Madcap | Page 9

Westfield resignedly.
Hermia Challoner caught her by the arm. "Oh, I don't know--only he
isn't the kind of man who'd send me roses. I think he's something
between a pilgrim and a vagabond, a knight-errant from somewhere

between Heaven and the true Bohemia, a despiser of shams and
vanities, a man so much bigger than I am that he can make me what he
is--in spite of himself."
"Hermia! A Bohemian! Such a person will hardly be found--"
"O Auntie, you don't understand. I'm not likely to find him. I'm not
even looking for him, you know, and just now I don't want to marry
anybody."
"I only hope when you do, Hermia, that you will commit no
imprudence," said Mrs. Westfield severely.
Hermia turned quickly.
"Auntie, Captain Lundt of the Kaiser Wilhelm used to tell me that there
were two ways of going into a fog," she said. "One was to go slow and
use the siren. The other was to crowd on steam and go like h--."
"Hermia!"
"I'm sorry, Auntie, but that describes the situation exactly. I'm too
wealthy to risk marrying prudently. I'd have to find a man who was a
prudent as I was, which means that he'd be marrying me for my
money--"
"That doesn't follow. You're pretty, attractive--"
"Oh, thanks. I know what I am. I'm an animated dollar mark, a financial
abnormity, with just about as much chance of being loved for myself
alone as a fox in November. When men used to propose to me I halted
them, pressed their hands, bade them be happy and wept a tear or two
for the thing that could not be. Now I fix them with a cold appraising
eye and let them stammer through to the end. I've learned something.
The possession of money may have its disadvantages, but it sharpens
one's wits amazingly."
"I'm afraid it sharpens them too much, my dear," said Mrs. Westfield

coldly. She looked around the room helplessly as if seeking in some
mute object tangible evidence of her niece's sanity.
"Oh, well," she finished. "I shall hope and pray for a miracle to bring
you to your senses." And then, "What have you planned for the
spring?"
"I'm going to 'Wake-Robin; first. By next week my aerodrome will be
finished. My machine is promised by the end of May. They're sending a
perfectly reliable mechanician--"
"Reliable--in the air! Imagine it!"
"--and I'll be flying in a month."
The good lady rose and Hermia watched her with an expression in
which relief and guilt were strangely mingled. Her conscience always
smote her after one of her declarations of independence to her Aunt,
whose mildness and ineptitude in the unequal struggle always left the
girl with an unpleasant sense of having taken a mean advantage of a
helpless adversary. To Hermia Mrs. Westfield's greatest effectiveness
was when she was most ineffectual.
"There's nothing more for me to say, I suppose," said Mrs. Westfield.
"Nothing except that you approve," pleaded her niece wistfully.
"I'll never do that," icily. "I don't approve of you at all. Why should I
mince matters? You're gradually alienating me, Hermia--cutting
yourself off from the few blood relations you have on earth."
"From Millicent and Theodore? I thought that Milly fairly doted on
me--"
Mrs. Westfield stammered helplessly.
"It's I--I who object. I don't like your friends. I don't think I would be
doing my duty to their sainted father if--"

"Oh, I see," said Hermia thoughtfully. "You think I may
pervert--contaminate them--"
"Not you--your friends--"
"I was hoping that you would all come to 'Wake-Robin' for June."
"I--I've made other plans," said Mrs. Westfield.
Hermia's jaw set and her face hardened. They were thoroughly
antipathetic now.
"That, of course, will be as you please," she said coldly. "Since
Thimble Cottage burned, I've tried to make you understand that you are
to use my place as your own. If you don't want to come I'm sorry."
"It's not that I don't want to come, Hermia. I shall probably visit you as
usual. Thimble Cottage will be rebuilt as soon as the plans are finished.
Meanwhile, I've rented the island."
"And Milly and Theodore?"
"They're going abroad with their Aunt Julia."
"I think you are making a mistake in keeping us apart, Aunt Harriet."
"Why? You are finding new diversions and new friends."
"I must find new friends if my relations desert me." And then after a
pause: "Who has rented Thimble Island?"
"An artist--who will occupy the bark cabin. My agents thought it as
well to have some one there until the builders begin--a Mr. Markham--"
"Markham!" Hermia gasped.
"Do you know him?"
"Oh--er--enough to be sure that he is not the kind of person I shall care

to cultivate."
And then as her Aunt wavered uncertainly. "Oh, of course