V. V.s Eyes | Page 9

sex one could have counted pretty definitely on the thing's being followed up. However, Mr. Canning, the difficult, had merely saluted her fascinatingly, and retired to re-maroon himself in the rural villa of his kinsmen, the Allison Paynes, where he halted for a week or two on his health-seeking progress southward.
It looked like a parting forever, but wasn't, owing to that help which comes ever to those who help themselves....
To the sensible query, Mrs. Heth, lightening, replied: "Of course, the gray crepe-de-chine."
"I think so, too. Only there's a rip at the bottom. I'm sure Flora hasn't touched it since Mr. Avery put his large foot straight through it."
Having turned from the window, Carlisle yawned and glanced at the clock. The two ladies conversed desultorily of draped effects, charmeuse, and why Mattie Allen imagined that she could wear pink. Mrs. Heth ran on through the "Post." Carlisle put up "Pickwick," by Dickens, sticking in a box of safety matches to keep the place. Then she examined herself in the mirror over the mantel, and became intensely interested in a tiny redness over her left eyebrow. She thought that rubbing in a little powder, and then rubbing it right off, would help the redness, and it did.
"I asked Mattie why she said such long prayers in the mornings. That was what made me late for breakfast. Her feelings were quite hurt. Isn't her devoutness quaint, though?"
"She uses my house," murmured Mrs. Heth, "like a hotel. One would think it might occur to her that if she must mummer like a deacon she ought to get up--"
She broke off, her wandering eye having just then fallen upon the Arraignment.
"She didn't like our packing her off right after breakfast a bit either.... I'm devoted to her," said Carlisle, gently rubbing off the powder, "but there's no denying there's a great deal of the cat in Mats."
"Hmph!... Why, this is outrageous! I never read such a thing!"
"What is it?" said the daughter, not turning, clearly not interested.
"Here's a man saying he visited the Works with the Labor Commissioner, and that conditions there are _homicidal!_ I never! Mmm-m-m. Here! 'I speak particularly of the Heth Cheroot Works, but all four stand almost equally as burning blots upon the conscience of this community'--"
Carlisle's attention was not diverted from her eyebrow. "The Works! He's crazy.... Who is the man?"
"A piece in the paper here--let me see. Yes, here's his name. Vivian. _V. Vivian_! There's no such man!..."
"Oh," said the girl, absently, "it's only some notoriety-seeking nobody.... Like the man who threw the brick at papa that election night."
"But nobodies haven't any right to publish such untruths!" said Mrs. Heth, more grammatical than she sounded. "They ought to be punished, imprisoned for it. 'Public opinion is the grandfather of statute-book law.' Where's the sense in that?..."
"It's probably one of those Socialistic things.... They said the man who threw the brick at papa was a Socialist."
"'Shameless egoists of industry--grow rich by homicide!' I'm greatly surprised at Mr. West for printing such fanatical stuff. I trust your father did not see this. He gave forty dollars to the tuberculosis fund, and this is his reward."
She fumed and interjected awhile further, but her daughter's thought had dreamed far away. From her childhood days she had carried a mind's-eye picture of the dominant fourth member of the family, the great Works, lord and giver of her higher life, which completely refuted these occasional assaults from socialists and failures. Their malicious bricks flew high over her girlish head. Presently Mrs. Heth rose, looking about for her novel, which was a glittering new one, frankly for entertainment only, and not half-cultural like "Pickwick." The two ladies moved together for the bedrooms.
"You had better get a little nap, too," said Mrs. Heth, "to be fresh for the evening."
"It's so early now. Perhaps I may stroll down for a few minutes first."
"Well--it's so quiet I feel as if we had the place to ourselves. But come up in plenty of time for a nap before dinner.... You're here to get two days of good rest."
"I'll shut the door between," said Carlisle.
Before long, from the mother's side of the door so shut, certain sounds arose indicating that after the morning's fitful fever she slept well. Carlisle, on her own side, quickly donned a white boating-dress, a blue fillet for her hair, and white doeskin shoes with rubber soles. That done, she went out through the sitting-room, shot down in the lift, traversed the forsaken lobby, and emerged upon the long empty boating pavilion which ran from the hotel's side-entrance well out over the water.
"The bell-boy gave you my message, Mr. Wedge?" said she, to the weather-tanned renter of boats. "How do you do? I'm late. How's the little Lady Jane?"
"How you, Miss Heth? Glad to see you back