Julia The Apostate | Page 4

room rose
loudly.
"They've neither of them got their mother's looks," he observed; and
then, with apparent irrelevance: "When will they be considered safe to
go about alone?"
"I don't know exactly what you mean," she began a little coldly, but his
laugh reassured her.
"Oh, yes, you do," he contradicted, "and don't you be getting cross at
your Cousin Lorando Bean! You know I always loved to tease you; it
made your eyes snap--and it does now."
"How can you?" She looked reproachfully at him.
"And I tell you this, Cousin Jule: neither of those girls will ever get up
a color like that!"

She shook her head, but she was not displeased. He took out a fat
chocolate-colored cigar and fingered it wistfully.
"I suppose I mustn't smoke?" he queried.
Her quick answer surprised herself.
"I should hope you could, if that woman can!"
"Which one?"
"That Mrs. Ranger, the one near the samovar--that big brass thing.
Liz--Elise didn't introduce her to you. They don't introduce people the
way they do at home, Cousin Lorando--I hope you didn't mind. They
think it's awkward."
"Oh, Lord, no, I don't mind. I can spare her, anyway. She's checked up
too high for me. But she can look you through pretty thoroughly, can't
she?"
"She writes books," Miss Trueman returned, the finality of her tone
indicating that she had explained any possible idiosyncrasy of the lady
in question.
"Oh, I see. And the little red-haired one, does she write books, too?"
"No; she's an artist. She smokes too, though. Not cigars, like yours, but
cigarettes. She's supposed to be a very good painter, but she doesn't
make what Carrie--lyn makes. The girls have very good positions in
Miss Abrams' school."
"Um, what do they get, now?"
Miss Trueman mentioned the modest sum with pride.
"And then with my money and what we get from the rent of the
place--the girls and I each have a third, you know--we do very nicely."
"So you rented the place?"

"Yes, Cousin Lorando, though I hated to. But I wouldn't sell it, though
they wanted me to. I just couldn't."
"I know."
He lighted his cigar and puffed at it in meditative silence for a moment,
while the babble from the parlor floated in with the odor of the Ceylon
tea and cigarettes.
"That's what I came about, Cousin Jule--the old place. You may think
it's queer, for I never lived there but two years once, when father and
your Uncle Joe farmed it on shares; but those two years just made it
home to me. Of course Uncle Joe wasn't any real relation of mine, and
you-all weren't my real cousins, but it was the only family I ever had,
so to say, and I loved every one of you. Then we moved back into town;
but you know I came in every week or so, and Aunt Martha used to
have my room in the attic ready for me, just the same."
"Yes, I know; Aunt Martha never forgot you, Cousin Lorando."
"Well, it's fifteen years since I saw the old place, and a lot's happened
since then, I tell you. First place, I'm a rich man, Cousin Jule.
"Oh, I don't mean one of these multi-millionaires you have about here,
for I haven't even seven figures opposite my name; but short of that I
did very well for myself out West there, and I earned it all fair,
too--though I was pretty lucky, and that counts.
"Anyhow, never mind about that. Only I've got enough to have
anything I want, and to give my friends something, too. So as soon as I
got back. East I went straight down to the farm. But it was all shut up
and a kind of green hedge where the fence used to be, and I judged it
was sold, and I felt pretty sore about it, so I came right away."
"They only come there in June," Miss Trueman explained, "and they go
back before Thanksgiving."
"Yes. Well, I didn't know that."

He waited again for a few seconds, and Miss Trueman sat in respectful
silence till he should continue.
"You see, I'd been East once before, eight years ago, but I didn't see the
farm then," he said finally.
"I got married while I was West."
His audience of one started slightly.
"She's dead now," he added abruptly.
"Oh, Cousin Lorando--"
"You needn't bother about the sympathy, my dear, for there's none
needed. I hadn't been with her for a good while. I saw her in a
concert-hall out there, and she had curly hair and a kind of taking way
with her, and so I married her. I'd just made a big hit, and she wanted to
come to New York, and we came. We went