"My dear Aunt Isabel!" ejaculated the visitor. Phil's gratitude to this relative did not blind him to her characteristics, or as to how her idle and fashionable life had reflected in the bringing-up or coming-up of her son.
"Now, don't say no, Phil," she went on. "I don't expect that you found any kindred spirit in Edgar, but I'm going to be frank, his father is so out of patience with him that he is severe, and I am hoping that the sight of your economy will show Edgar that something beside extravagance can bring happiness; and the sight of your industry will rebuke his idle tastes."
"I can't conceive of myself as an example to the young," laughed Phil uncomfortably. "I half suspected yesterday that you had been holding me up before Edgar. There aren't any comparisons to be made between a gilded youth and a painter, and I assure you it is no lofty principle that makes me care little where I live and eat. It is only a desire to do a certain thing, so intense that it dwarfs every other need."
"He has overpowering desires, too," said Mrs. Fabian bitterly; "but it is to go yachting and play polo and drink champagne." She sighed. "I suppose I haven't known how to be a good mother," she added with dejection, "but there,"—her voice grew suddenly argumentative,—"look at Kathleen! I've brought them up alike, but she is the other extreme. She has no taste for pleasure. She's a natural student and bookworm; and what I am to do with her when she graduates, Heaven only knows. I shall insist upon her coming out," added Mrs. Fabian virtuously. "She must go through the same form as the other girls in her set, and it may be that a reaction will set in and she will find a normal satisfaction in it. It will break my heart if she drops out and becomes one of these poky oddities. Well,"—another sigh,—"I mustn't borrow trouble. Were you surprised at my early morning call at your room, Phil? I hoped I should be early enough to catch you."
"I was surprised; but it was a lucky visit for me, even though I was not there."
"I'm glad you're pleased with those little comforts; but I shall be frank,—it was to try to get my grandmother's silver that I went. If you had known you were working against me, Phil, you wouldn't have helped that crazy Eliza to carry the things away."
"They belong to her, she tells me," said Phil simply. "Aunt Mary seemed to think you were living in an embarrassment of riches anyway."
"Then you should have shipped them to your mother. It's quite indecent that a servant should have them. It reflects upon your mother and me. Can't you see that, Phil?"
He stirred his broad shoulders uncomfortably.
"I'm glad you aren't going to blame me for it anyway," he returned, looking at his hostess with a frank smile. "After all they're only things, you know. The important part is how Aunt Mary felt about them, isn't it? You know probably what sort of thoughts she had about you in her last days."