Part 10 (2/2)

”Huh!” said that lady, with such marked emphasis that Mrs. Lane hastily changed the phrase to ”I mean to _be with_--you do like to have Vivian with you, you can't deny that, Mother.”

”But Mama,” said the girl, ”you are not old; you are only forty-three.

I am sorry to leave you--I am really; but it isn't forever! I can come back. And you don't really need me. Sarah runs the house exactly as you like; you don't depend on me for a thing, and never did. As to Grandma!”--and she looked affectionately at the old lady--”she don't need me nor anybody else. She's independent if ever anybody was. She won't miss me a mite--will you Grandma?” Mrs. Pettigrew looked at her for a moment, the corners of her mouth tucked in tightly. ”No,” she said, ”I shan't miss you a mite!”

Vivian was a little grieved at the prompt acquiescence. She felt nearer to her grandmother in many ways than to either parent. ”Well, I'll miss you!” said she, going to her and kissing her smooth pale cheek, ”I'll miss you awfully!”

Mr. Lane expressed his disapproval most thoroughly, and more than once; then retired into gloomy silence, alternated with violent dissuasion; but since a woman of twenty-five is certainly free to choose her way of life, and there was no real objection to this change, except that it _was_ a change, and therefore dreaded, his opposition, though unpleasant, was not prohibitive. Vivian's independent fortune of $87.50, the savings of many years, made the step possible, even without his a.s.sistance.

There were two weeks of exceeding disagreeableness in the household, but Vivian kept her temper and her determination under a rain of tears, a hail of criticism, and heavy wind of argument and exhortation. All her friends and neighbors, and many who were neither, joined in the effort to dissuade her; but she stood firm as the martyrs of old.

Heredity plays strange tricks with us. Somewhere under the girl's dumb gentleness and patience lay a store of quiet strength from some Pilgrim Father or Mother. Never before had she set her will against her parents; conscience had always told her to submit. Now conscience told her to rebel, and she did. She made her personal arrangements, said goodbye to her friends, declined to discuss with anyone, was sweet and quiet and kind at home, and finally appeared at the appointed hour on the platform of the little station.

Numbers of curious neighbors were there to see them off, all who knew them and could spare the time seemed to be on hand. Vivian's mother came, but her father did not.

At the last moment, just as the train drew in, Grandma appeared, serene and brisk, descending, with an impressive amount of hand baggage, from ”the hack.”

”Goodbye, Laura,” she said. ”I think these girls need a chaperon. I'm going too.”

So blasting was the astonishment caused by this proclamation, and so short a time remained to express it, that they presently found themselves gliding off in the big Pullman, all staring at one another in silent amazement.

”I hate discussion,” said Mrs. Pettigrew.

None of these ladies were used to traveling, save Dr. Bellair, who had made the cross continent trip often enough to think nothing of it.

The unaccustomed travelers found much excitement in the journey. As women, embarking on a new, and, in the eyes of their friends, highly doubtful enterprise, they had emotion to spare; and to be confronted at the outset by a totally unexpected grandmother was too much for immediate comprehension.

She looked from one to the other, sparkling, triumphant.

”I made up my mind, same as you did, hearing Jane Bellair talk,” she explained. ”Sounded like good sense. I always wanted to travel, always, and never had the opportunity. This was a real good chance.” Her mouth shut, tightened, widened, drew into a crinkly delighted smile.

They sat still staring at her.

”You needn't look at me like that! I guess it's a free country! I bought my ticket--sent for it same as you did. And I didn't have to ask _anybody_--I'm no daughter. My duty, as far as I know it, is _done_! This is a pleasure trip!”

She was triumph incarnate.

”And you never said a word!” This from Vivian.

”Not a word. Saved lots of trouble. Take care of me indeed! Laura needn't think I'm dependent on her _yet_!”

Vivian's heart rather yearned over her mother, thus doubly bereft.

”The truth is,” her grandmother went on, ”Samuel wants to go to Florida the worst way; I heard 'em talking about it! He wasn't willing to go alone--not he! Wants somebody to hear him cough, I say! And Laura couldn't go--'Mother was so dependent'--_Huh!_”

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