“Did you say such an awful thing to Kingsley?” gasped Nannie, wringing her hands.
“Not exactly,” replied Lucy, almost smiling in spite of herself. “I told him we were being thrown at each other and I wouldn’t permit it.”
“Why, how could you say such a thing as that!” she protested. “Was he mad?” Then, before Lucy could answer, “Why couldn’t you have waited till you saw whether you liked him or not?”
“I don’t need to wait, Mamma.”
“But, Lucy, there are other things to be considered.”
“No, there aren’t, Mamma.”
Nannie’s tone changed.
“Well, I think you might consider me a little at any rate!”
Lucy eyed her mother squarely.
“I don’t, Mamma—not in this matter. I’m willing to work for you.”
“You are certainly an ungrateful child, Lucy!” Lucy winced. “Nobody knows what I sacrificed when I married your father. He has done nothing and nobody pays any attention to him. His father died with everything in a muddle and he’s never made anything for himself. All the society or notice I get is through my own people, and now when they are disposed to take you up, and give us a chance to be somebody, you won’t even look at one of their friends! I should think you would be glad of the chance to help your family. You would if you had any feelings at all!”
Lucy was white. Without answering she walked past her mother and went upstairs to her room.
VII
Late on the night of Kingsley Dodd’s visit Arthur returned from his trip, and the next morning he had only time for a hasty greeting to his family before leaving to keep an early appointment with the out-of-town client who engaged his services at the moment. An hour after his departure Lucy appeared in the hall with her hat on and her gloves and sunshade in her hand.
“Where are you going, Lucy?” Nannie demanded.
“I’m going to Papa’s office,” replied Lucy as she passed out the door.
When Lucy reached her father’s place of business she found Mr. Merwent alone. As his daughter entered he was reading a letter. He put it into a drawer in his desk and turned the lock.
“Well, Lucy?” He leaned back in his chair and smiled his slow smile as he spoke.
She gazed around on the dingy furniture, the old books, the discolored steel engravings, the dusty floor, and other signals of her father’s rundown law practice. Her heart almost failed her, but the memory of the preceding day rushed back upon her.
“Papa,” she began, “I want to earn my own living.”
Her father scrutinized her face kindly.
“I don’t blame you, speaking in general,” he observed, “but why have you so suddenly decided it?”
“Mamma and Grandmamma are trying to marry me to Kingsley Dodd in spite of myself, and Mamma thinks I am ungrateful because I object. I don’t think I ought to be dependent on anyone any longer.”
“You seem to have all the self-respect in the family, Lucy,” Mr. Merwent commented, “but what can you do?”
“I can learn book binding,” she responded without hesitation. “The pay for fine tooled hand binding is good. Mamie Willis, who used to be in my class at high school, has been to Chicago Art School to learn it. I think I should like to go there. I want to go right away.”
“Let me think, Daughter,” he said meditatively. “I have a friend I should like to consult about it. It is very possible that it may be the best thing. We’ll talk it over again tomorrow. Come down here about this time and we’ll decide.”
Lucy kissed her father, amazed at his complaisance.
“I wonder who the friend he spoke of is,” she said to herself as she went back to the house. “Papa’ll probably have to borrow money of him to send me away.”
The following day Mrs. Merwent preserved an air of gentle sadness and grief, replying softly to her daughter’s remarks but avoiding any reference to what had happened. When Lucy went out a little before the hour appointed for the conference at the office, Nannie did not ask her errand, but returned the girl’s kiss and volunteered a statement that she would not be gone long, with a look of patient melancholy.
“Well, it is all arranged,” were Arthur’s first words, as he greeted Lucy. “You are to go to Chicago where I have planned for you to stay with the relative of a friend. We agree—that is, I agree that you couldn’t do better than go to the Art School, as it is a recognized institution and the courses are reliable.”
“Oh, Papa, thank you so much!”
“The thanks are due to someone else, Lucy, and I hope some day you can thank the friend who has made it possible.”
“Who is it, Papa? Is it someone I know?”
Mr. Merwent looked at her a moment before replying.
“It’s a woman friend, Lucy, Mrs. Ellen Low.”
He continued to regard his daughter. Lucy’s face turned pink.
“I didn’t know you knew her, Papa,” she said.
Mr. Merwent, though he did not take his eyes from the young girl’s, seemed, in his turn, somewhat embarrassed.
“Yes, I’ve known her quite a while. When her husband died I was retained with Mr. Blair to settle up the estate,” he answered.
“Oh!” Lucy relapsed into thoughtful silence.
She knew Mrs. Low by sight and in spite of herself rather liked the pleasant homely face with its strongly marked features, though she had, almost against her will, absorbed some of the prejudiced tone in which she had heard her mother and grandmother make occasional references to the woman.
Mrs. Low was the widow of a handsome man, who had been very fond of the ladies, and she had not lived happily with him. She appeared, in a whimsical way, to hold men in little awe. The unpopularity of her outspoken manner, which voiced a point of view that Russellville found unbecoming in a lady, had sent her to seek a more congenial atmosphere with relatives in Chicago. However, she continued to
