Part 9 (1/2)
She pointed to the road immediately below, along which an object that looked like a large black beetle was rattling and panting and honking its leisurely way toward Storm.
”The voice of the Ark will arouse her--just wait,” advised Jacqueline.
”It would arouse anything. Professor Jimsy must have bought the original trial machine made by the inventor, Blossom. How did he come to see mother before there were automobiles?”
”I don't remember--but you may be sure he came. Regularly every Friday night, and again Sunday, if encouraged. There! Mother must be stirring.
Look at the dogs.”
Mrs. Kildare appeared from the other side of the great tree, moving rather dazedly, as people move who have just awakened from sleep. The dogs leaped and gamboled around her, and she put them down with vague, kind gestures.
”There, Beauty! Never mind! No muddy feet, please, Jock! So, boys, so--”
”Mother, do hurry,” called Jemima, with some impatience.
Mrs. Kildare hurried. It had long been her habit to obey her eldest child, who made her feel at times quite immature and thoughtless.
”What's up, girlies?” she asked.
”Company,” they said together.
”Oh, yes. Jim Thorpe's night for supper. But why so much excitement about it?”
”Only that the automobile is now at the foot of the hill, and your hair is coming down, and he's going to catch you in an old, faded gingham.
What _am_ I going to do with such a mother?” sighed Jemima. ”I don't believe you ever notice what you put on!”
”I don't,” admitted her parent, humbly.
”And you think it's highmindedness, whereas it's just pure vanity. You know that no matter what you wear, you're more beautiful than everybody else!” The girl's voice was sternly accusing.
Kate laughed and kissed them both. ”You spoil me, dears,” she said; but Jemima's shrewdness made her wince, as it often did.
It was quite true that clothes existed for Kate Kildare only as more or less comfortable covering for her body; but of that body itself, the fine, satin skin, the hands, the l.u.s.trous hair, she took a care that she would have scorned to use in the days of her bellehood. She was aware of her comeliness, and she treasured it; not, however, for herself. She was a woman of one idea. Never for a moment, despite many failures, had she relinquished the hope of securing Jacques Benoix' release.
She asked meekly, ”What dress am I to wear this evening, please, Blossom? Dear me! It seems to me you two have made yourselves rather gorgeous for a mere G.o.dfather. He'll be quite dazzled.”
Both girls looked down consciously at their pretty frocks. They exchanged glances.
”It isn't exactly for Professor Jimsy,” murmured Jacqueline. ”He never looks at any one but you, anyway. It's--_you_ tell her, Jemmy!”
”No, you!”
In the end, they told her together. ”It's a party!”
Kate looked at them in surprise. Suddenly their eagerness, their excitement, struck her as being pathetic. What had they known of parties, of the gay, pleasure-seeking life usual to girls of their cla.s.s?
The county of which Storm was the chief estate occupied toward its more aristocratic neighbor, the Bluegra.s.s, the relative position of an unpretentious side-street toward the fas.h.i.+onable residence district of a city. It had a social life of its own--what portion of the hospitable, gregarious, pleasure-loving State has not? There were many simple gaieties, dances, picnics, and the like, which took no account of distance or other obstacles to the natural coming together of young men and girls, and of older folk who have exchanged gallantry for gossip. In this life, the mistress of Storm held a certain place. No farmers'
dinner, no fair, or barbecue, was complete without the presence of the county's one great landowner.
But her daughters were creatures apart, young princesses among admiring va.s.sals. The country people looked with awe upon their tutors and dancing-masters and singing-teachers, their books, their clothes from the city. It had never occurred to them to include the little heiresses of Storm in their humble amus.e.m.e.nts; they belonged so palpably to a different world. The fact that this world was closed to them, because of the unforgotten scandal connected with their mother, left Jemima and Jacqueline singularly friendless; princesses, perhaps, but lonely princesses in their castle.