CHAPTER VIIIMOTHER AND CHILD
“Come, darling, dinner is ready,� and Mrs. Lucien held out her arms to the tiny sprite who was busily engaged in pinning a scrap of torn lace about a broken-nosed doll, her face a study in its eager intentness of purpose.
“O mamma, has we somefin’ nice?� she exclaimed as her eyes fell on the small table bearing the articles of food. “Why tan’t we have oranges every day?�
“My dear, mamma has not had money to buy them, but a good lady has given mamma work to do, which brings money. Is not baby glad? Maybe we may have good things to eat every meal, for Dolly, now.� Mrs. Lucien kissed the child’s little face passionately, then turned away her own, lest the tears should be seen that trembled in her lashes.
It was a mean little room, as Mrs. Wylie had said, only lighted by one narrow window, but the taste of its simple furnishing accorded with the faces of mother and child. Mrs. Lucien’s was one of those rare faces seen only occasionally among the masses, purely oval, with soft outlines and exquisite delicacy of expression. The eyes seemed to index the soul in their spirituality and clearness. It seemed impossible to think of guile or hypocrisy finding lodgment in the heart of a woman with such a face. The tingeof melancholy resting upon it only added to its attractiveness.
The child was the counterpart of the mother, even to the soulful eyes and mobile lips. It was evident, as Mrs. Wylie had observed, that Mrs. Lucien had seen better days. There was an unmistakable air of culture and refinement in her manner, a dignity and grace of carriage that could come only with one to the manner born. She appeared to be a stranger in Forest City and was markedly uncommunicative as to her past life and history in her intercourse with the few who sought further acquaintance with her.
Mrs. St. John, on the second floor, had been attracted by her face, and tried, through the child, to know more of her, but succeeded illy. The child was as reserved as the mother, or had been kept in ignorance of its history. One thing she noticed, it never spoke of its father, and Mrs. St. John discreetly withdrew, and refrained from further investigation.
“There must be something wrong when people are so much afraid to let you know anything of them,� she reflected. She could not afford to risk her own reputation by becoming associated with her.
Mrs. Wylie, too secure in worldly caste to be deterred by such considerations, had a new interest, and would leave no means untried to learn more of her protege.
She found she had an endless amount of sewing to be done, and made many calls with reference to it, as well as necessitating much going to and from her own rooms by Mrs. Lucien. And in all of those interviewsthe little woman chatted away as blithely as though her caller were an intimate friend instead of a stranger sewing woman, this being characteristic of Elinor Wylie, and the outgrowth of her kindness of heart, which neither fashion nor society, conventionality nor worldliness could repress.
Mr. Wylie joked her daily upon her enthusiasm, which increased with acquaintance.
“She is entirely lovable, Horace, and entirely refined and cultured. I have not her superior in my whole circle of acquaintances,� she reiterated one night, when he had chidden her for spending so much of her time with Mrs. Lucien. “If she were not so proud I should have gotten her out of that dark little jail of a room before now, but I dare not openly offer her charity. But, Horace, I have made a discovery. She was formerly from New York, and she came here to be among strangers. I suspect—�
“Well, what do you suspect?� said her husband, as she hesitated in her speech.
“Why—I half suspect she has run away from her husband,� admitted Mrs. Wylie reluctantly, hastening to add, “I am quite sure she had a good reason and that no blame can attach to her, whatever the cause.�
Mr. Wylie shook his head.
