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Read Ebook: In Her Own Right by Scott John Reed Underwood Clarence F Illustrator
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Ebook has 2402 lines and 55386 words, and 49 pages
very difficult of discovery?"
"No, it should not be so difficult--for you," she answered, with a flash of her violet eyes. "Mother!" as they reached the piazza--"let me present Mr. Croyden."
Mrs. Carrington arose to greet him--a tall, slender woman, whose age was sixty, at least, but who appeared not a day over forty-five, despite the dark gown and little lace cap she was wearing. She seemed what the girl had called her--the mother, rather than the grandmother. And when she smiled!
"Miss Carrington two generations hence. Lord! how do they do it?" thought Croyden.
"You play Bridge, of course, Mr. Croyden," said Miss Carrington, when the dessert was being served.
"I like it very much," he answered.
"I was sure you did--so sure, indeed, I asked a few friends in later--for a rubber or two--and to meet you."
"So it's well for me I play," he smiled.
"It is indeed!" laughed Mrs. Carrington--"that is, if you care aught for Davila's good opinion. If one can't play Bridge one would better not be born."
"When you know Mother a little better, Mr. Croyden, you will recognize that she is inclined to exaggerate at times," said Miss Carrington. "I admit that I am fond of the game, that I like to play with people who know how, and who, at the critical moment, are not always throwing the wrong card--you understand?"
"In other words, you haven't any patience with stupidity," said Croyden. "Nor have I--but we sometimes forget that a card player is born, not made. All the drilling and teaching one can do won't give card sense to one who hasn't any."
"Precisely!" Miss Carrington exclaimed, "and life is too short to bother with such people. They may be very charming otherwise, but not across the Bridge table."
"Yet ought you not to forgive them their misplays, just because they are charming?" Mrs. Carrington asked. "If you were given your choice between a poor player who is charming, and a good player who is disagreeable, which would you choose, Mr. Croyden?--Come, now be honest."
"It would depend upon the size of the game," Croyden responded. "If it were half a cent a point, I should choose the charming partner, but if it were five cents or better, I am inclined to think I should prefer the good player."
"I'll remember that," said Miss Carrington. "As we don't play, here, for money stakes, you won't care if your partner isn't very expert."
"Ever play poker?" Captain Carrington asked, suddenly.
"Occasionally," smiled Croyden.
"Good! We'll go down to the Club, some evening. We old fellows aren't much on Bridge, but we can handle a pair or three of-a-kind, pretty good. Have some sherry, won't you?"
"You must not let the Captain beguile you," interposed Mrs. Carrington. "The men all play poker with us,--it is a heritage of the old days--though the youngsters are breaking away from it."
"And taking up Bridge!" the Captain ejaculated. "And it is just as well--we have sense enough to stop before we're broke, but they haven't."
"To hear father talk, you would think that the present generation is no earthly good!" smiled Miss Carrington. "Yet I suppose, when he was young, his elders held the same opinion of him."
"I dare say!" laughed the Captain. "The old ones always think the young ones have a lot to learn--and they have, sir, they have! But it's of another sort than we can teach them, I reckon." He pushed back his chair. "We'll smoke on the piazza, sir--the ladies don't object."
As they passed out, a visitor was just ascending the steps. Miss Carrington gave a smothered exclamation and went forward.
"How do you do, Miss Erskine!" she said.
"How do you do, my dear!" returned Miss Erskine, "and Mrs. Carrington--and the dear Captain, too.--I'm charmed to find you all at home."
She spoke with an affected drawl that would have been amusing in a handsome woman, but was absurdly ridiculous in one with her figure and unattractive face.
She turned expectantly toward Croyden, and Miss Carrington presented him.
"So this is the new owner of Clarendon," she gurgled with an 'a' so broad it impeded her speech. "You have kept us waiting a long time, Mr. Croyden. We began to think you a myth."
"I'm afraid you will find me a very husky myth," Croyden answered.
She waddled to a chair and settled into it. Croyden shot an amused glance toward Miss Carrington, and received one in reply.
"No, I suppose not," he said, amiably. "But, then, you know, I am not a scholar."
Miss Erskine smiled in a superior sort of way.
"Very few of us are properly careful of our mode of speech," she answered. "And, oh! Mr. Croyden, I hope you intend to open Clarendon, so as to afford those of us who care for such things, the pleasure of studying the pictures, and the china, and the furniture. I am told it contains a Stuart and a Peale--and they should not be hidden from those who can appreciate them."
"I assume you're talking of pictures," said Croyden.
"I am, sir,--most assuredly!" the dame answered.
"Well, I must confess ignorance, again," he replied. "I wouldn't know a Stuart from a--chromo."
Miss Erskine gave a little shriek of horror.
"I do not believe it, Mr. Croyden!--you're playing on my credulity. I shall have to give you some instructions. I will lecture on Stuart and Peale, and the painters of their period, for your especial delectation--and soon, very soon!"
"I'm afraid it would all be wasted," said Croyden. "I'm not fond of art, I confess--except on the commercial side; and if I've any pictures, at Clarendon, worth money, I'll be for selling them."
"Oh! Mrs. Carrington! Will you listen--did you ever hear such heresy?" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it of you, Mr. Croyden. Let me lend you an article on Stuart to read. I shall bring it out to Clarendon to-morrow morning--and you can let me look at all the dear treasures, while you peruse it."
"Mr. Croyden has an appointment with me to-morrow, Amelia," said Carrington, quickly--and Croyden gave him a look of gratitude.
"It will be but a pleasure deferred, then, Mr. Croyden," said Miss Erskine, impenetrable in her self conceit. "The next morning will do, quite as well--I shall come at ten o'clock--What a lovely evening this is, Mrs. Carrington!" preparing to patronize her hostess.
The Captain snorted with sudden anger, and, abruptly excusing himself, disappeared in the library. Miss Carrington stayed a moment, then, with a word to Croyden, that she would show him the article now, before the others came, if Miss Erskine would excuse them a moment, bore him off.
"What do you think of her?" she demanded.
"Pompous and stupid--an irritating nuisance, I should call her."
"She's more!--she is the most arrogant, self-opinionated, self-complacent, vapid piece of humanity in this town or any other town. She irritates me to the point of impoliteness. She never sees that people don't want her. She's as dense as asphalt."
"It is very amusing!" Croyden interjected.
"At first, yes--pretty soon you will be throwing things at her--or wanting to."
"She's art crazy," he said. "Dilettanteism gone mad."
"It isn't only Art. She thinks she's qualified to speak on every subject under the sun, Literature--Bridge--Teaching--Music. Oh, she is intolerable!"
"What fits her for assuming universal knowledge?" asked Croyden.
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