Part 23 (2/2)
”Do you think,” she asked, ”that it would know the difference between cotton and linen? Besides, I've always heard that cotton was more healthful.”
Mariana threaded her needle and bent her head.
”It is in the blood,” she returned. ”My grandmother couldn't bear to be touched by anything but silk. She lived upon her plantations and owned a great many slaves, and she could afford it. Everything, from her night-caps to her chemises, was made of soft white silk. I have one of her chemises, and it is all hand-sewed, with a fall of real lace around the bosom. My mother inherited the taste, and she never wore cotton stockings, even when she couldn't afford meat but twice a week. I am just like her, only she was proud of it and I am ashamed of it.”
”But you have overcome it,” said Miss Ramsey.
Mariana laughed.
”I can't. Anthony says luxury is bred in my bone, but then he doesn't even care for comforts. I believe he had just as soon eat turnip-salad on a plain deal table as sweetbreads on Irish damask.”
”Life teaches us the pettiness of such things,” said Miss Ramsey. ”When one isn't sure one will get a dinner at all, one is not apt to worry about the possible serving. By-the-way, Mr. Nevins wants to paint the baby when it gets a little larger.”
Mariana looked delighted.
”Of course he shall,” she said; then she took the child from the nurse's arms and gave it into Miss Ramsey's. ”Feel how light she is,” she continued. ”I know she isn't very pretty, but she is beautifully formed--nurse says so--and did you ever see one with quite so much expression?”
Miss Ramsey held it upon her knee, patting its flexible back with one timid hand. ”I really believe it notices things,” she said. ”It is looking straight at you.”
”Of course it does,” Mariana answered. ”Of course it knows its own blessed little mamma--doesn't it, Isolde?”
The child whimpered and squirmed upon Miss Ramsey's knee.
”Take it, nurse,” said Mariana. ”It doesn't look nice when it cries.”
A week later Mr. Speares came, and was introduced to the baby as it lay in its crib. He leaned over it in the helpless inattention of a man who has a mortal terror of a human being during the first stages of its development.
”It looks very pleasant,” he said, finally.
Mariana lifted the child and held it against her shoulder. Had Mr.
Nevins seen her in her light-blue gown, with the soft look in her eyes, he would have seized the opportunity and used it to advantage.
”Look at her eyes,” she said. ”Is she like Anthony used to be?”
Mr. Speares examined it critically. ”I don't observe it,” he replied; ”but I don't suppose its features are quite formed as yet. It will be easier to trace a likeness later on.”
Mariana laughed and smoothed the long dress with her frail, blue-veined hand. ”The nurse says it is like me,” she returned, good-humoredly. ”I say it is like Anthony, and Anthony says it is like the original primate.”
CHAPTER XVI
”I am getting old,” said Mariana. She was sitting before the mirror, and as she spoke she rose and leaned forward in closer inspection. ”This line,” she added, dolefully, rubbing her forehead, ”is caused by the laundress, this by the departure of the nurse, and this by the curdling of the baby's milk.”
Anthony crossed over and stood behind her. ”I would give my right arm to smooth them away,” he said.
Mariana fastened the collar of her breakfast sacque and looked back at him from the gla.s.s. She did not reply. Not that she would not have liked to say something affectionate, but that she felt the effort to be pleasant to be physically beyond her. Her life of the last few weeks had taught her that demonstrative expressions are an unnecessary waste of energy.
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