Otherwise Phyllis Part 41

"We will pa.s.s that for the present. Tell me about the young fellows who pay you attentions."

Phil ran over the list, Lois interrupting when some familiar name arrested her attention. Phil hit off one after the other in a few apt phrases. Her mother in a rocking-chair, with arms folded, was more serious than in any of their previous talks. What Phil disclosed was only the social experience of the average country-town girl. The fact that she had made a few acquaintances in Indianapolis interested her mother.

"The Fitches? Yes; nice people. That was through your father? All right.

Go on."

"Well, there are the two Holton boys," said Phil, self-conscious for the first time. "You see, my aunts thought everything ought to be fixed up with the Holtons, and they asked Mr. and Mrs. William to my party, and threw in Charlie and Ethel, and I suggested that they add Fred, too.

They are Samuel's children. There being the two brothers it didn't seem nice to leave out one; and I already knew Fred anyhow."

"Why this sudden affection of your aunts for the Holtons?--there is a reason for everything those creatures do."

"Mrs. William is stylish and does things. Her maid wears a cap when she opens the door, and Mrs. William makes her calls in a neat electric."

"Everything is explained quite satisfactorily, Phil. Amzi told me our sisters had buried the hatchet, but he didn't put it quite as clearly as you do. He did tell me, though, that Jack had spoiled your beautiful party by turning up drunk. That was nasty, vile," she added, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, about these nephews?"

"Charlie is older, and very citified; quite the most dashing man who lightens our horizons. He sends me flowers and bon-bons, most expensive.

And he's a joy at paying compliments; makes you feel that you're the only one, or tries to. He has very large ideas about business and life generally. But nice, I think, and kind and generous. But, mamma--"

She paused, disconcerted by a sudden keen look her mother gave her.

"He sounds like an agreeable person," remarked Lois, glancing at the point of her slipper.

"What I started to say was that if you think I shouldn't see them any more--"

"Bless me, no! I see what's in your mind, Phil, but you needn't trouble about that. We're just trying to get acquainted, you and I. We understand each other beautifully, and after while we'll see whether we have any advice for each other. At your age I hadn't the sense of a kitten. You're most astonishingly wise; I marvel at you! And you've grown up a nice, sensible girl in spite of your aunts--none of their cattishness--not a hint of it. I can't tell you how relieved I am to find you just as you are. The way they have cuddled up to the Holtons is diverting, but nothing more. It's what you would have expected of them.

The proud and haughty Montgomerys turned sn.o.bs! It's frightful to think of it! As for me, I have nothing against the Holtons. I'm this kind of a sinner, Phil: I carry my own load. No shoving it off on anybody else!

Some people are born with ideals; I wasn't! But I hope to acquire some before I die; we're all ent.i.tled to a show at them. But, bless me, what are we talking about? There's the other Holton boy; what's he got to say for himself?"

"Oh, he'd never say it if it were left to him! He's shy, modest, proud.

No frills."

"Handsome?"

"Well, he has a nice face," Phil answered, so earnestly that her mother laughed. "And he's modest and genuine and sincere."

"Those are good qualities. As near as I can make out, you like all these young men well enough--the boys you knew in high school and the college boys. And these Holtons have broken into the circle lately, and have shown you small attentions--nothing very important."

"Charlie sends me American Beauties, and Fred has brought me quails and a book."

"What was the book?"

"'The Gray Knight of Picardy.'"

"That's Nan Bartlett's?" Lois looked at the palm of her hand carelessly.

"Yes; it's a great success--the hit of the season."

"I suppose your father and Nan have been good friends--literary interests in common, and all that?"

"Of course," Phil answered, uncomfortable under this seemingly indifferent questioning.

"I have read the story. There are pages in it that are like your father.

I suppose, seeing so much of each other, they naturally talked it over--a sort of collaboration?"

The question required an answer, and Phil shrank from answering.

Closeted with her mother she was reluctant to confess how close had been the relationship between her father and Nan Bartlett. Her mind worked quickly. She was outspokenly truthful by habit; but she was a loyal soul, too. She decided that she could answer her mother's question without violating her father's confidence as to his feelings toward Nan.

That was all over now; her father had told her so in a word. Lois hummed, picking bits of lint from her skirt while Phil deliberated.

"Father did help with it. I suppose he even wrote part of it, but n.o.body need know that. Daddy doesn't mean to go in for writing; he says the very suspicion that he's literary would hurt him in the law."

"I suppose he helped on the book just to get Nan interested. Now that she's launched as a writer, he drops out of the combination."

"Something like that. Daddy is very busy, you know."

Phil entertained views of her own as to the cause of her father's sudden awakening. She was sure that his interest in Nan was the inspiration of it, quite as much as alarm at the low ebb of his fortunes. In the general confusion into which the world had been plunged, Phil groped in the dark along unfamiliar walls. It was a grim fate that flung her back and forth between father and mother, a shuttle playing across the broken, tangled threads of their lives. She started suddenly as a new thought struck her. Perhaps behind this seemingly inadvertent questioning lay some deeper interest. Suddenly the rose light of romance touched the situation. Phil looked at Lois guardedly. What if--? With an accession of feeling she flung herself at her mother's knees and took her hands.

"Could you and daddy ever make it up? Could you do that now, after all these years?" she asked earnestly.

Lois looked at her absently, with her trick of trying to recall a question not fully comprehended.

"Oh, _that_! Never in this world! What do you think your father's made of?" Again the shrug, so becoming, so expressive, so final! She freed her hands, and drew out and replaced a hairpin. For an instant Phil was dismayed, but once so far afield in dangerous territory she would not retreat.

"But what would you say?" she persisted.

"Dear Phil, don't think of such a terrible thing; it fairly chills me.

Your father is a gentleman; he wouldn't--he wouldn't do anything so cruel as that!" she said ambiguously.

"I don't see how it would be cruel, if he meant it--if he wanted to!"

"That's because you are an angel and don't know anything about this sad old world of ours. Life isn't like the story-books, Phil. In a novel a nice dear daughter like you might reconcile her parents with tears and flowers and that sort of thing; but in real life it's very different as you will see when you think of it; only I don't want you to think of it at all. I believe you like me; we hit it off quite wonderfully; and I should expect you to hate me if I ever dreamed of anything so contemptible as spoiling a man's life twice."

And remembering Nan, Phil could not argue the matter. She was unable to visualize her father on his knees to her mother. No flimsy net of sentiment flung across the chasm could bring them within hailing distance of each other; they were utterly irreconcilable characters. It was incredible that they had ever pledged themselves to love and cherish each other forever.

"Phil, what did your father say about my coming back?" asked Lois abruptly.

Phil hesitated. Her mother looked at her keenly in that instant of delay, and then laid her hand gently upon Phil's lips.

"No; don't answer that! It isn't a fair question. And now let us forget all these things forever and ever!"

She proposed a walk before dinner. "I'll get into my boots and be ready in a minute."

Phil heard her whistling as she moved about her room.

CHAPTER XX