CHAPTER XIII
AFTER several weeks’ exchange of vague suggestions, Mrs. Montgomery, Mrs. Brannan, Mrs. Geary, and Mrs. Cartright met at the house of the former to discuss the future of Marguerite Tarleton’s child. Mrs. Cartright was the aunt of Helena Belmont, whose energies were bottled for the moment in school. Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Brannan were also preparing for the difficult rôles of mothers of beauties. Mrs. Geary was a degree less important, her daughter being bright rather than pretty. Mrs. Cartright, between the imperious Helena and the incorrigible Colonel, her brother, over whose home she had presided since his wife’s death, had long since surrendered what little character she had brought to California; but having a wide popularity, and a mighty flow of words, was never absent from the counsels of her friends. Mrs. Montgomery was “very Southern,” very impulsive, rather prone to do the wrong thing when caught in the cyclone of her emotions. Mrs. Brannan was merely the gorgeous Ila’s mother, but like the others of her intimate circle was a Southerner, and had been a close friend of Marguerite Tarleton. Mrs. Geary was the practical wife of a millionaire. Her husband, a man fromMaine, who looked not unlike a dried cod-fish, had panned for gold in ’49, bought varas and ranches in the Fifties, become a banker of international importance in the Sixties, and had succeeded in making his Southern wife as close and practical as himself. Her advice was always in demand by her more impetuous friends.
“It’s just this,” said Mrs. Cartright, beginning at once, “that dear child cannot be brought up in a boarding-house, even in Mrs. Hayne’s. Lee is a great-niece or second cousin of General Robert E. Lee and third cousin of the Breckinridges, and Randolphs and Carrolls and Prestons, to say nothing of the Tarletons. As long as poor dear proud Marguerite lived we could do nothing, but now Lee belongs to us, particularly as dear brother Jack and Mr. Brannan are her mother’s executors and Lee’s guardians. Now, of course, I’d just jump at the chance of taking her, if it were not for darling imperious Helena. She will be home in a year now, and if they didn’t get on it would be really dreadful. Helena is really the most kind-hearted creature in the world—but such a tyrant! Her will hasneverbeen crossed, you see. You don’t know what I go through sometimes, although I fairly worship her. And Lee, you see, has simply managed poor dear Marguerite and done exactly asshepleased for eleven years. It would be really terrible if she didn’t give in to Helena, and I’m afraid she never would. And it would be almost cruel to bring her up in a house where she would have almost no individuality, although, of course, Helena may marry at once——”
“How much income has she?” interrupted Mrs. Geary.
“Eighty dollars a month. Isn’t it shocking? Fancy Hayward Tarleton’s daughter growing up on eighty dollars a month!”
“It’s quite enough to educate and dress her, and when she is ready to come out we can each give her a frock, and help with the trousseau when she marries.”
“But she’s got to have a home, meanwhile; that’s the point,” said Mrs. Montgomery, who seemed to be repressing her own eloquence, as great upon occasion as Mrs. Cartright’s. “She must have a home and a mother, poor little thing. Think if it were Tiny! I have cried myself ill. And she can’t grow up from pillar to post either; she would become quite demoralised, quite unworthy of her blood——”
“The very oldest families of the South!” cried Mrs. Cartright with enthusiasm.
“That’s all very well, but I can’t see why she shouldn’t be placed at Mill’s Seminary for the next seven years,” said Mrs. Geary. “Of course, she could spend her vacations in Menlo with us.”
Mrs. Montgomery shook her head with emphasis. “She must have a home! She must have a mother! She’s full of feeling. It would wound and demoralise her to feel a waif, with no anchor, no one in particular who took an interest in her—it is too terrible to think of!”
“It comes to this then,” said Mrs. Geary: “one of us must take her.”
“That is what I mean,” said Mrs. Montgomery eagerly.
“If it were not for Helena——” began Mrs. Cartright, ready to recapitulate. Mrs. Brannan interrupted her with unusual firmness.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” she said. “I’d really love to, and she would be such company for Coralie; but Ila is so exacting and jealous, and as imperious in her quiet way as Helena. I wait on her like a slave, and she’d fairly hate an outsider who made any claim on me. Fortunately Coralie adores her and is so sweet. It was all I could do to persuade Ila to let me come back and look after Mr. Brannan and Coralie for a few months—and I do hate Paris! I’ll do everything I can in the way of a good substantial present at Christmas, and she and Coralie might study together; that would save a little on both sides, and I’m sure they’d get on, but I don’t dare risk taking her.”
“Of course you would take her if you could,” said Mrs. Montgomery; “we all know how good and kind you are. And you, Maria?”
Mrs. Geary shook her head emphatically. “Mr. Geary wouldn’t listen to it for a moment. He detests sentiment and everything out of the common, and he has a special prejudice against adopting other people’s children. Besides, as you know, Marguerite used to snub him, as she did all Northerners, and he’s not the kind that ever forgets. No, I haven’t even thought of it. I’ll make her little presents, and give her a party dress when she’s eighteen, but I can’t do more.”
“And I’m afraid to venture,” sighed Mrs. Cartright, “but Jack will do something handsome——”
“Then it’s settled,” cried Mrs. Montgomery. “I am to have her! The very day of the funeral I begged her to come home with me, but she wouldn’t: she thought that heartless Englishman would take her, poor little innocent thing—but Cecil was a dear, quite as nice as any Southern lad before the war. Well, when I got home, I reflected that perhaps it was as well that Lee had refused, as I have made so many resolutions to consult my children before taking any important step—it is their right. I thought all night and finally decided that it did not concern any one but Tiny and Randolph, as the others are married. I spoke to Randolph the next morning, and he said he could see no objection; he’s sixteen now, and so sensible; and after breakfast I wrote a letter of ten pages to Tiny and told her all about it, and how deeply I felt on the subject, and dilated upon the brilliant prospects of Lee’s babyhood, and the distinguished blood in her veins—a Tarleton of Louisiana! to say nothing of all the others! I begged her to think it over carefully and write at once—it does take so long to get an answer from Paris! I told her I would leave it entirely to her. She has so much heart, but her head is far cooler than mine. Even when she was a child I respected her judgment, and she quite managed her elder sisters. I’ve rarely seen her excited. Well! I had her answer this morning. That is the reason I asked you to come to-day and decide once for all. She is so sweet and sensible about it. She began by saying that of course it would be a great risk to take an alien into the family, no matter how well we had known the parents: for no matter howmany different characters there were in a family there was always a sort of general disposition among them that carried things off. And we were all so devoted to each other, and so happy together. It would be quite terrible if Lee should turn out a strong individuality. Therefore she begged me not to take her unless Mrs. Tarleton’s other friends absolutely refused to do so. But if they did refuse, then I must not hesitate—I must take her by all means and make her as much like my own children as possible—after all, she was only eleven. So it’s decided! She’s mine!”
“Tiny certainly has a level head,” said Mrs. Geary dryly. “And I really don’t see how Lee could do better, or as well, if you really care to take her. You will see that her manners are all that could be desired, and that nobody ever speaks a cross word to her; and Tiny will see that you do not spoil her, and that she acquires the family disposition.”
“You dear sarcastic Maria! You know you’d just love to spoil her yourself. I’m so happy. I haven’t dared go to see her, but I’ve sent her candy, and fruit, and a new coat and hat. I’ll go straight away and fetch her.”
Thus was the momentous question decided, and Lee entered upon the third chapter of her life.