Part 30 (1/2)

But Jemima drew back, mastering herself. ”Somebody ought to have told us, you or Professor Jim, or somebody,” she said, quaveringly, ”Perhaps you didn't know, but--Oh, Mother we made a dreadful mistake!”

”In going?” Kate clenched her hands. The look on her set face boded ill for people who had hurt her children.

”Those ball dresses!” Jemima brought it out with a despairing sob. ”How was I to know? The magazines didn't say anything about it, and n.o.body told me. But all the other girls wore hats and high necks! Some of them even had on coat suits!”

Kate stared. ”Is that all?” Suddenly she threw back her head, and laughed until she cried. She tried to stop, realizing that the thing was no less than a tragedy to ambitious Jemima. But the relief after what she had feared for them was too great.

”It seems to amuse you, Mother,” said the girl, with dignity. ”Perhaps you are above such things. Jacqueline and I are not. It was not pleasant to be thought country green-horns by all those strange, staring people.

That author, Mr. Channing, was there, too,--and never came near me, though I think he did dance once or twice with Jacqueline.--There is nothing, nothing in this world,” she said pa.s.sionately, ”as terrible as being different!”

Somewhere in Kate's reading she had come across a phrase that stuck, ”The Herd-spirit, which shuns abnormality.” She searched for the words to comfort her child, and found them.

”My dear, since the world began people of unusual ability have found themselves 'different,' and have suffered because of it. It is not a matter of dress, or manner, or any outside thing, and a.s.suredly it is not a difference to be ashamed of. People like us,” she said quietly, ”must learn to smile at the Herd-spirit.”

Jemima's eyes met hers squarely. An answering gleam came into them; and for the moment the barrier between mother and daughter was down. They recognized each other.

The following week brought a pleasant surprise, and Jemima was comforted further. It was a letter from an old school friend of Mrs. Kildare's, Mrs. Lawrence, reminding her of their early intimacy, speaking of the pleasure it had been to meet her two lovely daughters, and inviting them to visit her in Lexington at a date named, that they might share with her own daughters some of the gaieties of town life.

Kate suspected Thorpe's hand in this invitation. For twenty years Mrs.

Lawrence had lived within an hour's railroad journey of Storm, and this was the first reminder of their friends.h.i.+p. But far from resenting the belated kindness, she was deeply grateful for it; a fact which caused young Jemima's pride to wince for her mother. She herself, in such circ.u.mstances, would have returned the letter without comment.

Nevertheless, it was she who decided her mother to accept the invitation. Kate had hesitated, dreading to expose her children for the second time unprotected to the mercies of people who had ostracized her.

But Jemima said with her usual decision, ”We must go, of course, since you have no personal objection. It would be foolish to decline any opportunity that offers. That is what Professor Jim gave us the party for; to create opportunities.”

”Is it?” asked Kate. ”I thought it was to make friends.”

”The same thing,” explained Jemima. ”One has to consider the future.”

To the amaze of both, however, Jacqueline flatly declined to visit Mrs.

Lawrence on any terms whatsoever.

”I'd rather stay here,” was her calm response to all her sister's pleading.

”But, Jacky, we must get to know some girls!”

”Why must we? Silly, giggling, whispering creatures--you go and make the girl friends, Jemmy! I'd rather have beaux.”

”And how are you to find any around here, I'd like to know?”

Jacqueline smiled demurely. ”Perhaps they'll come and find me.” Jemima could cheerfully have shaken her. ”Anyway, I'd rather stay with mummy, and baby Kitty, and the colts, and all. You go and do the society act for both of us, sister,” she coaxed. ”You do it so beautifully. Think how you annexed that beautiful young man all those girls were smitten with! And you know how to be politely rude to people. I don't.”

Occasionally her young sister's powers of observation surprised Jemima.

She heaved a sigh. ”I suppose I shall have to go alone, then,” she said.

”Somebody will always do your share of the world's work, Jacky,”--but she kissed her sister even as she scolded her.

Kate was more than a little puzzled. With a return of her old shrewdness, she sought for possible reasons that might be keeping this joyous, pleasure-loving replica of her young self from the scene of further triumphs. Was it simply shyness? But Jacqueline had never been self-conscious enough to be shy. Had something occurred to rouse in her the fierce Kildare pride? Kate dismissed that fear promptly. Snubs and slights would fall harmless from such an armor of confidence in the world's friendly intentions toward her. Jacqueline would not recognize an insult if she saw it.