Georgina nodded. She knew, for on several occasions she had sat beside Aunt Elspeth when she was in such a mood, and had quieted and pleased her with little songs and simple rhymes. She knew she could do it again to-day as effectually as Mrs. Saggs, if it wasn’t for giving up that exciting motor chase after the wild-cat woman. It seemed to her a greater sacrifice than flesh and blood should be called upon to make. She sat on the porch step, twirling her prism carelessly on its pink ribbon while she waited for the machine to be brought around. Then she climbed into the back seat with Uncle Darcy and the two pails of blueberries, while Richard settled himself and Captain Kidd in front with his Cousin James.
They whirled up to the Gray Inn to leave the blueberries, and then around down Bradford Street to Fishburn Court to attempt to explain to Aunt Elspeth. On the way they passed the Pilgrim monument. Georgina tried not to look at it, but she couldn’t help glancing up at it from the corner of her eye.
“You must,” it seemed to say to her.
“I won’t,” she as silently answered back.
“It’s your duty,” it reminded her, “and the idea of a descendant of one of the Pilgrim Fathers and one of the Minute-men shirking her duty. A pretty member of the Rainbow Club _you_ are,” it scoffed.
They whirled by the grim monster of a monument quickly, but Georgina felt impelled to turn and look back at it, her gaze following it up higher and higher, above the gargoyles, to the tipmost stones which seemed to touch the sky.
“I hate that word Duty,” she said savagely to herself. “It’s as big and ugly and as always-in-front-of-you as that old monument. They’re exactly alike. You can’t help seeing them no matter which way you look or how hard you try not to.”
At the gate she tried to put the obnoxious word out of her mind by leaning luxuriously back in the car and looking up at the chimney tops while Uncle Darcy stepped out and went into the house. He came out again almost immediately, crossed the little front yard and put his head in at Mrs. Saggs’ side window. After a short conversation with her he came out to the gate and stood irresolutely fingering the latch.
“I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, his voice even more troubled than before. “Mother’s asleep now. Mrs. Saggs says she’ll go over at twelve and take her her tea, but--I can’t help feeling I ought not to leave her alone for so long. Couldn’t you manage without me?”
And then, Georgina inwardly protesting, “I don’t want to and I won’t,” found herself stepping out of the car, and heard her own voice saying sweetly: