Part 19 (1/2)

”But you were always--always--_queer_, you know, Elly,” she explained deprecatingly.

”Was I?” he questioned lightly. ”Mamma understood me, all the same.

So perhaps she's 'queer,' too.”

”Nonsense,” Wilhelmina said briefly. ”Mamma is like anybody else, only a great deal cleverer.”

”Maybe, maybe,” he repeated thoughtfully. ”But she always gives me the impression of having something up her sleeve. She said a strange thing to me after my little girls--the twins, you know--were born. She was holding them out in the orange grove, and saying such sweet things to Maddelina, and then she turned to me suddenly and said,

”'Have I been a good mother to you, Elliot?'

”'Why, madre, you've been perfect,' I said.

”'Is there anything more you think I could ever do for you?' she asked.

”'Honestly, dear, I don't think there is,' I said.

”'That's all I wanted to know,' she said, and sailed the next day....

What's the matter? How strange you look!”

”It's only that she said just that to me, last week,” Wilhelmina told him, ”and left the next day for New York. But I supposed it was to get back to father. She depends so on him.”

”Do you really think so?” he asked curiously.

But every one agreed with Wilhelmina--perhaps because Wilhelmina very seldom said anything that any one was likely to disagree with--and so every one was much surprised at the comparatively short time that Mrs.

Lestrange spent in retirement after her husband's sudden death. He had not the Appleyard habit of living to be seventy-two, it appeared, and succ.u.mbed to pneumonia, following fatigue and exposure.

His wife's hair turned quickly to an iron-grey, soon after, but she moved steadily on among the many educational and philanthropic schemes with which she had begun to fill her time after her daughter's marriage. Organized charity was developing rapidly, just then, and Mrs. Lestrange's clear common sense, executive ability and knowledge of European inst.i.tutions of the sort made her, with her wealth and leisure, a leader on New York boards and councils.

It was noted that the year after her widowhood found her less frequently in the public meetings, less willing to organise new centres of work, more determined to avoid presidencies and chairmans.h.i.+ps. For this she gave as an excuse the frequent trips abroad, which seemed to have no special purpose and displeased Wilhelmina, who frequently offered her a home in Boston.

”I cannot understand why she refuses,” said Wilhelmina, on the occasion of Elliot's last flying trip to America. ”The children would love their granny to be with us, and she could have her own sitting-room.

Can't you persuade her, Elly?”

”I'm afraid not,” he answered absently. ”You know she's winding up all those boards and trade-schools and hospitals and things?”

”And a good thing, too,” said his sister. ”Mamma's done enough for the community. She ought to settle down. And you see she's going to.”

”So that's the way it looks to you, Mina?” he asked, looking searchingly into her pale blue eyes, and shrugging his shoulders slightly.

”Gracious, Elliot, if you know so much more about mamma than I do, why don't you ask her to live with you and Maddelina?” she suggested sharply.

”It wouldn't do any good--she'd never think of it,” he answered simply.

”Well, of course, she and Maddelina...”

”Exactly,” he agreed with his teasing foreign smile.

”And I'll tell you another thing,” she went on; ”all these sudden trips about the country and to Europe--what is the sense? Mamma will be fifty in a few days, and anything might happen----”