Aunt Janes Nieces Abroad | Page 7

they were poverty stricken. Since Uncle John had
settled a comfortable income on his niece the grocer was paid promptly
and Mrs. De Graf wore a silk dress on Sundays and held her chin a
little higher than any other of the Cloverton ladies dared do. The
Professor, no longer harrassed by debts, devoted less time to the

drudgery of teaching and began the composition of an oratorio that he
firmly believed would render his name famous. So, there being less to
quarrel about, Beth's parents indulged more moderately in that pastime;
but their natures were discordant, and harmony in the De Graf
household was impossible.
When away from home Beth's disposition softened. Some of her
school-friends had seen her smile--a wonderful and charming
phenomenon, during which her expression grew sweet and
bewitchingly animated and her brown eyes radiant with mirthful light.
It was not the same Beth at all.
Sometimes, when the nieces were all at Aunt Jane's, Beth had snuggled
in the arms of her cousin Louise, who had a way of rendering herself
agreeable to all with whom she came in contact, and tried hard to win
the affection of the frankly antagonistic girl. At such times the
gentleness of Elizabeth, her almost passionate desire to be loved and
fondled, completely transformed her for the moment. Louise, shrewd at
reading others, told herself that Beth possessed a reserve force of
tenderness, amiability and fond devotion that would render her
adorable if she ever allowed those qualities full expression. But she did
not tell Beth that. The girl was so accustomed to despise herself and so
suspicious of any creditable impulses that at times unexpectedly
obtruded themselves, that she would have dismissed such a suggestion
as arrant flattery, and Louise was clever enough not to wish to arouse
her cousin to a full consciousness of her own possibilities.
The trained if not native indifference of this strange girl of fifteen was
demonstrated by her reception of Uncle John's telegram. She quietly
handed it to her mother and said, as calmly as if it were an invitation to
a church picnic:
"I think I shall go."
"Nothing like that ever happened to me," remarked Mrs. De Graf,
enviously. "If John Merrick had an atom of common sense he'd have
taken me to Europe instead of a troop of stupid school girls. But John
always was a fool, and always will be. When will you start, Beth?"

"To-morrow morning. There's nothing to keep me. I'll go to Patsy and
stay with her until we sail."
"Are you glad?" asked her mother, looking into the expressionless face
half curiously.
"Yes," returned Beth, as if considering her reply; "a change is always
interesting, and I have never travelled except to visit Aunt Jane at
Elmhurst. So I think I am pleased to go to Europe."
Mrs. De Graf sighed. There was little in common between mother and
daughter; but that, to a grave extent, was the woman's fault. She had
never tried to understand her child's complex nature, and somewhat
resented Beth's youth and good looks, which she considered contrasted
unfavorably with her own deepening wrinkles and graying hair. For
Mrs. De Graf was vain and self-important, and still thought herself
attractive and even girlish. It would really be a relief to have Beth out
of the way for a few months.
The girl packed her own trunk and arranged for it to be taken to the
station. In the morning she entered the music room to bid the Professor
good-bye. He frowned at the interruption, for the oratorio was
especially engrossing at the time. Mrs. De Graf kissed her daughter
lightly upon the lips and said in a perfunctory way that she hoped Beth
would have a good time.
The girl had no thought of resenting the lack of affection displayed by
her parents. It was what she had always been accustomed to, and she
had no reason to expect anything different.
Patsy met her at the train in New York and embraced her rapturously.
Patsy was really fond of Beth; but it was her nature to be fond of
everyone, and her cousin, escaping from her smacking and enthusiastic
kisses, told herself that Patsy would have embraced a cat with the same
spontaneous ecstacy. That was not strictly true, but there was nothing
half hearted or halfway about Miss Doyle. If she loved you, there
would never be an occasion for you to doubt the fact. It was Patsy's
way.

Uncle John also was cordial in his greetings. He was very proud of his
pretty niece, and discerning enough to realize there was a broad strata
of womanliness somewhere in Elizabeth's undemonstrative character.
He had promised himself to "dig it out" some day, and perhaps the
European trip would give him his opportunity.