Sheba Blake - Aunt Jane's Nieces

“Sufferin’ Moses!” ejaculated the astonished major, staring back into her twinkling eyes, “if this kapes on, we’ll be millionaires, Patsy.”

“We’re millionaires, now.” responded Patsy, promptly, “because we’ve health, and love, and contentment—and enough money to keep us from worrying. Do you know what I’ve decided, Major, dear? You shall go to make that visit to your colonel that you’ve so long wanted to have. The vacation will do you good, and you can get away all during July, because you haven’t rested for five years. I went to see Mr. Conover this noon, and he said he’d give you the month willingly, and keep the position for you when you returned.”

“What! You spoke to old Conover about me?”

“This noon. It’s all arranged, daddy, and you’ll just have a glorious time with the old colonel. Bless his dear heart, he’ll be overjoyed to have you with him, at last.”

The major pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose vigorously, and then surreptitiously wiped his eyes.

“Ah, Patsy, Patsy; it’s an angel you are, and nothing less at all, at all.”

“Rubbish, Major. Try your claret, and see if it’s right. And eat your fish before it gets cold. I’ll not treat you again, sir, unless you try to look happy. Why, you seem as glum as old Conover himself!”

The major was positively beaming.

“Would it look bad for me to kiss you, Patsy?”

“Now?”

“Now and right here in this very room!”

“Of course it would. Try and behave, like the gentleman you are, and pay attention to your dinner!”

It was a glorious meal. The cost was twenty-five cents a plate, but the gods never feasted more grandly in Olympus than these two simple, loving souls in that grimy Duggan street restaurant.

Over his coffee the major gave a sudden start and looked guiltily into Patricia’s eyes.

“Now, then,” she said, quickly catching the expression, “out with it.”

“It’s a letter,” said the major. “It came yesterday, or mayhap the day before. I don’t just remember.”

“A letter! And who from?” she cried, surprised.

“An ould vixen.”

“And who may that be?”

“Your mother’s sister Jane. I can tell by the emblem on the flap of the envelope,” said he, drawing a crumpled paper from his breast pocket.

“Oh, that person,” said Patsy, with scorn. “Whatever induced her to write to me? ” “You might read it and find out,” suggested the major.

Patricia tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. Her eyes blazed.

“What is it, Mavoureen?”

“An insult!” she answered, crushing the paper in her hand and then stuffing it into the pocket of her dress. “Light your pipe, daddy, dear. Here—I’ll strike the match.”

“How did you enjoy the reception, Louise?”

“Very well, mamma. But I made the discovery that my escort. Harry Wyndham, is only a poor cousin of the rich Wyndham family, and will never have a penny he doesn’t earn himself.”

“I knew that,” said Mrs. Merrick. “But Harry has the entree into some very exclusive social circles. I hope you treated him nicely, Louise. He can be of use to us.”

“Oh, yes, I think I interested him; but he’s a very stupid boy. By the way, mamma, I had an adventure last evening, which I have had no time to tell you of before.”

“Yes?”

“It has given me quite a shock. You noticed the maid you ordered to come from Madam Borne to dress my hair for the reception?”

“I merely saw her. Was she unsatisfactory?”

“She was very clever. I never looked prettier, I am sure. The maid is a little, demure thing, very young for such a position, and positively homely and common in appearance. But I hardly noticed her until she dropped a letter from her clothing. It fell just beside me, and I saw that it was addressed to no less a personage than my rich aunt, Miss Jane Merrick, at Elmhurst. Curious to know why a hair-dresser should be in correspondence with Aunt Jane, I managed to conceal the letter under my skirts until the maid was gone. Then I put it away until after the reception. It was sealed and stamped, all ready for the post, but I moistened the flap and easily opened it. Guess what I read?”

“I’ve no idea,” replied Mrs. Merrick.

“Here it is,” continued Louise, producing a letter and carefully unfolding it. “Listen to this, if you please: ‘Aunt Jane.’ She doesn’t even say ‘dear’ or ‘respected,’ you observe.”

‘Your letter to me, asking me to visit you, is almost an insult after your years of silence and neglect and your refusals to assist my poor mother when she was in need. Thank God we can do without your friendship and assistance now, for my honored father, Major Gregory Doyle, is very prosperous and earns all we need. I return your check with my compliments. If you are really ill, I am sorry for you, and would go to nurse you were you not able to hire twenty nurses, each of whom would have fully as much love and far more respect for you than could ever

‘Your indignant niece,

‘Patricia Doyle.’

“What do you think of that, mamma?’”

“It’s very strange, Louise. This hair-dresser is your own cousin.”

“So it seems. And she must be poor, or she wouldn’t go out as a sort of lady’s maid. I remember scolding her severely for pulling my hair at one time, and she was as meek as Moses, and never answered a word.”

“She has a temper though, as this letter proves,” said Mrs. Merrick; “and I admire her for the stand she has taken.”

“So do I,” rejoined Louise with a laugh, “for it removes a rival from my path. You will notice that Aunt Jane has sent her a check for the same amount she sent me. Here it is, folded in the letter. Probably my other cousin, the De Graf girl, is likewise invited to Elmhurst? Aunt Jane wanted us all, to see what we were like, and perhaps to choose between us.”

“Quite likely,” said Mrs. Merrick, uneasily watching her daughter’s face.

“That being the case,” continued Louise, “I intend to enter the competition. With this child Patricia out of the way, it will be a simple duel with my unknown De Graf cousin for my aunt’s favor, and the excitement will be agreeable even if I am worsted.”

“There’s no danger of that,” said her mother, calmly. “And the stakes are high, Louise. I’ve learned that your Aunt Jane is rated as worth a half million dollars.”

“They shall be mine,” said the daughter, with assurance. “Unless, indeed, the De Graf girl is most wonderfully clever. What is her name?”

“Elizabeth, if I remember rightly. But I am not sure she is yet alive, my dear. I haven’t heard of the De Grafs for a dozen years.’”

“Anyway I shall accept my Aunt Jane’s invitation, and make the acceptance as sweet as Patricia Doyle’s refusal is sour. Aunt Jane will be simply furious when she gets the little hair-dresser’s note.”

“Will you send it on?”

“Why not? It’s only a question of resealing the envelope and mailing it. And it will be sure to settle Miss Doyle’s chances of sharing the inheritance, for good and all.”

“And the check?”

“Oh, I shall leave the check inside the envelope. It wouldn’t be at all safe to cash it, you know.”

“But if you took it out Jane would think the girl had kept tit money, after all, and would be even more incensed against her.”

“No,” said Louise, after a moment’s thought, “I’ll not do a single act of dishonesty that could ever by any chance be traced to my door. To be cunning, to be diplomatic, to play the game of life with the best cards we can draw, is every woman’s privilege. But if I can’t win honestly, mater dear, I’ll quit the game, for even money can’t compensate a girl for the loss of her self-respect.”