MOTHER AND SON
Philip stayed for a whole week at Hawk’s Nest. Davis had brought Soda
over, and Philip had ridden over once or twice to look at the bungalow.
It had been an ideal week to Mrs. Barrimore, for Philip had shown her
so much affection. Philip had always had a deep love for his mother,
even when he had wounded her, but in this week he had not hurt her
once, nor had he hurt Uncle Robert. Regarding this latter he had
“influenced” a review of “Wings and Winds,” which had given the author
the greatest pleasure. Philip had something to bear on this count, for
Uncle Robert flaunted the review in his face, declaring that here was a
reviewer--on a good paper, too!--who did not take Philip’s view of the
verses.
But Philip took all this well. He must behave so as to gain Miss Le
Breton’s good opinion. She would know nothing of all this, yet he felt
that she would read him when next they met, with those searching eyes
of hers. She would know he was trying to improve himself.
Dan had called in to see them, full of high spirits, when he was on his
way to the White House, and Philip had felt a great dejection come over
him. Dan must be pretty sure of his ground, or he would not be in such
high spirits.
Another thing had happened during this week. Colonel Henderson had
passed away.
Uncle Robert, who was as full of impulse as his nephew, in his own way,
had insisted on Mrs. Henderson and the two boys, Will and Eric, coming
to Hawk’s Nest.
“The boys shall go to Brighton College,” he said. “and then to
Sandhurst. There is no one to interfere, for I got Lane to see that
Henderson made a will leaving me guardian--that is, joint-guardian with
him--which means that I shall have a free hand.”
Philip at this time had ample opportunity of studying his uncle’s
character afresh, and he decided that the old fellow on whom he had
often looked with something very nearly approaching contempt was one
of the noblest men he had ever known. The joy, which brimmed over, in
finding an outlet for his unselfish kindliness was a thing to remember.
“There is the room that Dan used to paint in, Annie!” spluttered Uncle
Robert, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement. “The
boys could have that for a play-room. I can get some tools, and some
wood, and a lathe--we should not hear the lathe much up there. The big
cupboard with drawers underneath would be very handy for the boys. Mrs.
Henderson can have the other big attic to stow away her furniture if
she wishes to keep it. It is a ramshackle lot, Lane says, but still,
she may like to keep it. Women get attached to these things. Mrs.
Henderson should have a room for herself with a south aspect. What a
good thing Hawk’s Nest is so roomy!”
Philip saw all these preparations going on, and saw that his mother
went hand and glove with his uncle in the matter. He marvelled that
she, with her dainty ways, should be so willing to suffer such an
invasion of her home. Will and Eric the Colonel had called “destroying
angels,” and Mrs. Henderson, by his accounts, was a broken-hearted
creature, who would be a very wet blanket. True brother and sister.
Both were always forgetting self.
All at once (it had been when Philip had noticed his mother trying
to smooth out the lovely natural wave of her hair) Philip began to
actually realize that he--yes, he, in his domineering arrogance, had
closed the door of happiness to his beautiful mother. Her youthful
aspect struck her son more forcibly than ever in the plain gown she had
affected, he knew, just to meet his wishes. Her charming figure was
emphasized by the plain, well-fitting bodice.
Philip felt guilty as he watched his mother smoothing her hair. It
seemed to him he was always feeling guilty lately.
“Mother,” he said abruptly, as he fingered the pretty silver objects
on her toilet table. (He had strolled into her room and seated himself
on a chintz-covered chair while she got ready to go out with him.)
“Mother, don’t brush that wave out. I like it. It is so pretty.”
“You _dear_!” she exclaimed, laughing and blushing; “but you know
you think it almost a crime for the mother of a grown-up son to look
pretty!”
“I think,” affirmed Philip humbly, “that I have been a dictatorial ass.
I must have made you very unhappy often, mother. Can you forgive me?”
She turned shining eyes upon him, eyes that had never looked but in
love upon him from the time when he had first lain upon her breast. She
had been almost a child herself, then.
“You are my own boy,” she said. “There can never be any question of
forgiving between us.”
She laughed a little, though tears stood in her eyes. “I am afraid I do
look absurdly young, Philip, and I feel young, which is more. I don’t
think I really _felt_ so young when I was Annie Burns.”
Philip passed an arm about her as he kissed her cheek.
“It would be hard to lose you, mother,” he told her.
“Silly boy! Do I look like dying?” she asked.
“I did not mean that,” he rejoined. Then he ceased abruptly.
She went to the big wardrobe that occupied almost the entire side of
her room. She was going to choose a hat to put on.
“Put on a pretty one,” said Philip. “And, mother, why don’t you have a
black one with a big white ostrich feather? I think that looks A 1.”
She glanced at him sharply. She recalled at once with a pang the wearer
of the hat her son was thinking of. She knew of Dan’s infatuation for
Miss Le Breton.
Surely--surely her beloved boy was not going to suffer a second
martyrdom! That would be too cruel. Aimée Le Breton was not only a
very beautiful and charming woman, but she was like Eweretta. It was
fearfully possible that Philip should fall in love with her, and that
he should discover that she loved Dan Webster. Alvin, too, appeared to
be encouraging Dan.
Oh, it would be too sad! too horribly cruel!
She stood with the hat she had chosen to wear in her hand, and seemed
to hesitate.
“You don’t answer, mother,” persisted Philip. “Did you not like Miss Le
Breton’s hat? I found it charming.”
“Yes, dear, I did admire it very much,” she answered as she came to the
toilet table in quest of hatpins.
“And Miss Le Breton, do you admire her?” demanded Philip.
“Exceedingly,” answered the mother. “I think,” she added, inflicting
a wound to save a greater, “I think we shall hear of an engagement
between her and Dan soon. Dan is, of course, in love with her, and she
seems fond of him.”
Philip had already known and fully realized this, but somehow his
mother’s words stung him to the quick.
Why? he asked himself. What difference could it make to him, since he
was altogether out of the running?
Miss Le Breton had been kind to him, but if there were no Dan, he felt
she would not be one inch nearer to him--Philip. Still, he was free to
admire--even to worship at the shrine of Dan’s Madonna at a discreet
distance. Even Dan could not object to that!
As for Dan, he had “gone up like a rocket, to come down like a stick,”
as he told his sister Isabel.
But Philip knew nothing of this, nor did he for many a day.
Philip got an idea for a new book while he was walking with his mother
on the sea-front, and he delighted his mother by talking it out with
her--a thing he had never done before.
She, dear woman! was all admiration and sympathy, though Philip’s
outlined plot was not very clear to her.
Of course, it would be a fine book--quite Philip’s best!