"She is walking with your son."
Mrs. Nettlepoint said nothing for a moment; then she broke out, inconsequently--"Ah, she"s horrid!"
"No, she"s charming!" I protested.
"You mean she"s "curious"?"
"Well, for me it"s the same thing!"
This led my friend of course to declare once more that I was cold-blooded. On the afternoon of the morrow we had another talk, and she told me that in the morning Miss Mavis had paid her a long visit.
She knew nothing about anything, but her intentions were good and she was evidently in her own eyes conscientious and decorous. And Mrs.
Nettlepoint concluded these remarks with the exclamation "Poor young thing!"
"You think she is a good deal to be pitied, then?"
"Well, her story sounds dreary--she told me a great deal of it. She fell to talking little by little and went from one thing to another. She"s in that situation when a girl _must_ open herself--to some woman."
"Hasn"t she got Jasper?" I inquired.
"He isn"t a woman. You strike me as jealous of him," my companion added.
"I daresay _he_ thinks so--or will before the end. Ah no--ah no!" And I asked Mrs. Nettlepoint if our young lady struck her as a flirt. She gave me no answer, but went on to remark that it was odd and interesting to her to see the way a girl like Grace Mavis resembled the girls of the kind she herself knew better, the girls of "society," at the same time that she differed from them; and the way the differences and resemblances were mixed up, so that on certain questions you couldn"t tell where you would find her. You would think she would feel as you did because you had found her feeling so, and then suddenly, in regard to some other matter (which was yet quite the same) she would be terribly wanting. Mrs. Nettlepoint proceeded to observe (to such idle speculations does the vanity of a sea-voyage give encouragement) that she wondered whether it were better to be an ordinary girl very well brought up or an extraordinary girl not brought up at all.
"Oh, I go in for the extraordinary girl under all circ.u.mstances."
"It is true that if you are _very_ well brought up you are not ordinary," said Mrs. Nettlepoint, smelling her strong salts. "You are a lady, at any rate. _C"est toujours ca._"
"And Miss Mavis isn"t one--is that what you mean?"
"Well--you have seen her mother."
"Yes, but I think your contention would be that among such people the mother doesn"t count."
"Precisely; and that"s bad."
"I see what you mean. But isn"t it rather hard? If your mother doesn"t know anything it is better you should be independent of her, and yet if you are that const.i.tutes a bad note." I added that Mrs. Mavis had appeared to count sufficiently two nights before. She had said and done everything she wanted, while the girl sat silent and respectful. Grace"s att.i.tude (so far as her mother was concerned) had been eminently decent.
"Yes, but she couldn"t bear it," said Mrs. Nettlepoint.
"Ah, if you know it I may confess that she has told me as much."
Mrs. Nettlepoint stared. "Told you? There"s one of the things they do!"
"Well, it was only a word. Won"t you let me know whether you think she"s a flirt?"
"Find out for yourself, since you pretend to study folks."
"Oh, your judgment would probably not at all determine mine. It"s in regard to yourself that I ask it."
"In regard to myself?"
"To see the length of maternal immorality."
Mrs. Nettlepoint continued to repeat my words. "Maternal immorality?"
"You desire your son to have every possible distraction on his voyage, and if you can make up your mind in the sense I refer to that will make it all right. He will have no responsibility."
"Heavens, how you a.n.a.lyse! I haven"t in the least your pa.s.sion for making up my mind."
"Then if you chance it you"ll be more immoral still."
"Your reasoning is strange," said the poor lady; "when it was you who tried to put it into my head yesterday that she had asked him to come."
"Yes, but in good faith."
"How do you mean in good faith?"
"Why, as girls of that sort do. Their allowance and measure in such matters is much larger than that of young ladies who have been, as you say, _very_ well brought up; and yet I am not sure that on the whole I don"t think them the more innocent. Miss Mavis is engaged, and she"s to be married next week, but it"s an old, old story, and there"s no more romance in it than if she were going to be photographed. So her usual life goes on, and her usual life consists (and that of ces demoiselles in general) in having plenty of gentlemen"s society. Having it I mean without having any harm from it."
"Well, if there is no harm from it what are you talking about and why am I immoral?"
I hesitated, laughing. "I retract--you are sane and clear. I am sure she thinks there won"t be any harm," I added. "That"s the great point."
"The great point?"
"I mean, to be settled."
"Mercy, we are not trying them! How can _we_ settle it?"
"I mean of course in our minds. There will be nothing more interesting for the next ten days for our minds to exercise themselves upon."
"They will get very tired of it," said Mrs. Nettlepoint.
"No, no, because the interest will increase and the plot will thicken.
It can"t help it." She looked at me as if she thought me slightly Mephistophelean, and I went on--"So she told you everything in her life was dreary?"
"Not everything but most things. And she didn"t tell me so much as I guessed it. She"ll tell me more the next time. She will behave properly now about coming in to see me; I told her she ought to."
"I am glad of that," I said. "Keep her with you as much as possible."
"I don"t follow you much," Mrs. Nettlepoint replied, "but so far as I do I don"t think your remarks are in very good taste."
"I"m too excited, I lose my head, cold-blooded as you think me. Doesn"t she like Mr. Porterfield?"
"Yes, that"s the worst of it."
"The worst of it?"