Part 21 (1/2)
”Her coming to the funeral as one of the family? Well, how do we take it, Effie?”
”Mother couldn't bear the idea of it.” Tears came into my sister's eyes; I could see the wings of self-immolation hovering over her.
”Look here, Effie, you go and take home Mrs. Endsleigh's spoons.” There had been so many out of town connections dropping in for a meal that we had been obliged to fall back on our nearest neighbour.
”Lily's respectable, isn't she? and Forester has encouraged her. Well, you don't want to spoil the poor girl's life, do you?”
”Oh,” said Effie, ”oh, Olivia!” I could see she was torn between compunction and admiration for my way of putting it on high moral grounds. I heard her counting out the spoons in the kitchen as I went to let Mrs. Jastrow in.
I think she didn't know any more than Effie did, what to make of my manner of receiving her. She sat on the edge of a chair and snivelled a little into a handkerchief which was evidently her husband's, but it was chiefly, I could see, because she had come prepared to snivel and couldn't quickly adjust herself to my change of base.
”Poor Lily,” she moaned, ”she thought such a lot of Mr. Lattimore's mother; but I tell her she must bear up.”
”She must indeed,” I a.s.sured her. ”Forester needs all the sympathy he can get just now.” I could see her peeping over the top of her handkerchief, trying to guess what to make of that; but the sentimental was easy for her.
”That's what I tell her; they'll have to comfort each other. Them poor young things, they'd ought to be together. But Lily's so sensitive she couldn't bear to put herself forward.”
”I'll tell Forrie you called,” I a.s.sured her.
Mrs. Jastrow fanned herself with her damp handkerchief; her poor little pretence broke quite down under my friendliness.
”He's got to marry her,” she whispered. ”Lily's been talked about, and he's _got to_.” I could guess suddenly what it meant to her to have reached up so desperately for something better for her daughter than she had been able to manage for herself, and to come so near not getting it.
I was able to put something like sympathy into my voice when I spoke to Forester at supper.
”Mrs. Jastrow called to-day. She says Lily isn't bearing up as she might. I suppose you ought to go and see her!”
Effie's eyes grew round at me over the teacups, but after all Forrie didn't know what had pa.s.sed between mother and me in regard to Lily. If I chose to take his relation to her as a matter of course, he couldn't object to it. We heard Forrie in his room changing his collar before he went back to the shop again.
”He'll go to her to-night after he closes up,” Effie told me. ”It will end with her getting him.”
”So long as he doesn't get you----” But it was unfair to put ideas like that in Effie's head. ”After all it is a very good match for him in some ways; she'll always look up to him, and that is what Forrie needs.”
It was natural to Effie to judge every situation by what it had for those concerned; she wasn't troubled as I was by the pressure of an outside ideal. By the end of a month, when I thought of going back to the city, it was tacitly understood that as soon as convenient Forester was to marry Lily Jastrow. He meant, however, to be fair with us both about the property; he had given us notes for our share, and expected to pay interest. The note wasn't negotiable, as I learned immediately, and the interest wasn't any more than Effie would need for her clothing. I felt that the jaws of destiny which had opened to let Effie out, had closed on me instead. I returned to Chicago early in November; my place with the Coleman players had long been filled, and there was nothing whatever to do.
CHAPTER IV
Jerry's play, which had had its premier while I was away, was going on successfully. One of the first items of news Sarah told me about him was that his wife was expecting another child, undertaken in the hope that, if she couldn't hold her husband's roving fancy, she could at least fix his attention on her situation. All that she had got out of it so far, was a reason for staying at home, which left Jerry the freer to bestow his society where it was most acceptable.
”Does she know--Miss Filette, I mean--about the child.”
”Not unless Jerry has told her--which he'd hardly do.” Sarah laughed a little, and that was not usual with her; she had very little humour.
”Fancy is so up in the air about the success of the play, she thinks she inspired it. I imagine they'd feel it an indelicacy of Mrs. McDermott to have intruded her condition on their relation. Of course it is understood that there's nothing really wrong about it....”
”It is wrong if his wife is made unhappy by it.” I hadn't Sarah's reason for being lenient. ”Somebody ought to speak to Jerry.”
”You might--he would listen to you. It is just because there is so little in it that it is so hard to deal with.”
I suppose I took to interfering in the McDermott's affairs because I had so little of my own to interest me. Besides, I was fond of Jerry and didn't see how he was to be helped by getting his family into a muddle.