“Now, you must not talk any more but try to sleep. Shall I read to you?”
“No, not now. Oh, Lilian, you will not tire of me? You will not leave me? It cannot be long——”
“No, no, and this will be my home. Let that comfort you.”
Lilian took up some embroidery. Mrs. Barrington had merely looked in to inquire. How still the house seemed, and she was in a highly nervous mood. What if Major Crawford should not believe the story? Well, Lilian Boyd should never know how near she had come to being a heroine of romance, and she should achieve some of her desires.
Mrs. Boyd drowsed. Yes, it was really the providence of God that she should be removed. She would always have the things she most desired, which she, Mrs. Boyd could not have given her in the pretty home Lilian had been planning. She had been happy with her lover, then her husband. But, Lilian would shrink from the kiss of the grimy man fresh from his hard work, and after his brief ablutions, sitting down to supper in his shirt sleeves and then lighting his pipe and pushing his baby up and down the front walk, jesting and laughing with the neighbors. There were blocks of them, most of them happy women, too, except when the babies came too fast or died out of their arms. And a few games of cards in the evening, a play now and then merry enough to keep one laughing. No, it would never have done for Lilian.
And she would feel out of place in the life to which the girl aspired. She would never get quite at ease with these refined friends whose talk was of books and music and the part great men and women were playing in the world.
How many times does one have a foreshadowing of the real things that affect life! One may be heavy hearted for days groping about fearsomely and suddenly the cloud lifts without any misfortune. Then swift in the happiest hour comes the stroke that crushes one. Lilian looked straight ahead in her life. She would serve her time here and repay Mrs. Barrington for her generous kindness.
In a lovely old town like Mount Morris, the lines of caste get unconsciously drawn. Where people have lived hundreds of years and can trace back to some titled ancestor perhaps, where they have never known the hard grind of poverty, but have worked on the higher lines. There had been several noted clergymen, two bishops, scholars, senators and even an ambassador abroad. There was no especial pride in this, it was simply what was to be expected of sons growing up in this refined, upright and moral atmosphere. But they sometimes passed rather proudly by those of the next lower round who bent their energies to money making.
Lilian had soon come to understand that and her personal pride kept her aloof from any chance of snubs. But she would want a wider world presently that was not bounded by a grandfather or a fortune that had descended through generations.
There were moments when Mrs. Boyd’s confession seemed a feverish dream. She did not dare build anything on it, because she had indulged in some romantic dreams and longings, because there had been wounded vanity almost to a sense of shame, she held herself to a strict account. No matter what she might gain here, she would always be considered Mrs. Boyd’s daughter. She had not expected to be received with the young ladies of the school, and had taken no notice of the little rudenesses that might have had a better excuse if she had been trying to crowd in. So all the refinements of birth and education did not always conduce to the higher generosity of heart.