Part 56 (1/2)

”I suppose, if one has a brain at all, it's everywhere, in the fingers as well as the head; just like G.o.d in the universe,” said the other, rather absently. ”Anyway, if I've got brains, you've got hair, and I don't know but what that's more important. You'll be a lovely creature like mother when I'm a weazened little old woman, as bald as a monkey--or with false things on, like Aunt Jemima. Intellectual hair is always so thin and brittle.”

”Why, Blossom! Yours is just like curly sunlight!”

”Oh, yes, pretty while it lasts,” said the other, dispa.s.sionately. ”But not vital, like yours and mother's. You're both so splendidly vital.

That's why--Look here, Jacky, Philip's more gone on mother than ever, isn't he? He just follows her around with his eyes, like that sentimental hound puppy who is always trying to crawl into her lap--”

”And spilling off,” finished Jacqueline, with a chuckle. ”I know! If she says 'good dog' to him, he wags steadily for an hour.--I used to think you were wrong about it,” she added seriously, ”and that Phil couldn't possibly be in love with any one so old as mother; not like men are with girls, you know. But lately--I'm not so sure.”

Poor Jacqueline had learned a good deal lately about the possibilities of loving.

Jemima commented with satisfaction. ”I'm glad _you_ see it, anyway!”

”Of course he has not told me anything, but he--understands so well,”

sighed the other, without explaining what it was that he understood. ”I wish he didn't, Jemmy. I _would_ like to see dear old Phil happy! He's such a darling.--Do you suppose we could possibly persuade mother ever to marry him?”

Jemima started and dropped her hair-brush. That was a solution which had not occurred to her.

”I think it would be such a good thing, don't you, Jemmy? They're both so wonderful.”

”Nonsense!” said Jemima sharply, recovering from the shock. ”What an idea! Mother wouldn't _dream_ of such an unseemly thing, of course.”

”I'm not so sure,” said Jacqueline, with her new pathetic little wisdom.

”She's awfully sweet to Phil, always wanting him round, and petting him, and making a fuss over him.”

”Just as she does over that hound puppy! No, my dear, you may be sure that whatever she does, mother will never do anything so undignified as to marry Dr. Benoix' son. On the contrary, I happen to know that she is plotting to marry him to some one else.”

”Jemmy! Our Philip? To whom?”

The hint dropped. ”To you,” said Jemima.

But it was not greeted with the shocked surprise, the incredulous dismay, which she had counted upon. Jacqueline considered the matter in silence for some moments. At length she said, musingly, ”That might not be a bad idea. Philip really ought to get married--the Bishop told him so. It creates confidence, like with young doctors. And if you really think mother never will--Of course I could keep house for him, and hold the Mothers' Meetings and all, and make him more comfortable than that wretched Dilsey.”

Jemima gasped.--”Do you mean to say you _would_?--So soon?” She bit her tongue, but Jacqueline did not seem to notice the unfortunate reference.

”Oh, me?” she said a little wearily. ”What does it matter about me? I mean--I suppose a girl has to marry some time, and I'm used to Philip.

I'm awfully fond of him, really. He'd make a wonderful father, wouldn't he?”

”Jacqueline Kildare!” cried the bride, blus.h.i.+ng.

The girl met her startled eyes in the gla.s.s. For the moment she seemed the older of the two. ”Why, didn't you think of that when you married G.o.ddy? No, you wouldn't have, I suppose. But it seems to me the most important thing of all, you know. It is something that will last, when--other things--don't. It seems to me people could stand a great deal of unhappiness,” she said haltingly, ”if they had babies. They wouldn't always be asking themselves, Why? Why? The answer would be there, right in their arms.--So if mother really wants me to marry Philip, and he doesn't mind ... I don't believe I shall mind, either.”

Jemima made her last stand. ”Suppose Philip does mind?”

”Then he won't ask me, of course, goosie!--Do show me how you made that perfectly beautiful puff.”

Jemima returned to her lord and master somewhat subdued and crestfallen.

She realized that for once she had overreached herself.