Part 21 (1/2)

She is saying, ”You had best leave this awful place to-morrow morning, and come with us to California. I have ordered your maid to pack your trunks. My maid is doing the same.” Then she turns to her son, remarking, ”You think it will be best, also, Oliver?”

But Erma prevents his reply. She cries, taking a step towards him, ”My father!” and seeing no one behind him, gasps, ”What have you done to him, or what has he done to you?” for Mr. Livingston's pale face and disfigured trousers suggest ideas of combat that would make her laugh at other and happier times.

To this he replies curtly, ”Nothing; I could not find him.”

”Why not?”

”Their blasphemous meeting-house was closed.” Then he says in a nasty, sneering tone, for the young lady's manner has added to his anger, ”Your father and his Mormon brats had gone away.”

”His Mormon brats?” This comes from both Mrs. Livingston and Erma, though one gives it with a shriek and the other with a shudder.

”Yes, your five little brothers and sisters,” he sneers at Erma. ”Didn't you see them? They got the Sunday-school prizes, I think. They look like your father, and one of the girls has your eyes,” and would go on with some more such scoffing pleasantries, did not his mother spring to him and whisper, ”Idiot!” for the girl has sunk down sobbing upon a chair and is wringing her hands at this last cruel revelation.

Not liking his mother's word, Oliver grows more angry, and says sternly, ”Remember, I am the head of the family, and shall take this matter into my own hands.” To this, Mrs. Livingston, who since his father's death has grown to look upon him as the director of the family, saying nothing, he continues: ”Erma, I have been thinking this matter over as I returned. Your father's crimes have placed him outside the laws of this land. Under these circ.u.mstances, I feel it inc.u.mbent on me to take charge of your life.” This peculiar a.s.sumption of power he makes very placidly, turning to the young lady, who answers him not, his last revelation still overcoming her.

Noting this, Mr. Complaisant thinks: ”My manner has subdued her. Crushed by this blow, Miss Haughty, who has defied and jeered me for the last few days, is now submissive to my authority,” and the pangs of jealousy and rage that had been administered by Harry Lawrence come into his small mind to make him take a smaller revenge.

He says, ”I think it is best, mother, that we postpone our visit to California, and immediately return to the East, until I can make proper arrangements for Erma. It will take her a long time to live this scandal down.”

”Ah, you are very kind to the friendless daughter of a Mormon,”

interjects the girl, sarcastically; but he being full of himself, does not heed her, and continues: ”A proper retirement from society is due to it.”

”Retirement!” she exclaims, ”to expiate my father's crimes!” then says sadly: ”You seem to think that I am sullied by his sin;” next sneers, ”Perhaps you imagine a reform school or a convent would be the proper place for me, Mr. Livingston.”

”Not exactly that.”

”No, but something like it,” cries Erma, and rising, she towers above him, and goes on in mighty scorn: ”And you dare arrogate authority over me? You are neither my guardian nor my trustee;” next jeers at him, for her torture makes her cruel: ”If every girl in New York society expiated their father's social crimes, how many would escape? Little Louise, for instance--eh?”

This awful shot brings tears to Mrs. Livingston's eyes, for her dead spouse had been of such a peculiar social nature that he had been known by his intimates as ”Mormon Livingston.”

”Hus.h.!.+ Your father's sins are open ones,” says Oliver.

But she turns on him, crying: ”It is not your place to criticise him. If atonement is in order, atone for yourself, Mr. Immaculate!” and this is another facer for Oliver, who has had his weak moments in which he has listened to sirens' voices, as many men in New York society have.

Then, a second after, the girl says, slowly: ”You go on with your trip, Mrs. Livingston, as if nothing had happened.”

”But you?” asks the widow, who, knowing that Miss Travenion's remarks have been made in frenzy, forgives her and pities her.

”I go to my father.”

”To do what?”

”To DRAG HIM FROM HIS INIQUITY! Good-night, and--_good-bye_,” and saying this, the young lady sweeps from the room, brus.h.i.+ng past Louise, who is standing outside the door in childish astonishment and dismay.

But Mrs. Livingston is whispering to Ollie. ”Idiot! You have driven her and her million away from us. Think of Louise and me.”

To this he answers surlily, ”I don't believe it wise to wed a girl society will look down upon.”

”Fool!” cries his mother. ”How long do you think it will take in New York society for a girl with sixty thousand dollars a year to live anything down?” and leaving him to digest this truthful plat.i.tude, she pursues Miss Travenion, overtaking her at the entrance of that young lady's room.