Part 7 (1/2)
CHAPTER IV.
Mrs. McVeigh found herself thinking of the young Marquise very often.
She was not pleased at the story with which she had been entertained there; yet was she conscious of the fact that she would have been very much more displeased had the story been told by any other than the fascinating girl-widow.
”Do you observe,” she remarked to the Countess Helene, ”that young though she is she seems to have a.s.sociated only with elderly people, or with books where various questions were discussed? It is a pity. She has been robbed of childhood and girlhood by the friends who are so proud of her, and who would make of her only a lovely thinking-machine.”
”You do not then approve of the strong-minded woman, the female philosopher.”
”Oh, yes;” replied Mrs. McVeigh, dubiously; ”but this delightful creature does not belong to that order yet. She is bubbling over with enthusiasm for the ma.s.ses because she has not yet been touched by enthusiasm for an individual. I wish she would fall in love with some fine fellow who would marry her and make her life so happy she would forget all the bad laws of nations and the bad morals of the world.”
”Hum! I fancy suitors have not been lacking. Her income is no trifle.”
”In our country a girl like that would need no income to insure her desirable suitors. She is the most fascinating creature, and so unconscious of her charms.”
Her son, who had been at a writing desk in the corner, laid down his pen and turned around.
”My imperfect following of your rapid French makes me understand at least that this is a serious case,” he said, teasingly. ”Are you sure, mother, that she has not treated you to enchantment? I heard the same lady described a few days ago, and the picture drawn was that of an atheistical revolutionist, an unlovely and unlovable type.”
”Ah!” said the Countess Helene. ”You also are opposed to beautiful machines that think.”
”I have never been accustomed to those whose thoughts follow such unpleasant lines, Madame,” he replied. ”I have been taught to revere the woman whose foundation of life is the religion scorned by the lady you are discussing. A woman without that religion would be like a scentless blossom to me.”
The Countess smiled and raised her brows slightly. This severe young officer, her friend's son, took himself and his tastes very seriously.
Looking at him she fancied she could detect both the hawk and the dove meeting in those clear, level eyes of his. Though youthful, she could see in him the steadiness of the only son--the head of the house--the protector and the adored of his mother and sister, who were good little women, flattering their men folks by their dependence. And from that picture the lady who was studying him pa.s.sed on to the picture of the possible bride to whom he would some day fling his favors. She, also, must be adoring and domestic and devout. Her articles of faith must be as orthodox as his affection. He would love her, of course, but must do the thinking for the family.
Because the Lieutenant lacked the buoyant, adaptable French temperament of his mother, the Countess was inclined to be rather severe in her judgment of him. He was so young; so serious. She did not fancy young men except in the pages of romances; even when they had brains they appeared to her always over-weighted with the responsibility of them.
It is only after a man has left his boyhood in the distance that he can amuse a woman with airy nothings and make her feel that his words are only the froth on the edge of a current that is deep--deep!
Mrs. McVeigh, unconscious of the silent criticism being pa.s.sed on her son, again poised a lance in defence of the stranger under discussion.
”It is absurd to call her atheistical,” she insisted; ”would I be influenced by such a person? She is an enthusiast, student of many religions, possibly; but people should know her before they judge, and you, Kenneth, should see her before you credit their gossip. She is a beautiful, sympathetic child, oppressed too early with the seriousness of life.”
”At any rate, I see I shall never take you home heart whole,” he decided, and laughed as he gathered up letters he had been addressing and left the room.
”One could fancy your son making a tour of the world and coming back without a sentimental scratch,” said the Countess, after he had gone.
”I have noticed him with women; perfectly gallant, interested and willing to please, but not a flutter of an eyelid out of form; not a tone of the voice that would flatter one. I am not sure but that the women are all the more anxious to claim such a man, the victory seems greater, yet it is more natural to find them reciprocal. Perhaps there is a betrothed somewhere to whom he has sworn allegiance in its most rigid form; is that the reason?”
Mrs. McVeigh smiled. She rather liked to think her son not so susceptible as Frenchmen pretended to be.
”I do not think there are any vows of allegiance,” she confessed; ”but there is someone at home to whom we have a.s.signed him since they were children.”
”Truly? But I fancied the parents did not arrange the affairs matrimonial in your country.”
”We do not; that is, not in a definite official way. Still, we are allowed our little preferences, and sometimes we can help or hinder in our own way. But this affair”--and she made a gesture towards the door of her son's room, ”this affair is in embryo yet.”
”Good settlements?”