FullReads

“The Winthrops coming on this voyage,” I exclaimed. “Impossible! They hadn’t an idea of it.”

“Mightn’t he want to interview the governor and look at the island?”

“He hasn’t time. I chose this journey instead of another so that I could interview the governor and look at the islands myself.”

“Well, I dare say there’s nothing in it. Duke didn’t speak of it as anything settled, and he may have misunderstood, his mind being on me. May I read you the letter–I mean parts of it?”

“I shouldn’t expect to hear all of it,” I replied dryly.

“Yet the bits I leave out are the ones that show him as he is,” she said, looking off into the grove of palms. “Duke is so conscientious that until we succeed in melting mother–that would be a good title for a story, ‘Melting Mother’!–and until she sanctions an engagement he won’t let himself go, even on paper. So I get only a lovely sort of ‘seepage’ that breaks through in spite of him!”

“Skip the seepage,” I said unsympathetically, “and give the news.”

She re-read the first paragraphs to herself with a good deal of dimpling and with eyes that suffused with feeling now and then, and turning the page began to read aloud:

Knowing that you were on the high seas far away from me, though
safe with your charming Miss Clifford (Duke admires you
extravagantly, Charlotte!), I concluded to burn my ships and
have a straightforward talk with your mother, although you have
repeatedly warned me that this was not the best method of
approach and that only patience would win my cause. I sent up my
card at the New Willard, and doubtless she would have refused to
receive me, but, going from the office to one of the reception
rooms to await her, I found her seated there with your
Philadelphia aunt and another lady. There had evidently been
confidences, so they scented trouble and took to their heels
when I had been introduced to them somewhat informally as a
friend of Dorothea’s, my name not being mentioned.

I asked your mother, when we were left alone, if she had any
objection to me other than my uneuphonious and suggestive
surname.

She replied guardedly, no, or at least nothing in particular,
though she might say without conceit that Dorothea might aspire
to anybody, even the highest.

I cordially agreed, saying that if the male sex had any eye for
beauty, charm or loveliness of character, Dorothea might marry
not only anybody but everybody.

She said she thought persiflage was out of taste when the
happiness of a mother’s whole life was in question.

I begged pardon, but said it was necessary for me to whistle to
keep my courage up, for the happiness of my whole life was in
question.

She said that was beside the point and her daughter’s happiness
must also be considered.

I remarked that her daughter, to my infinite surprise and
gratitude, assured me that her happiness lay in the same
direction as my own.

She vouchsafed the information that Dorothea was a romantic
fool.

I denied it.

She dealt what she considered to be a body-blow by affirming
that your property would not be in your hands till you were
twenty-one.

I replied that I didn’t care if it didn’t reach you till you
were a hundred and twenty-one.

She said, “Don’t be silly,” and asked me if I had ever thought
of changing my name back to Forrest from Hogg.

I inquired in return if she would mind the loss of six thousand
dollars a year, supposing that I should take such a step.

She reflected and said that she should, but she would rather
lose it than take the name; and that we could rub along on
Dorothea’s money, she supposed, if that was my idea of a
pleasant life.