ETHEL AND HARVEY BECOME FIRM FRIENDS
Vacation arrived. Ethel had acquitted herself well, and her examinations
were excellent. She and her mother began making preparations to go West.
This time it was Grandmother and Mrs. Hollister whose wardrobes needed
replenishing. Ethel bought for herself two new suits and some blouses.
She had actually outgrown hers of the preceding summer.
"My dear, I am spending very little money now," said Mrs. Hollister, "and
I'm going to put some by for your trousseau."
Ethel laughed merrily.
"Why, Mother, where's the man?"
"Never mind," replied her mother, "he'll come."
"Mother, you're a born matchmaker!" exclaimed the girl. "I wish you had
had other daughters."
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Mrs. Hollister with a funny little smile.
"One is enough."
"Is that intended for a compliment?" laughed the girl. "If so it's a
doubtful one."
During the month of May, Harvey would invite her to go horseback riding
up to Van Cortlandt Park. They had to make it Saturdays, as that was
Ethel's only free day. They usually started early. On the country roads
the apple and peach blossoms were like pictures. To the girl they brought
back the previous spring at Aunt Susan's, and especially the morning when
she had revealed to Ethel the sad story of her married life. On one of
these excursions the girl related it to Harvey.
"By George!" he ejaculated when she had finished, "that old lady is
a sport and no mistake. She's all right. I imagined she was made of
different stuff from other women, and do you know I sort of suspected
that she hadn't all the money that your mother thought she had. She was
too refined and showed good blood. Had she been so wealthy, from her
dressing people might have taken her for a miser, and gentle folks are
seldom misers. I thought that it was necessity that caused her to wear
those old-fashioned clothes, so I argued that though Mrs. Hollister
imagined her wealthy and that you were in a line to inherit her money
there was a great mistake somewhere. But pshaw! as for that every mother
is ambitious for her daughter. Why, my mother left no stone unturned
until she had married Edith to Lord Ashurst, and I must admit that I was
easily led by my mother. Why, I've been out for a rich wife ever since I
left school; but, Ethel, I've changed. Now I propose to pay my bills with
the money I earn, not with hers; nor shall I allow her to buy what she
wears."
"Does your mother realize how you feel?" asked Ethel, pushing her fair,
curling locks from her eyes.
"Bless you, yes. She and I had one long talk, and after it I tell you
there was something doing in the Bigelow family; but Nannie who has lots
of horse sense sided with me, and together we were too many for mother.
She saw that it was up to her to make the best of it and she did, but
like your mother she still cherishes her ambitions. Nan said to her:
"'You have one daughter who has done the grand marriage stunt and she's
some class. Do let us choose for ourselves."
"What did your mother say to that?" laughed Ethel.
"I think she boxed Nannie's ears and then apologized. She loses her
self-control sometimes. Poor mother," and Harvey laughed. "Nannie has
some temper, too, and don't you make any mistake."
Ethel was beginning to have a real friendly feeling for Harvey. He asked
many questions about her cousin Kate.
"She rings true," he said. "I liked her from the first."
"She _is_ true," replied Ethel. "You'll see her this summer, and I'm sure
you'll like Uncle John and his wife. He's just a dear."
Those were red letter days for Ethel. She enjoyed the air, the
scenery, and the rides; and she enjoyed talking to Harvey, for now
that he understood she could talk to him as though he were one of
the family--without restriction and without embarrassment.
"What puzzles me," said Ethel, "is the way our mothers argue. When they
plan our marriages it's only money and position. Love never seems to
enter into their heads. Oh! I grew so tired of it. Thank God it's over,
and our family are now normal. Even Grandmother wished me to marry well.
I had far rather be an old maid than to be tied to a man for whom I care
nothing, and have to sit opposite and pour tea for him three hundred and
sixty-five days in a year. Imagine the horrible monotony of that. I heard
that advice given to a girl in a play and I never forgot it; and if only
girls could be brought to realize beforehand the sin of it there would be
fewer unhappy marriages."