Jewel: A Chapter in Her Life. Clara Louise Burnham

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СКАЧАТЬ child! A wild Western dressmaker's young one in Mr. Evringham's elegant house!”

      “Is the old Harry a dressmaker?” asked Zeke mildly.

      “No, his wife is. His Julia! They've named this girl for her, and I suppose they called her Jule, and then twisted it around to Jewel. Jewel!”

      “When is she coming?” asked Zeke, seeing that he was expected to say something.

      “Coming? She isn't coming,” cried his mother irefully. “Not while Mr. Evringham has his wits. They haven't a particle of right to ask him. Harry has worried him to distraction already. The child would be sure to torment him.”

      “He'd devour her the second day, then,” returned Zeke calmly. “It would be soon over.”

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

       Table of Contents

      Dr. Ballard had gone, and his hostesses were awaiting the summons to dinner. Mrs. Evringham regarded her daughter critically as the girl sat at the piano, idly running her fingers over the keys.

      The listlessness expressed in the fresh face and rounded figure brought a look of disapproval into the mother's eyes.

      “You must practice that nocturne,” she said. “You played it badly just now, and there is no excuse for it, Eloise.”

      “If you will let me give lessons I will,” responded the girl promptly, without turning her graceful, drooping head.

      The unexpected reply was startling.

      “What are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Evringham.

      “Oh, I'm so tired of it all,” replied the girl wearily.

      A frown contracted her mother's forehead. “Tired of what? Turn around here!” She rose and put her hands on the pretty shoulders and turned her child until the clear gray eyes met hers. “Now then, tired of what?”

      Eloise smiled slightly, and sighed. “Of playing nocturnes to Dr. Ballard.”

      “And he is quite as tired of hearing you, I dare say,” was the retort. “It seems to me you always stumble when you play to the doctor, and he adores Chopin.”

      Eloise continued to meet her mother's annoyed gaze, her hands fallen in her lap, all the lines of her nut-brown hair, her exquisite face, and pliable, graceful figure so many silent arguments, as they always were, against any one's harboring annoyance toward her.

      “You say he does, mother, and you have assured him of it so often that the poor man doesn't dare to say otherwise; but really, if you'd let him have the latest Weber and Field hit, I think he would be so grateful.”

      “Learn it then!” returned Mrs. Evringham.

      Eloise laughed lazily. “Intrepid little mother!” Then she added, in a different tone, “Don't you think there is any danger of our being too obliging? I'm not the only girl in town whose mother wishes her to oblige Dr. Ballard. May we not overreach ourselves?”

      “Eloise!” Mrs. Evringham's half-affectionate, half-remonstrating grasp fell from her child's shoulders. “That remark is in very bad taste.”

      The girl shook her head slowly. “I never can understand why it is any satisfaction to you to pretend. You find comfort in pretending that Mr. Evringham likes to have us here, likes us to use his carriages, to receive his friends, and all the rest of it. We've been here seven weeks and three days, and that little game of pretending is satisfying you still. You are like the ostrich with its head in the sand.”

      Mrs. Evringham drew her lithe figure up. “Well, Eloise, I hope there are limits to this. To call your own mother an—an ostrich!”

      “Don't speak so loud,” returned the girl, rising and patting her mother's hand. “Grandfather has returned from his ride. I just heard him come in. It is too near dinner time for a scene. There is no need of our pretending to each other, is there? You have always put me off and put me off, but surely you mean to bring this to an end pretty soon?”

      “You could bring it to an end at once if you would!” returned Mrs. Evringham, her voice lowered. “Dr. Ballard has nothing to wait for. I know all about his circumstances. There never was such a providence as father's having a friend like him ready to our hand—so suitable, so attractive, so rich!”

      “Yes,” responded the girl low and equably, “it is just five weeks and two days that you have been throwing me at that man's head.”

      “I have done nothing of the kind, Eloise Evringham.”

      “Yes you have,” returned the girl without excitement, “and grandfather sneering at us all the time under his mustache. He knows that there are other girls and other mothers interested in Dr. Ballard more desirable than we are. Oh! how easy it is to be more desirable than we are!”

      “There isn't one girl in five hundred so pretty as you,” returned Mrs. Evringham stoutly.

      “I wish my prettiness could persuade you into my way of thinking.”

      “What do you mean?” The glance of the older woman was keen and suspicious.

      “We would take a cheap little apartment to-morrow,” said the girl wistfully.

      Mrs. Evringham gave an ejaculation of impatience. “And do all our own work and live like pigs!” she returned petulantly.

      Eloise shrugged her shoulders. “I may flatter myself, but I fancy I should keep it rather clean.”

      “You wouldn't mind your hands then.” Mrs. Evringham regarded the hands worthy to be imitated by a sculptor's art, and the girl raised them and inspected the rose-tints of their tips. “I've read something about rubber gloves,” she returned vaguely.

      “You'd better read something else then. How do you suppose you would get on without a carriage?” asked her mother with exasperation. “You have never had so much as a taste of privation in any form. Your suggestion is the acme of foolishness.”

      “I think I could do something if you would let me,” rejoined the girl as calmly as before. “I think I could teach music pretty well, and keep house charmingly. If I had any false pride when we came out here, the past six weeks have purified me of it. Will you let me try, mother? I'm asking it very seriously.”

      “Certainly not!” hotly. “There are armies of music teachers now, and you would not have a chance.”

      “I think I could dress hair well,” remarked Eloise, glancing at the reflection in a mirror of her own graceful coiffure.

      “I dare say!” responded Mrs. Evringham with sarcastic heat, “or I'm sure you could СКАЧАТЬ