his shoulder and closed on
it.
He sat quite still after he had finished the reading, his eyes on the
sheet of paper lowered to his knee. For a full minute he did not speak.
Then:
"Tuttle has made no secret of what he means, Selina. Let's be very
honest about it. Are you ready then to accept this invitation at his
mother's hands?"
"Papa!" piteously.
"Unless your own mind is quite made up, I don't think you can accept
it. How about it? Do you know what you want?"
"Papa!" this time beseechingly.
[Illustration: "For a full minute he did not speak."]
"Think it over, little daughter, and then come back and tell me what
you decide."
"I have thought it over, Papa."
"The world and the flesh and a very decent and reputable young fellow,
Selina?"
"Papa, please don't!"
"Come around here to me, where I can look at you, Selina." And when she
had come, and he had drawn her down on the arm of the chair, he took
her face in his hand and studied it, the eyes above all. Then he stood
up, drew her to him and kissed her.
"We'll decide you won't go, little daughter. Let us say it's a case
where we'll give the doubt the benefit for a while yet."
"Must I tell Mamma about the note, and about my answer to it, Papa?"
"Certainly. Why do you ask?"
"She's going to be put out. It's almost a pity she has to know. And,
Papa, I'm worried about the money she's spending on clothes for me
this summer! She's done it because she's pleased to have me going with
Tuttle."
* * * * *
Selina stood before the mirror in her room, dressing for a barge party
up the river. It was the first one of the season and the program
was always the same. The crowd met in couples at some agreed on
starting-point near the street-car line. On this occasion Cousin Anna's
front porch was to be that spot by permission. From here they went down
in the car to the river, descended the steep levee to the boathouse,
and getting started a moment or so before sunset, if they had luck,
rowed up the river a dozen miles to a certain favored spot, ate supper
and floating down after the moon was up, reached the boathouse in time
for an hour's dancing before going home.
With care, Selina told herself as she stood there at her mirror, one
can wear a best white dress on such an affair and not get it _too_
dabby. She'd compromise by wearing a ribbon belt and not a sash.
Culpepper didn't dance, didn't care for foolishness, was the way he put
it, but was going. So were Preston Cannon and Mr. Welling. The rooms
over the confectionery were given up, and the three were leaving for
their homes in the state to-morrow. Mr. Tate had already gone, sailing
from New York for Germany this very day.
Tuttle Jones was not of the party, which consisted of Selina's world, a
world that Tuttle didn't trouble with.
He had been very nice over her declining his mother's invitation.
"I was afraid perhaps you wouldn't see your way to it," he said. "I'll
only be there with my mother two weeks anyhow. We can put in a very
decent time here together, at home."
Selina, her dressing completed, caught up her jacket from the bed and
went into her mother's room. Culpepper was downstairs waiting for her.
"Mamma, will I do? It's the end of the old things, you know, a real
breaking up, and I want to look nice."
"I thought you were saving that dress to go with Tuttle to call on his
cousins to-morrow night," from Mamma. "The older one would have done
perfectly well. Yes, you took very nice."
"You look more than nice," from Auntie emphatically. "You're looking
your best, Selina. If you need the dress for to-morrow night, I'll
press it for you."
Cousin Anna's porch was gay with the assembled bevy of them. Mr.
Welling was with Maud, Mr. Cannon with Adele, and Bliss--yes, poor
foolish Bliss, for the last time and at his own behest--was with
Amanthus. Then there were Tommy and Tod Bacon and their visiting girl
cousins and Brent Wild and Sam Rand for extras. Cousin Anna came out
on the porch and shook hands around and laughed at their nonsense and
pressed ice-water upon them. Nobody wanted any but still that was a
good deal from Cousin Anna in the way of hospitality.
Amanthus spoke of her plans to Selina and Maud while they were waiting
for Juliette and Algy to come. She was sweet and definite.
"Mamma and I are going on to Narragansett and then Bar Harbor, the day
after to-morrow. I had a note from your Mr. Cyril Doe, Selina, the
other day, I haven't seen you to tell you, written from Ottawa, and he
_will_ be in Bar Harbor like he said. Later in the summer Mamma and I
go to England and Mr. Tate will meet us there, and we'll be married in
London."
"What'll you call him?" from Maud, which was altogether nasty of her.
"You can't bring yourself to say Lemuel, can you?"
"Lemuel is a very good name," from Amanthus with dignity, "and besides
his middle name is Worthington and we'll probably call him that."
Algy and Juliette came hurrying up just as the rest of them, tired of
waiting, were boarding the street car.
Juliette across the car aisle, now they could see her, looked pale. She
had on her last winter's scarlet coat over a last summer's old white
dress and looked dabby, poor, little, dark-eyed gypsy. But when a girl
_won't_ take the money her father offers her to buy any new summer
clothes----
She had studied too hard, they all knew that. And for nothing. The
examinations were but two days off now, in Cincinnati. There had been
a final scene and row at her house recently, when she demanded again
of her father that she be allowed to go, and again was refused with an
almost brutal outburst of temper.
