CHAPTER x.x.xII

More and more, as the days pa.s.sed, Kate congratulated herself on having taken Jacqueline's affairs in hand before any harm was done. Startled out of her own preoccupation by Jemima's discovery of how matters stood between Jacqueline and the author, she continued to watch the younger girl narrowly; but she saw no signs of secret grief, nor even of wounded pride. The girl had never been more radiant, her cheeks a-glow, her eyes so soft and l.u.s.trous that sometimes her mother's grew dim at sight of them. She remembered a time when her own mirror had shown her just such a look of brooding revery.

"Channing has done nothing more than wake her womanhood," thought the mother. "And now, now it is Philip's turn!"

Philip, since his return from the mountains, spent more time than ever at Storm. Kate noted with satisfaction the added gentleness of his manner with Jacqueline, and threw them together as much as possible.

Jemima, too, seemed to have a great deal of time to give her younger sister in those days. Between them all, Jacqueline was rarely alone; but she had no longer any wish to be alone. She avoided the Ruin now, and took no more long rides about the country, except with Kate. She clung to her mother with the persistency of a child who is recovering from an illness.

Jemima had taken it upon herself to watch the mails, and reported that there were no letters for Jacqueline. Channing evidently intended to keep his word implicitly.

Jacqueline had received her mother's explanation of his conduct quite calmly.

"Let's not discuss it, Mummy," she begged, flushing a little. "Of course if Mr. Charming was already married, that way, he couldn't ask me to marry him. I understand." She attempted one little apology for him.

"Geniuses aren't quite--quite like other men, and they ought to be judged differently, Mummy."

Her sister, who was present at the interview, came over to her here, and bestowed one of her rare kisses. Pride and dignity always had a strong appeal for Jemima....

When she had first gone to her mother with her suspicions, Kate was aghast. "In love with each other, child! Why, that's impossible. Where have they seen each other? He is an intellectual, sophisticated young man of the world,--and our Jacky--!"

"The attraction of opposites," Jemima reminded her.

For just one moment, the mother's thoughts were selfish. If Jacqueline after all did not marry Philip, what would become of her own vindication, that triumphant answer to the world for which she had so patiently waited? She put the old plan from her with a sigh.

"Of course Channing would be a good match for little Jacqueline. But I had hoped," she said, half to herself, "that my child might marry Philip."

Jemima gave her a queer, quick glance. "You think Philip wants that?"

Kate nodded. "Perhaps he does not know it yet, though."

The girl said haltingly, "I have always thought that Philip was rather fond of--you, Mother."

"Of me? So he is. Philip has loved me since he was a little boy," she answered, smiling tenderly. "All the more reason for him to love my Jacqueline. We are very much alike, only that she is prettier, and younger--which counts, of course.--But now you say she wants to marry this Channing."

"I do not say that he wants to marry her."

"Jemmy!"

"Well, why should he?" asked the girl, evenly. "It would not be a good match for Mr. Channing. His family are conservative Boston people. Can you imagine Jacky among conservative Boston people? Sliding down banisters, riding bareback, making eyes at all the men--"

"That is not what you mean," said her mother, rather white about the lips. "You mean the scandal about me. Yes, that would make a difference.--You think it is only a flirtation, then?"

"On his part, yes. On Jacqueline's--I don't know. But even flirtation is not very safe for Jacqueline. Remember her inheritance." Jemima met her mother's wincing eyes firmly.

"What do you mean?" gasped the older woman.

"I mean--that Jacqueline is overs.e.xed." She had no intention of seeing her little sister come to grief for lack of frankness. "I know it, and you know it, and we both know that it is not her fault." She added after a moment, "I have reason to believe that Mr. Channing is not a marrying man. There was talk in Lexington--If I were you I should write to Professor Jim and ask him."

Kate promptly took her advice, with the results that have been seen; and her respect for the ac.u.men of her elder child became somewhat akin to awe.

Nor was Jemima at the end of her surprises for her mother.

One morning she followed Kate rather aimlessly into her office; a thing almost unprecedented, for Mrs. Kildare was rarely disturbed in her sanctum except upon matters of business.

"You wish to see me about something, daughter?"

"Oh, no, I just wanted to talk."

Kate's heart thumped suddenly. It was a long time since the girl had sought her out for one of their old confidential chats about nothing in particular. She had been almost glad of the trouble about Jacqueline because for the moment it had brought her close again to her other child. The newly formed alliance was evidently to continue.

She said lightly, "Talk away, then!"

Jemima wandered about the room, examining this thing and that, without attention. "You've never asked me a question about the visit to Mrs.

Lawton, nor why I came home sooner than I had expected to."

"I did not dare," admitted Kate, smiling a little. "I was afraid the great experiment had not proved a success."

"Oh, but it was. A great success!--That is not why I came home so soon."

"Why, then?"

Jemima gave a most unexpected answer. "Because I was homesick."

Tears of pure pleasure came into Kate's eyes.

"You see, I'd never been away from home before, and I had no idea how much I should miss you-all. But people were very kind to me; on Professor Jim's account, I think."

"Dear old Jim!" said Kate, softly. "He deserves loyal friends, because he knows so well how to be one.--I have missed him lately. When is he coming home again?"

"To-day. He will be out to-morrow for supper, as usual."

"Oh, yes, it is Friday, isn't it? What an odd idea, that lecture tour!--so unlike Jim. He has always been so shy and retiring. I wonder what made him undertake it?"

"I did," said Jemima.

"You?"

"Why, yes. Some of his lectures seemed to me most unusual, much too good to waste there in Lexington. So when the opportunity was offered to him to speak in several other places, I persuaded him to accept it. We went over the talks together and made them simpler; more popular, you know.

Sometimes he forgets that every audience is not composed of scholars."

Kate stared at her child in amused respect. "Do you mean to say you have added literary censorship to your various other accomplishments?"

Jemima smiled deprecatingly. "I was glad to be able to help him a little, after all he has done for us.--Look here, Mother,"--she began to finger the papers on the desk--"do you care at all for Professor Jim?"

"Of course I do!"

"No--I don't mean that way. I mean--Are you ever going to marry him, do you think?"

Kate's speechless surprise was sufficient answer.