CHAPTER II.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
In the cosy chamber of an apartment located in a fashionable quarterof New York Louise Merrick reclined upon a couch, dressed in adainty morning gown and propped and supported by a dozen embroideredcushions.
Upon a taboret beside her stood a box of bonbons, the contents ofwhich she occasionally nibbled as she turned the pages of her novel.
The girl had a pleasant and attractive face, although its listlessexpression was singular in one so young. It led you to suspect thatthe short seventeen years of her life had robbed her of all theanticipation and eagerness that is accustomed to pulse in strong youngblood, and filled her with experiences that compelled her to acceptexistence in a half bored and wholly matter-of-fact way.
The room was tastefully though somewhat elaborately furnished; yeteverything in it seemed as fresh and new as if it had just come fromthe shop--which was not far from the truth. The apartment itselfwas new, with highly polished floors and woodwork, and decorationsundimmed by time. Even the girl's robe, which she wore so gracefully,was new, and the books upon the center-table were of the latesteditions.
The portiere was thrust aside and an elderly lady entered the room,seating herself quietly at the window, and, after a single glance atthe form upon the couch, beginning to embroider patiently upon somework she took from a silken bag. She moved so noiselessly that thegirl did not hear her and for several minutes absolute silencepervaded the room.
Then, however, Louise in turning a leaf glanced up and saw the headbent over the embroidery. She laid down her book and drew an openletter from between the cushions beside her, which she languidlytossed into the other's lap.
"Who is this woman, mamma?" she asked.
Mrs. Merrick glanced at the letter and then read it carefully through,before replying.
"Jane Merrick is your father's sister," she said, at last, as shethoughtfully folded the letter and placed it upon the table.
"Why have I never heard of her before?" enquired the girl, with aslight accession of interest in her tones.
"That I cannot well explain. I had supposed you knew of your poorfather's sister Jane, although you were so young when he died that itis possible he never mentioned her name in your presence."
"They were not on friendly terms, you know. Jane was rich, havinginherited a fortune and a handsome country place from a young man whomshe was engaged to marry, but who died on the eve of his wedding day."
"How romantic!" exclaimed Louise.
"It does seem romantic, related in this way," replied her mother. "Butwith the inheritance all romance disappeared from your aunt's life.She became a crabbed, disagreeable woman, old before her time andfriendless because she suspected everyone of trying to rob her of hermoney. Your poor father applied to her in vain for assistance, and Ibelieve her refusal positively shortened his life. When he died, afterstruggling bravely to succeed in his business, he left nothing but hislife-insurance."
"Thank heaven he left that!" sighed Louise.
"Yes; we would have been beggared, indeed, without it," agreed Mrs.Merrick. "Yet I often wonder, Louise, how we managed to live upon theinterest of that money for so many years."
"We didn't live--we existed," corrected the girl, yawning. "Wescrimped and pinched, and denied ourselves everything but barenecessities. And had it not been for your brilliant idea, mater dear,we would still be struggling in the depths of poverty."
Mrs. Merrick frowned, and leaned back in her chair.
"I sometimes doubt if the idea was so brilliant, after all," shereturned, with a certain grimness of expression. "We're plunging,Louise; and it may be into a bottomless pit."
"Don't worry, dear," said the girl, biting into a bonbon. "We areonly on the verge of our great adventure, and there's no reason tobe discouraged yet, I assure you. Brilliant! Of course the ideawas brilliant, mamma. The income of that insurance money wasinsignificant, but the capital is a very respectable sum. I am justseventeen years of age--although I feel that I ought to be thirty, atthe least--and in three years I shall be twenty, and a married woman.You decided to divide our capital into three equal parts, and spend athird of it each year, this plan enabling us to live in good style andto acquire a certain social standing that will allow me to select awealthy husband. It's a very brilliant idea, my dear! Three years is along time. I'll find my Croesus long before that, never fear."
