In her manner of pronouncing that word “cousin,” a non-committal manner, a more-than-meets-the-eye manner, a defensive manner—in a word, a family manner—she indicated a whole family history. When relatives who are distant in more senses than one meet after a considerable period, that particular manner is invariably employed by the one who speaks first.
The history of the Dartmouths and the Ilams was quite simple—indeed, so usual as to be hardly worthy of record. Mrs. Dartmouth, mother of the twins, had been an Ilam. She was the orphan child of Josephus’ dead uncle, and therefore niece of Josephus’ father. And before her marriage she was understood to have “expectations” from that mighty and opulent soda-water manufacturer. However, heedless of these expectations, she went and married beneath her—to wit, a solicitor’s clerk. The niece of a rich soda-water manufacturer has no business to marry a solicitor’s clerk. The result was a complete estrangement. Mrs. Dartmouth gave all the Ilams to understand that she and her husband had no need of anyone’s money—that, in fact, they scorned the Ilam millions. Mrs. Dartmouth met Josephus at his father’s funeral. Ten years later Pauline and Rosie met Josephus at Mrs. Dartmouth’s funeral. They shook hands formally, and made it clear to Josephus that they would stoop to accept no gift from him, who had scorned their mother, even should he offer it.
That was seven years ago, and Pauline and Rosie were now absolutely alone in the world, and, moreover, age had taught them tolerance, and their curiosity had been extremely excited by the news of their cousin’s partnership with the world-renowned Carpentaria, and the subsequent birth of the City of Pleasure. So that, in spite of anything they might have previously said to each other, they were rather pleased to meet their solemn cousin, who, after all, was a millionaire, and who really seemed less aloof and stiff than he appeared at funerals.
“So you were going to cut me?” said Ilam, trying to smile.
“No, cousin,” said Pauline. “How are you? You don’t look very well.”
They shook hands over the gate.
“I’m not,” said Ilam.
“And Mrs. Ilam. She keeps pretty well, I hope,” put in Rosie decorously.
“That’s just it. She doesn’t. She’s—— Won’t you come in?”
And he opened the gate.