Clara Louise Burnham

“ Kathleen sank on the cushions of a long, low divan.
"You can paint Rembrandt portraits in here!" she said. "Don't explain how you've done it. I don't want to know. It is the most restful, delightful studio I've ever seen—and smelling of ambergris?"
"No, only of bay leaves."
Phil waited and let her look at the hangings, the cushioned chairs, and spindle legs of the quaint table.
"You like it," he said after a pause of deep satisfaction.
She looked up at him. "I am making genuflexions to you in my mind."
He laughed. "But the best is yet to come. Sit where you are." ”

“ The odor of evergreen was fresh as the forest itself. The orchestra began a waltz.
"I wonder if he can dance," thought Kathleen, in her ignorance of the West. The evening clothes were promising but she had her doubts of Terpsichore west of the Rockies. She little knew that in dress clothes or sweater the cowboy leads the world in dancing.
The music was irresistible and in a moment she was floating away in the waltz.
"Dear me!" she thought with a mixture of consternation and satisfaction. "I've taken the best of everything!"
Edgar cast a glance after them. "A duck to the water," he thought. ”

“ I know what a virago the creature can be."
"I like," said Phil,—"I like that saying, 'Yesterday is as dead as Egypt.' I like to feel that the only enemy a man can have is himself."
"I'm glad you don't hate me, Phil," returned Mrs. Fabian, again plaintive. "I have enough troubles. 'Qui s'excuse, s'accuse,' and I shall not try to explain to you why I saw so little of Aunt Mary; but it is beyond belief that a common creature like Eliza should dare to sit in judgment on a person in my position."
"Eliza is not a common creature," said Phil quietly. ”

“ Fabian," the long lashes announced to Violet, with the implication that he was in the inner circle. "She's what I call a subtle girl—a mysterious girl. Those jewels suit her. That liquid, elusive play of light, as the moonlight sparkles on the water, is like her moods, gentle, and—and remote. I often think Miss Fabian lives in a world of her own. One can't always be sure that she hears what one is saying." ”

“ Phil smiled, as his busy hand worked. "Christmas night is the only time I ever saw her with her hat off," he answered. "I'm afraid you're too subtle for me."
"Oh, you'll see," said Violet; "an artist couldn't help seeing in the daytime. What color do you think it is?"
"Dark brown."
"I knew you would say that. Wait till you see her in the sunshine. It's almost red; and that's just like her. Even her hair keeps everything to itself as long as it can." ”

“ Only one week since she had come to the island and it seemed months. Her aunt's words had pierced what she knew now had been a hope. How could she have been so insane as to hope it! Even given such a wild supposition as that Edgar Fabian would marry a nobody, what comfort or peace was in store for his wife? Violet had seen a play called "The Concert," in which a wife had been obliged to share her artist husband with a miscellaneous lot of female admirers. Better a thousand times to marry a shoemaker or any other obscure body and so be left to his undisturbed possession. ”

“ Now Eliza's occupation was gone. All her rather hard philosophy, all her habitual self-possession, was swamped in a world where she could no longer call her dear one from the easel to her meals; and where the rooms of the little apartment grew spacious and echoed from sheer emptiness.
Mrs. Ballard had bequeathed her maid all her clothing, and all her personal possessions, save one old-fashioned diamond brooch, which was to be sent to her namesake, Mary Sidney. Some weeks before her death, she told Eliza of the disposition of her effects. ”

“ Violet responded to Mrs. Fabian's invitation for this Sunday and Edgar regarded her critically throughout the evening.
Never had he felt himself such authority on girls as now. They crowded his studio. Fashionable girls, wealthy girls, pretty girls, plain girls, clever ones, dull ones, aggressive, and shy girls; and he had frequently detected himself comparing the more interesting with Violet. Her spirit, her poise, her independence, her compact, graceful, healthy body, always stood the test.
As of old, to-night she seemed more interested in Phil than in himself. ”

“ Eliza caught sight of the table, and suddenly threw up both hands with an exclamation.
"Mr. Sidney!" she cried. "I've given you the wrong barrel!"
"What? What's happened?" inquired Phil, halted by her tragic tone.
"All Mrs. Ballard's best things are in that barrel; the old china that was her mother's, and the solid silver, and everything; and I've gone and sent yours with the substantial crockery and the beddin' to the island!"
Edgar Fabian regarded Eliza as inimically as his stepmother might have done. So this old servant had been carrying off the heirlooms and been discovered. ”

“ Kathleen kept silence a space. Since she had been at home this time, her mother had told her with some excitement of Eliza's presumption in retaining articles of no value to a servant.
"And whether I was warranted or not," went on Edgar, elated by her muteness, "'there comes an opportunity in the lives of men' which seldom knocks on a man's door the second time. I flatter myself I was quick enough to shut the box between that wild and woolly Westerner and us, so that he won't expect anything more of me, in any event." ”

“ Violet glanced at the speaker out of the tail of her eye and ate a chocolate. Then she cast a look over on the point where the easel stood. "He is so good-looking," she sighed. "I like smooth-faced men."
"My mustache is catching it next, is it?" said Edgar irritably, twisting that treasure.
"Oh, I simply despise mustaches," rejoined Violet equably; "but of course if it makes you look older, or more dignified, or helps you in your career, you have to wear one." ”