"You ought to," returned the mother, thoughtfully. "But if you fail,we shall be entirely ruined."
"A strong incentive to succeed." said Louise, smiling. "An ordinarygirl might not win out; but I've had my taste of poverty, and I don'tlike it. No one will suspect us of being adventurers, for as long aswe live in this luxurious fashion we shall pay our bills promptly andbe proper and respectable in every way. The only chance we run lies inthe danger that eligible young men may prove shy, and refuse to takeour bait; but are we not diplomats, mother dear? We won't despise amillionaire, but will be content with a man who can support us in goodstyle, or even in comfort, and in return for his money I'll be a verygood wife to him. That seems sensible and wise, I'm sure, and not atall difficult of accomplishment."
Mrs. Merrick stared silently out of the window, and for a few momentsseemed lost in thought.
"I think, Louise," she said at last, "you will do well to cultivateyour rich aunt, and so have two strings to your bow."
"You mean that I should accept her queer invitation to visit her?"
"Yes."
"She has sent me a check for a hundred dollars. Isn't it funny?"
"Jane was always a whimsical woman. Perhaps she thinks we are quitedestitute, and fears you would not be able to present a respectableappearance at Elmhurst without this assistance. But it is an evidenceof her good intentions. Finding death near at hand she is obliged toselect an heir, and so invites you to visit her that she may studyyour character and determine whether you are worthy to inherit herfortune."
The girl laughed, lightly.
"It will be easy to cajole the old lady," she said. "In two days I canso win her heart that she will regret she has neglected me so long."
"Exactly."
"If I get her money we will change our plans, and abandon theadventure we were forced to undertake. But if, for any reason, thatplan goes awry, we can fall back upon this prettily conceived schemewhich we have undertaken. As you say, it is well to have two stringsto one's bow; and during July and August everyone will be out of town,and so we shall lose no valuable time."
Mrs. Merrick did not reply. She stitched away in a methodical manner,as if abstracted, and Louise crossed her delicate hands behind herhead and gazed at her mother reflectively. Presently she said:
"Tell me more of my father's family. Is this rich aunt of mine theonly relative he had?"
"No, indeed. There were two other sisters and a brother--a veryuninteresting lot, with the exception, of your poor father. The eldestwas John Merrick, a common tinsmith, if I remember rightly, who wentinto the far west many years ago and probably died there, for he wasnever heard from. Then came Jane, who in her young days had someslight claim to beauty. Anyway, she won the heart of Thomas Bradley,the wealthy young man I referred to, and she must have been clever tohave induced him to leave her his money. Your father was a year or soyounger than Jane, and after him came Julia, a coarse anddisagreeable creature who married a music-teacher and settled in someout-of-the-way country town. Once, while your father was alive, shevisited us for a few days, with her baby daughter, and nearly drove usall crazy. Perhaps she did not find us very hospitable, for we weretoo poor to entertain lavishly. Anyway, she went away suddenly afteryou had a fight with her child and nearly pulled its hair out by theroots, and I have never heard of her since."
"A daughter, eh," said Louise, musingly. "Then this rich Aunt Jane hasanother niece besides myself."
"Perhaps two," returned Mrs. Merrick; "for her youngest sister, whowas named Violet, married a vagabond Irishman and had a daughterabout a year younger tha
n you. The mother died, but whether the childsurvived her or not I have never learned."
"What was her name?" asked Louise.
"I cannot remember. But it is unimportant. You are the only Merrick ofthem all, and that is doubtless the reason Jane has sent for you."
The girl shook her blonde head.
"I don't like it," she observed.
"Don't like what?"
"All this string of relations. It complicates matters."
Mrs. Merrick seemed annoyed.
"If you fear your own persuasive powers," she said, with almost asneer in her tones, "you'd better not go to Elmhurst. One or theother of your country cousins might supplant you in your dear aunt'saffections."
The girl yawned and took up her neglected novel.
"Nevertheless, mater dear," she said briefly, "I shall go."