The Three Black Pennys | Page 9

Winscombes," Howat interrupted, "what about them? The
Forsythes are a common occurrence."
"David's been gone more than three years," she replied. "And you
should hear him talk; he's got a coat with wired tails in his box he's
dying to wear, but is afraid of his father. Oh, the Winscombes! Well,
he's rather sweet, sixty or sixty-five years old; very straight up the back,
and wears the loveliest wigs. His servant fixes them on a stand--he
turns the curls about little rolls of clay, ties them with paper, and then
bakes it in the oven like a pudding. The servant is an Italian with a long
duck's bill of a nose and quick little black eyes. He makes our negro
women giggle like anything. It's evident he is fearfully impertinent.
And, what do you think?--he hooks Mrs. Winscombe into her stays!
Mother says that that isn't anything, really; Mrs. Winscombe is a lady
of the court, and the most extraordinary happenings go on there. You
see, mother knows a lot about her family, and it's very good; she's part
Polish and part English, and her name's Ludowika. She's ages younger
than her husband.
"Myrtle doesn't like her,--" she stopped midway in her torrent of
information. "I came in to talk to you about Myrtle," she went on in a
different voice; "that is, partly about Myrtle, but more of myself and
of--"

"How long are the others going to stay?" he cut in heedlessly.
"I don't know," she again repressed her own desire; "perhaps they will
have to go back to Annapolis--don't ask me why--but they hope to sail
from Philadelphia in a week or so. She has marvellous clothes, and I
asked her if she would send me some babies from London. You know
what they are, Howat--little wooden dolls to show off the fashion; but
she made a harrowing joke, right in front of father and Mrs. Forsythe.
The things she says are just beyond description; it seems that it's all
right to talk anyway now if you call it classic. And she has fans with
pictures and rhymes on, honestly--" words apparently failed her.
Howat laughed. "Little Innocence," he said. He fell silent, thinking of
their mother. The court, he knew, had been her right, too, by birth; and
he wondered if, with the reminder of Mrs. Winscombe and her
reflections of St. James, she regretted her marriage and removal to the
Province. She was essentially lady, while Gilbert Penny had been the
son of a small country squire. He had seen a profile of his father as a
young man, at the time he had first met Isabel Kingsfrere Howat. It was
a handsome profile, perhaps a shade heavy, but admirably balanced and
stamped with decisive power. He had characteristically invested almost
his last shilling in a tract of eight hundred acres in Pennsylvania and the
passage of himself and his bride to the Province.
It was natural for men so to adventure, but Howat thought of Isabel
Penny with, perhaps, the only marked admiration he felt for any being.
There had been a period, short but strenuous, of material difficulties, in
which the girl--she had been hardly a woman in years--entirely
unprepared for such a different activity, had been finely competent and
courageous. This had not endured long because Gilbert Penny had been
successful almost from the first day of his landing in a new world.
Chance letters had enlisted the confidence of David Forsythe, a Quaker
merchant of property and increasing importance; the latter became a
part owner of an iron furnace situated not far from the Penny holding;
he assisted Gilbert in the erection of a forge; and in less than twenty
years Gilbert Penny had grown to be a half proprietor in the Furnace,
with--
"Howat," Caroline broke in on his thoughts sharply, "I came in, as I
said, to talk about something very important to me, and I intend to do
it." Even after that decided announcement she hesitated, a deeper

colour stained her dear cheeks. "You mustn't laugh at me," she warned
him; "or think I'm horrid. I can talk to you like this because you seem
a--a little outside of things, as if you were looking on at a rather poorly
done play; and you are entirely honest yourself."
He nodded condescendingly, his interest at last retrieved from the
contemplation of his mother as a young woman.
"It's about David," Caroline stated almost defiantly. "Howat, I think I'm
very fond of David. No, you mustn't interrupt me. When he went away
I liked him a lot; but now that he is back, and quite grown up, it's more
than liking ... Howat. His father brought him out here right away he
returned, and for a special reason. He was very direct