Elsie Marley, Honey | Page 2

which we may decide upon after consultation together. Your lawyer
tells me that you are through school, and neither you nor he speak of
any desire on your part to go to college. I suppose, however, like most
young girls, you will wish to take up some study or occupation to fit
yourself to become self-supporting or to be useful to the world in some
definite manner. I heartily sympathize with such an aim, having worked
since my eighteenth year myself, and shall be cordially interested in
helping you either to plan or to carry out a future for yourself."
Here Elsie broke off. Cousin Julia was certainly absurd! She had
always been regarded, indeed, by the California Pritchards as a singular,
eccentric person, rather wanting in refinement and careless of social
amenities--one from whom they were quite content to be separated by
the "breadth of our great American continent." She had taken after her

mother, who came from Nebraska--or some such place--and the family
had considered it a pity that she should have been and remained
Pritchard by name, particularly since Elsie herself, Pritchard of
Pritchards, had to go by the name Marley.
Still the girl's smooth brow did not contract. In any event, she said to
herself, after Cousin Julia had seen her, it wasn't likely that she would
suggest that she go out and earn her living. And as for her future, which
the letter mentioned--why, her future was of course far ahead. Elsie had
rather taken it for granted that she should marry when the proper time
came, as girls did in books, as her grandmother and mother had done,
and as Aunt Ellen would have done had she not been so frail. Once it
had even occurred to her that it would be rather appropriate if she
should marry some one named Pritchard, though she realized that to be
only a remote possibility. In any event, she didn't know why going to
New York should necessarily make any essential difference in her
future, and she was thankful that she hadn't to consider it for some
years yet. Meantime, the boarding-house confronted her.
Very likely, however, she could endure even that. She knew it would be
comfortable, so far as that went, and she needn't mingle with the other
people. She could have a piano and continue her lessons, and she might
study vocal music. She could buy books and attend concerts and
perhaps even the theatre and opera. She could go alone in a carriage to
matinée performances, and quite likely there would be some reduced
gentlewoman living at the boarding-house who might be glad of the
chance to accompany her as chaperon in the evenings.
For Elsie took it for granted that Cousin Julia wouldn't care for the sort
of things she was accustomed to any more than she herself would be
interested to go about with her. Somehow the girl felt that Miss
Pritchard would be devoted to vaudeville and even moving
pictures--she might even refer to the latter as "movies"! Of course, that
was the worst of the whole situation--Cousin Julia herself! For, no
matter how singular or even coarse she might be, Elsie had to live with
her and to put up with a certain amount of her society.
That would be very difficult; still, even now, the girl seemed to see

wide spaces between. Except for Sundays and evenings when neither of
them went out, she wouldn't have to see a great deal of the older
woman. She might have to dine with her every night, but, as she
worked in a business office, she probably wouldn't be home to lunch,
and of course Elsie would have her breakfast in her room. Sunday
might be long and boring, but, whatever Cousin Julia's ideas might be,
Elsie would always insist upon going to service, and that would occupy
a part of the day.
An hour had passed since Mrs. Bennet had left Elsie Marley. As she
returned the letter to the satchel she became aware that the train was at
a standstill and not before a station. Indeed, there was not a building in
sight: only a dreary waste of sunburnt prairie-grass extended flatly to
the glare of the burning horizon. She looked about wonderingly,
vaguely aware that they must already have waited some time.
Her gaze included the rear of the car and emboldened a young girl who
had been watching her longingly a great part of the way from San
Francisco, to act upon her desire. Immediately she donned a coquettish
little red hat and linen top-coat, and made her way to the other girl's
seat.
"Don't you want to come out and walk a little?" she asked in a
singularly sweet, eager voice. "There's a hot-box, or some such thing,