"And he said I'm under age," Juliette told Selina and Maud the day
after this, "and if I ran off and started as I intimated I'd do, he
could bring me back."
Juliette with Algy at her side was with the crowd as they left the car,
and with baskets, wraps, and what not, went down the steep, rock-paved
levee, to the river at its foot, rolling broad and serene, the evening
ferryboats just starting on their pilgrimages, and a steamboat here
and there laid up at its wharf, the red of the sun at the horizon line,
turning their white paint to rosiness.
And Juliette and Algy went aboard the boathouse with them, everybody
again was sure of that. Though the men couldn't recall that Algy was at
his locker when they were at their own, getting into boating togs, and
the girls spending their time out on the guards looking at the sunset
on the water could not remember Juliette being with them.
One thing was sure. After the two barges were well started under the
long strokes of the rowers, and as far on their way as the upper
bridge, it was discovered that neither boat contained Juliette or Algy.
A halt following this discovery and a bringing of the barges alongside
each other brought a bit of testimony from Tod Bacon.
"I saw them in one of the sculls before we got the barges out of the
boathouse. I reckon they've plans of their own."
There was a good deal of grumbling over the absence of Algy when they
landed for supper on the high, woody bank that overswept the river
up and down in a mighty stretch of view. Algy always built the fire,
and went to the nearest farmhouse for water, and fetched and carried
generally.
The girls were unpacking the baskets and Maud had produced a tablecloth.
"Here, give me the bucket and I'll get the water," grumbled Culpepper,
"but the rest of you fellows busy yourselves with the fire."
* * * * *
It was wonderful always, floating back those twelve miles downstream by
moonlight. And such moonlight as there was to-night! One wondered what
Amanthus found to say to Bliss. Culpepper with his orange and black
blazer over his boating togs was lolling back in the stern of their
barge beside Selina, and she said as much to him.
He answered good-humoredly, "It isn't Amanthus' business in life to
say, as she's often told you. She won't try to say."
Tod Bacon, that nice boy, and Sam Rand, had their mandolins. Their
clever picking of the strings ting-ling-a-linged over the broad waters.
"Honey, I'm going home to-morrow," said Culpepper, laying hold of a bit
of Selina's jacket as it lay unused on her lap and openly fondling it
while his eyes sought her face in the moonlight. "You haven't let me
talk to you yet? What are you going to do about it?"
And here Culpepper's hand, his big, firm hand leaving the cloak he had
used for a blind, found her hand.
Culpepper took what he wanted of life and people! She had said so
before! And resented it!
She regained her hand. He didn't seem to hold it against her and went
back to his fondling of the jacket. "What you going to do about it,
honey?"
"Tell you good-bye and a nice summer," said Selina briskly, moving her
jacket. "I don't want to hear you talk, as you call it, Culpepper."
"Well, I'll be back," from this young gentleman, still without
resentment. "My mother has entered me in the best law firm in your
town; isn't she the first-class fellow? And I come down to start in
August."
* * * * *
Patently Juliette and Algy did have their own plans and as patently
didn't care to discuss them. They were at the boat-club waiting when
the others arrived, and it was plain they neither of them cared to
talk. Juliette's white dress under the scarlet coat looked dabbier, and
she was altogether pale.
She danced a little with the rest of them at the start, Tod Bacon,
blessed boy, at the piano, but after that sat by herself, tired, she
said. But when Algy, after prowling in the lunch baskets, brought her a
sandwich and a bottle with shrub in it, she obediently ate the one, and
when he had found a glass and got ice from the janitor, drank the other.
Algy, big, splendid dear, looked pale himself, and with his straight
features so unwontedly grown-up and stern, even looked gaunt.
Mr. Welling, romping rather than waltzing by with one of the Bacon
cousins, called to Algy.
"_'Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie scull!'_ Or did it, Algy?"
"Aw, I don't know what you mean," said Algy crossly. "Lemme alone,
can't you, Welling?"
* * * * *
The next morning they learned what the temporary disappearance of
Juliette and Algy the night before meant. The Wistars were at breakfast
when Maud came flying over and into the dining-room. In her blue
gingham dress, her red-brown hair was glorious, but her eyes were big
and her cheeks white.
At sight of her, Selina in a fresh gingham herself, divined something
amiss and rose to meet her. Maud in her blue dress, threw herself upon
Selina in her pink one, and burst into tears. "Juliette went across the
river last night when we missed her, and was married to Algy!"
Selina clutched at Maud and they stayed each other. The exclamations of
Mamma and Auntie, and the question or two from Papa, reached them, as
it were, from far away.
Then Maud recovered herself. She had a tale to unfold and must be at
the business! "I was at my window dressing, up a bit earlier than usual
to work on my German verses, at my bay window, Selina, that looks out
on the Caldwells. And I saw Algy arrive and come round the side way,
and whistle real softly under Juliette's window. And after a minute
Juliette came out the side-door with her hat and jacket and her gloves
on, carrying her satchel. And I called to 'em and hurried down and met
'em at the gate and they told me they were married last night. Algy
had come round to take her and put her on the train for Cincinnati. He
entered her by telegraph last night for the examinations as Juliette
Caldwell Biggs. She isn't of age, you see, Mr. Wistar, and her father
told her he'd stop her if she tried to go."