“ Fabian's mind was of the sort which associates social status indissolubly with money. She had always felt that in winning a millionaire for a husband, she had married above her; and, shaking off her own humble family connection wherever possible, had tried to be as nearly all Fabian as circumstances permitted. Her step-children had therefore never been expected or requested to adopt her relatives as their own. She now referred to the one memorable visit of Phil's beautiful mother to their island home, for Kathleen's persistent formality in referring to the artist brought a flush to her cheeks. ”

“ I've come here ever since I was a baby, Mrs. Wright, and I'm an amphibious animal; but if Sidney should ever suggest it, remember he's a landlubber. Half the time they don't know enough to be afraid."
"Very true," returned Mrs. Wright, with her natural graceful sweetness of manner, which at least succeeded in making Edgar feel rude. "Come, dear," turning to Violet, "I'd like to have you come with me."
So the girl rose and yielded her cup to Edgar, who took it with dignity. He, the ex-cavalier of Mrs. Larrabee, not to be able to mould circumstances among these poor and provincial people! ”

“ There aren't any comparisons to be made between a gilded youth and a painter, and I assure you it is no lofty principle that makes me care little where I live and eat. It is only a desire to do a certain thing, so intense that it dwarfs every other need."
"He has overpowering desires, too," said Mrs. Fabian bitterly; "but it is to go yachting and play polo and drink champagne." She sighed. "I suppose I haven't known how to be a good mother," she added with dejection, "but there,"—her voice grew suddenly argumentative,—"look at Kathleen! ”

“ CHAPTER IX HEIRLOOMS
As the Fabian car started toward home, Edgar hoped his sister would rally him on his failure to chastise the puny artist from the West. Anything was better than one of Kathleen's "stills," as he called his sister's periods of scornful silence. He was Kathleen's elder, he was her brother. By every law of propriety she should be guided by him and lean upon his opinions; but as he now reflected she was "more apt to jump on them."
At present her sombre eyes looked straight ahead under the picture hat, and her countenance expressed only composure of mind and body. ”

“ Kathleen gave her one-sided smile—her Mona Lisa smile her admirers called it:—
"Where you leave off is not liable to be a bed of roses if you keep on as you've begun." She looked up at her brother gravely as she tapped the end of her cigarette and dropped it in the ash receiver. "Why don't you use your brains?" she asked. "Can't you see that the more father notices that you have no ambition, the tighter he will draw the rein?" ”

“ Come summer you'll shed ten more, like enough, and look like you ought to look, Eliza. You ain't any old woman."
Eliza ignored the blandishment.
"I can see in the glass I look better," she returned impersonally, "and it makes me mad to think it's all because I live in the house with a sacrifice. Supposin' I'd come back to this island alone."
"Mrs. Wright don't act like any sacrifice," protested Captain James; "she's chipper as a canary bird."
"Of course she is. That's the kind of a wife a man like that's sure to get. It's been my lot in life, James, to live with angels," added Eliza fiercely. ”

“ Why don't you go to sleep yourself?"
"Because I'm afraid I should wake up in Gramercy Park," returned Phil, and, vaulting over the porch railing, he disappeared from Kathleen's view.
Walking to the back of the house, he gazed down at the waters of the cove, then across the field to the long low white farmhouse where he had found Eliza, then back again at the water. "Miss Manning said I should stay here if I had to live under a rock," he reflected.
One week: one week was all he had planned for, although Mrs. Fabian had pressed him for two. ”

“ Aunt Amy says their hill will soon be white with strawberry blossoms, and blue with violets."
"And what of my friend, Eliza Brewster? I believe you told me you have never seen her."
"Aunt Amy always speaks of her in her letters. She has been a great comfort to them, so helpful and kind."
"Mrs. Fabian will have it that I am to see this wonderful island."
"You should go. It would be paradise for an artist."
"And how about yourself?" asked Phil. "You also have an aunt and a home on that green mound I hear about."
"Oh, I'm going for the whole summer," replied Violet. ”

“ He seized Pluto and handed him over to Kathleen."
"Oh, get out," said Edgar. "I hate cats."
His sister moved Pluto over to her other side where he drove his claws into the blanket with satisfaction while she caressed him.
"He'll soil your glove," said Eliza; "his hair comes out some." She resented the Fabian touch on her pet, and Edgar's remark had sent color to her sallow cheeks.
"I'd like a muff made of him," drawled Kathleen.
"Too late," said Phil. "He's going to Maine to-night with Eliza."
"He isn't your cat, then?" said the girl, and brushed her glove. ”

“ Edgar can't get his vacation from the church quite yet, and she'll not come till he can."
"Of course not," replied Phil simply. "How can one voluntarily live without the other a day after the great discovery is made?"
Kathleen made no answer to this. The lump that rose in her throat was rebellious; and the artist, looking up suddenly, met fire in the depths of her dark eyes. The lids dropped. His hand grew suddenly unsteady.
"Tell me when you're tired, Kathleen," he said. "We have the summer." He smiled as he spoke; but it was a rigid sort of smile. ”

“ Fabian sapiently. "Take a weak, good-looking fellow like Edgar, with a lovely voice, and if he became reckless there are plenty of sporty cafés in this town where they would pay him as an attraction. He knows that."
"Mother!" exclaimed Kathleen, aghast.
"Why, certainly!" averred Mrs. Fabian dismally elated at the dismay she had evoked. "There are a few things I know more about than you do, Kathleen. Imagine a handsome young fellow in correct evening clothes, when the patrons are hilarious at midnight, rising in his place, and, wineglass in hand, suddenly singing a love-song or ragtime. ”