“Do not let your enthusiasm blind your eyes, Elinor. I give you credit for being pretty keen-sighted usually, but a woman with such a history may not be a desirable associate for my wife.�
“Horace!� the blue eyes were raised reproachfullyto his face. “Even if my suspicions are correct,—and they are only suspicions,—we may suppose a case where she might be entirely blameless, and oh, so much more to be pitied, because of these very circumstances which may cast a shadow over her fair name! Surely she needs my friendship so much the more.�
“You precious little philanthrope!� said her husband fondly. “It is difficult to answer you, but suppose there are plenty of associates for Mrs. Horace Wylie whose characters are above suspicion and need no vindication. And yet,� he continued gravely, “the woman’s face is vindication for her. Do as you think best. Shall we invite her to attend the lecture with us to-morrow night?�
“Yes, if you will. She so seldom goes anywhere, and I am sure she needs recreation. I could wish it was something besides Dr. Lyman’s lectures, however. I am always glad to get home from one of them, and I dream of ghosts and goblins when I sleep afterwards.�
There was a compassionate look on Mr. Wylie’s face as he turned toward his wife.
“I am surprised, Nell, that you cannot appreciate what I enjoy so much. Surely, Dr. Lyman is a very interesting speaker.�
“A good talker, yes, but I do not like his subject,� and the little lady drew herself farther upon the sofa and pursed up her lips defiantly.
“And yet the subject is one that may materially affect us?�
“I do not believe it canmateriallyaffect us; if itdoes spiritually, why, it may. We shall find out after we leave this world, probably, all about it. What is the use of believing that the spirits of our friends can communicate with us. I don’t want them to. It’s horrid, the whole of it.�
“I do not see anything particularly horrid about it. If I should die and live again in the spiritland and should come back and reveal myself to your material sight and talk with you as I do now, would you consider it particularly horrid? That is,� he continued with his pleasant drawl, “supposing I come in immaculate broadcloth, shining boots, etc., and present you with a check for a few thousands to squander in bon-bons.�
“Oh, do stop talking so dreadfully! I will not think about it.�
“Then you will not want me to come back?� he queried provokingly. “Especially if you are wedded to your second, and well provided for?�
“Yes—no—I do not know. I think I should be dreadfully afraid of you if you did.�
“Aren’t you a little afraid of me now? Come, confess. Aren’t you?�
Mrs. Wylie made a grimace.
“No, I hope not, but I am afraid of Dr. Lyman.�
“And why do you fear him?� said her husband, laughing as he bent over and twirled one of her bright curls over his finger. “What do you fear in him?�
“I am afraid he will mesmerize me and make me think as he does. There you have my reason for dislikinghim, and to go to the Lyceum,� said Elinor, flushing slightly.
Again her husband laughed.
“Ah, that is it. Do you think there would be any harm in that?�
“Why, I think it would be dreadful to be hypnotized; to have any one control your will and make you think and do things you would not do otherwise.�
“I have an idea,� cried Mr. Wylie; “let me try it on you. Come, look me right in the eyes, relax all your muscles and think of nothing but me.� Mr. Wylie fixed his mischievous dark eyes upon his wife.
She closed her own eyes tightly, and turned her face away.
“Never! It would make me forever your slave. I have not much will of my own now, and you would take that away from me. No, thank you!�
“As if a woman ever lived who did not have her own sweet will and way. But, Nellie, you may call upon Mrs. Lucien to-night, and ask her to accompany us. I shall be curious to know her opinion of the Doctor and his hobby.�
“Mne! How kind you are! Man’s curiosity again! Well! I’ll go just to gratify you, but she may not be willing to go to such a place even in your company.�
Mr. Wylie smiled indulgently, but made no reply.
“Horace, I can almost believe Tibby exercises some such influence over Robbie. It is really remarkable, the ease with which she can subdue him,and put him to sleep at any time she desires. Mrs. Harbeck used to fuss for hours.�
“Tibby exercises a power woman has, since the world began—the power of her beauty. Tibby is such a pretty girl, and Robbie is susceptible to it. I remember when I was a youngster, the pretty teachers always had the least trouble with me. Children have aesthetic instincts, and Robbie recognizes the influence, if he does not yet understand it. Dame Harbeck was a good old soul, but she did lack winsomeness. Eh, Nellie?�
Mrs. Wylie laughed.
“I wonder if that does make a difference.�
“Certainly, and is it not a moral duty to cultivate beauty in the race?