[Illustration: "And whistled real softly under Juliette's window."]
"Judy!" from Selina, weeping anew. "That little, tiny, pretty,
breakable Judy!"
"I've known little tiny, pretty people myself," from Papa with humor.
"It doesn't always preclude determination."
"Determination," retorted Mamma. "I don't know what you mean, Mr.
Wistar. I call it self-will in Juliette that's outrageous."
"Mamma!" from Selina.
"I haven't finished," from Maudie, wiping her eyes and looking up.
"After she's taken her examination, she's going to her college cousin
up in Ohio, to wait and see if she passes. But she'll pass, we all know
Juliette. And from there she'll enter college next fall. Juliette's
written letters to send back to her grandfathers to see if either of
them will help her through her college course with money. And if they
won't she'll let Algy lend her enough to get her through."
"Algy!" from Mamma, scandalized, "doesn't she realize he's her
_husband_?"
"Algy put her through _college_?" from Auntie bewildered. "Doesn't she
understand she's _married_?"
Maud looked startled. She seemed to be seeing it in this light for the
first time herself. "I--I don't believe she does. I don't believe it's
occurred to Juliette that way at all. But," brightening, "Algy won't
expect her to. He's sure to understand. He's always been that way;
hasn't he, Selina?"
Selina nodded in corroboration.
"Accommodating, you know," further elucidated Maud, "and--er--perfectly
willing to be--well--an expedient."
"Expedient!" from Mamma, "And you're speaking of the girl's _husband_?"
"Glorious," from Papa. "We've often thought it about ourselves, we
husbands, but it takes the younger generation to admit it."
"I don't like this levity," from Auntie, "my head's all in a whirl and
I don't understand," piteously. "Marriage is a solemn thing and carries
heavy obligations. Hasn't she thought at all of what a very great deal
she's taking for granted in this young man? In Algy?"
Darling Auntie!
"Selina," from her father, "take your auntie's cup out to Viney and get
her some fresh coffee. I do believe she's honestly pale. Woman's being
driven willy-nilly, to and fro, up and down, finding herself these
days, don't you realize that, big Sis? What's a mere Algy or two in the
final issue?"
"Marriage is a solemn thing and carries obligations," insisted Auntie
still piteously. Then she rose for her to vast heights. "For a woman to
marry for any end but the one, is like using the chalice of the holy
sacrament as a basket to carry her own wares to market."
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mamma, who so rarely betrayed herself by an open admission of her real
state of mind, sat by the window crying softly. Auntie, at her window,
moved heavily as through the act to expend some of her ponderous energy.
"I've always felt there _must_ be something wrong with our way of
managing, Lavinia? Do you suppose it would have worked better if we'd
ever had a _plan_ to fit our expenses to, or made Robert agree as to
just _what_ we might have to go on?"
"If you think you could have done it better than I have, Ann Eliza--"
from Mamma, a bright spot on either cheek as she raised her head and
faced her sister-in-law. Little lady, only forty-two now, and meant by
heaven to be pretty if instead she had not to be so anxiously perturbed!
"How bad _is_ it, Lavinia?" from Auntie.
A light footstep sounded along the hall and Selina paused in her
mother's doorway. It was September and, after the long summer,
pleasures and activities were starting up. She had been to the theater
with Tuttle last night, and this morning was allowed to have her sleep
out. Here at half-past nine she was just coming up from her breakfast!
This Selina standing there in the doorway, looking from her mother to
her aunt, was nineteen now and past, but beneath something of gravity
now in the face under the very lovely hair, she still was sweet and
loving and anxious.
"How bad _is_ it, Lavinia?" Auntie was saying.
Mamma looking across to the door saw her child. "Come in, Selina.
You've heard as much, and you may as well hear the rest. There's no
money for Viney. Last month's bills all lapsed over because Robert told
me I'd have to wait. And now they've come in with this month's bills.
The iceman's been here three times."
Here Mamma's hands dropped into her lap with a gesture that carried
dismay to the others. It was the gesture of one who abjures any further
responsibility, of one who steps aside. No defence was left in her, no
air of anxious justification. She would state the whole, her manner
seemed to say, without reserve and without mincing, and let somebody
else face the issue.
The face of this older Selina, standing there in the doorway, had
gathered something of decision, too, and something of the inner steady
flame that comes with this gain in character.
"How has Papa explained it, Mamma? What did he say when he told you
that you would have to wait?"
"He didn't explain and I didn't like to ask. It's been clear he was
worried all along through the summer."
"Mamma, I think you should have asked. Or I think Papa should have told
you, so you wouldn't have to ask."
Mamma made no defence, showed no disposition to reprove, or yet to
resent. She searched around for her pocket-handkerchief again, found
it, and resumed her crying.
"You said something about it to Robert at the breakfast table this
morning, Lavinia?" reminded Auntie.
Mamma conceded this from behind the handkerchief at her eyes.