Frances Waldeaux | Page 7

purser to lock up; shall I take yours?"
Mrs. Waldeaux did not reply at once. "No," she said at last. "I like to
carry my own purse."
He smiled indulgently as on a child. "Of course, dear. It IS your own.
My father was wise in that. But, on this journey, I can act as your
paymaster, can't I? I have studied foreign money----"
"We shall see. I can keep it as safe as any purser now," she said,
obstinately shaking her head.
He laughed and walked away.
"You have not told him, then?" demanded Clara.
"No. And I never will. I will not hurt the boy by letting him know that
his mother has supported him, and remember, Clara, that he can only
hear it through you. Nobody knows that I am `Quigg' but you."

Miss Vance lifted her eyebrows. "Nothing can need a lie," she quoted
calmly. Presently she said earnestly, "Frances, you are making a
mistake. Somebody ought to tell you the truth. There is no reason why
your whole being should be buried in that man. He should stand on his
own feet, now. You can be all that he needs as a mother, and yet live
out your own life. It is broader than his will ever be. At your age, and
with your capabilities, you should marry again. Think of the many long
years that are before you."
"I have thought of them," said Mrs. Waldeaux slowly. "I have had
lovers who came close to me as friends, but I never for a moment was
tempted to marry one of them. No, Clara. When the devil drove my
father to hand me over--innocent child as I was--to a man like Robert
Waldeaux, he killed in me the capacity for that kind of love. It is not in
me." She turned her strenuous face to the sea and was silent. "It is not
in me," she repeated after a while. "I have but one feeling, and that is
for my boy. It is growing on me absurdly, too." She laughed nervously.
"I used to be conscious of other people in the world, but now, if I see a
boy or man, I see only what George was or will be at his age; if I read a
book, it only suggests what George will say of it. I am like one of those
plants that have lost their own sap and color, and suck in their life from
another. It scares me sometimes."
Miss Vance smiled with polite contempt. No doubt Frances had a
shrewd business faculty, but in other matters she was not ten years old.
"And George will marry some time," she said curtly.
"Oh, I hope so! And soon. Then I shall have a daughter. I know just the
kind of a wife George will choose," she chattered on eagerly. "I
understand him so thoroughly that I can understand her. But where
could he find her? He is so absurdly fastidious!"
Miss Vance was silent and thoughtful a moment. Then she came closer.
"I will tell you where to find her," she said, in a low voice. "I have
thought of it for a long time. It seems to me that Providence actually
made Lucy Dunbar for George."

"Really?" Mrs. Waldeaux drew her self up stiffly.
"Wait, Frances. Lucy has been with me for three years. I know her. She
is a sincere, modest, happy little thing. Not too clever. She is an heiress,
too. And her family is good; and all underground, which is another
advantage. You can mould her as you choose. She loves you already."
"Or is it that she----?"
"You have no right to ask that!" said Miss Vance quickly.
"No, I am ashamed of myself." Mrs. Waldeaux reddened.
A group of girls came up the deck. Both women scanned the foremost
one critically. "I like that wholesome, candid look of her," said Miss
Vance.
"Oh, she is well enough," said Frances. "But I am sure George does not
like yellow hair. Nothing but an absolutely beautiful woman will attract
him."
"An artist," said Miss Vance hastily, "would tell you her features were
perfect. And her flesh tints----"
"For Heaven's sake, Clara, don't dissect the child. Who is that girl with
the red cravat? Your maid?"
"It is not a cravat, it's an Indian scarf. If it only were clean----" Miss
Vance looked uneasy and perplexed. "She is not my maid. She is
Fraulein Arpent. The Ewalts brought her as governess from Paris, don't
you remember? They sent the girls to Bryn Mawr last week and turned
her adrift, almost penniless. She wished to go back to France. I engaged
her as assistant chaperone for the season."
Mrs. Waldeaux's eyebrows went up significantly. She never
commented in words on the