CHAPTER X

vaguepleasuretomakethemgoondoingit."YoumustcomeroundandhaveagoodgameoftenniswithDorothysomeafternoon.You'vebeenshutupworkingtoohardatthatletter-writingbusiness,that'swhatyou'vebeendoing,younglady." "IwishIhad—oh,IwishIhad,"saidIngeborg,pressingherhandstogetherandlookingupatthisstraybitofkindlinesswithaquickgratefulness. "Wealwaysthinkofyouassittingtherewriting,writing,"theheartymanwenton,moreintentonwhathewassayingthanonwhatshewassaying."Father'srighthand,mother'sindispensable,youknow.ItellDorothy—" Ingeborgtwistedonherchair."Oh,"shesaid,"don'ttellDorothy—don'ttellher—" "Tellherwhat?Youdon'tknowwhatIwasgoingtosay." "Yes,Ido—aboutthat'showdaughtersoughttobe—likeme.AndDorothy'ssogoodanddear,andwouldn'teverinthisworldhavegoneoffto—" Shestopped,butonlyjustintime,andlookedathimfrightened. Shehadallbutsaidit.Thegeneral,however,wasstaringatherwithkindlyincomprehension.Herheaddroopedalittle,andshegazedvaguelyathistoesastheyrhythmicallytouchedandwereliftedupfromthecarpet."Nobodyknowswhatanybodyelseisreallylikeinside,"shefinishedforlornly. "Youcomeupandhavesometennis,"hesaid,pattingherontheshoulder.AndlaterontotheBishopheremarked,inhisheartydesiretohaveeverythingtrimandinitsproperplace,theyounginthefreshair,olderpersonsatdesksinstudies,whitefacesreservedforinvalids,rosesbloominginthecheeksofgirls,thathemustn'toverworkthatlittledaughterofhis. "Overwork!"exclaimedtheBishop,fullofbittermemoriesofanemptyweek. "Turnheroutintothesun,Bully,myboy,"saidthegeneralwhosefagtheBishophadbeenatEton. "Intothesun!"exclaimedtheBishop,havingforsixmortaldaysobservedherfromwindowshorriblyidlinginit. "Ifyoukeep'emshutupyoucan'texpectgirlsanymorethanyoucanexpectadecentbeetoprovideyouwithhoney." "Honey!"exclaimedtheBishop. ThatDuchesswhohadwantedhereldestsontomarryJudithtappedIngeborgonthearmwithherumbrellaasshepassedherfollowedbyherdaughterandsaid:"Littlepalechild,littlepalechild,"andshookherheadatherandfrownedandsmiled,andwhisperedtoPamelathatitlookedverylikejealousyandPamelasaidNonsensetothat,andtriedtolingerandtalktoIngeborg,buthermother,filledwiththepassionforrefreshmentthatseizesallpersonswhogotoparties,draggedheralongwithhertowhereitcouldbefound,andonthewayshewasseenbytheBishop,whoatoncelefttheoldladywhowastalkingtohimtoenfoldLadyPamelainhiscareandcompassheraboutwithacloudoflittleattentions—chairs,ices,fruitfornotonlyhadheconfirmedherbuthefeltapeculiarinterestinherparticularkindofclean-limbedintelligentbeauty.OfalltheconfirmationcrosseshehadgivenawayhelikedbesttothinkofLadyPamela's.Certainlyinthatsoftcradle,beneaththemuslinandlaceofpropriety,hecouldbesureitwouldnotjangleagainstanillicitandalienring. "Youstillwearit?"hesaid,hisbeautifulvoice,loweredtosuitthesubject,chargedwithfeelingaswithhisownhandshebroughtherteaandhefeltalittlechecked,alittledisappointed,whenshesaid,smilingathim,hergreyeyeslevelwithhissowellgrownwasshe,"Wearwhat?" Andanotherthingthisyoungwomandidthatafternoonthatcheckedanddisappointedhim—sheshowedadispositiontotakecareofhimandnobishopofsixty,orindeedanyotherhonestmanofsixty,likesthat."Shethinksmeold,"hethoughtwithacuteandpainedsurpriseasshecharminglymadehimsitdownlesthemightbetiredstanding,andcharminglyshutawindowbehindthemlestheshouldbeinadraught,andcharminglylateronwhenhetookherdownthegardentoshowherthepear-treeturnedherprettyheadandaskedhimoverhershoulderwhethershewerewalkingtoofast."Shethinksmeold,"hethoughtanditwasanamazementtohim,foronlylastyearhewasstillfifty-nine,stillinthefifties,andthefifties,onceonewasusedtothem,werenothingatall. HebecameverygravewithLadyPamela.Hefeltthattheshowingofthepear-treehadlostagooddealofitssavour.Hefeltitstillmorewhen,turningthebendinthepaththatledtothesecludedcornerthatmadethepear-treepopularasaresort,heperceivedIngeborgsittingbeneathit. Shewasalone. "Whyisshealwaysbyherself?"askedLadyPamela,whowas,theBishopcouldnothelpthinking,beingrathersteadilytactless. Hemadenoanswer.Hewastooseriouslynettled.Apartfromeverythingelse,tohaveone'sdaughtercroppingup.... "Ingeborg—!"calledLadyPamela,wavinghersunshadetoattractherattentionastheywalkedontowardsher,forIngeborg,underthetree,wassittingwithherchinonherhandlookingatnothingandoncemoreadvertisingbyherattitude,Mrs.Bullivantwouldhaveconsidered,thatshewasoutsidethepale. "Ithink,"saidtheBishoppausing,"weoughtperhapstogoback." "Oughtwe?Oh,why?It'slovelyhere.Ingeborg!" "Ithink,"saidtheBishop,nowaltogetherannoyedatthispersistentdeterminationtoincludehisdaughter—asthoughonecouldeversatisfactorilyincludedaughters—inwhatmighthavebeenapoeticconversationbetweenbeautyandyouthonthe