And when had she ever seen spot or soil or sagging pocket, loose button, frayed binding, or faded tie? Her mother had called him "a salaried boy," but she recalled Lena's statement that he wished to take her sister to drive. She knew he often rode a horse, hired in Yonkers. He lavished gifts of fruit upon Mrs. Lawton and music and books and flowers on Dorrie. Surely, she thought, a young lawyer must receive a good salary to do all that and dress so well. She wondered if she ought to make him understand Dorothy's position. Even if they were only engaged, that engagement would protect the young fiancée from the detested approaches of another man. Papa? Ah! poor dear papa had no authority where mamma was concerned! What should she do? Then suddenly she began to dress for the street. She decided that she would go to her god-mother with her trouble. She had always been fond of Dorothy, and if Mrs. Lawton feared any adverse opinion it was that of Mrs. Van Camp.
As she hurried down-stairs, hoping, by fast walking to the station, to catch the next train cityward, Mrs. Lawton came into the hall, to express shocked disapproval of her daughter's action and her sorrow at not having more fully impressed herself upon that daughter's mind and character, in which case she could have seen for herself the horrible impropriety of going to the city unaccompanied; in fact, to be perfectly explicit and exact, 'er alone! And Sybil, as she rapidly buttoned her gloves, replied with the humble deference of tone, which usually cloaked her worst impertinences: "Yes, mamma dear, undoubtedly the girl who can buy tickets for two and pay the salary of a chaperon who watches her, is guilty of a criminal impropriety in travelling alone. You see the point, don't you, dear mamma? Without wealth there is no impropriety. Of course that's unfair, but the fact remains that a poor girl may ride for an hour in a public car in broad daylight, and not only retain her self-respect, but fail to hear a single charge of impropriety. Of course it's hard, but since we have fallen upon poverty, we must not lay claim to the attributes of the wealthy. Good-by, dear mamma! Tell Dorrie and papa I shall probably have to see the costumer to-morrow, if Mr. Thrall can spare the time to accompany me, and decide upon correct designs; but I shall be home in time for tea—D. V.—I mean of course."
As she flew down the steep driveway leading to the street, Mrs. Lawton, looking after her, said, aloud: "Dear me! With Sybil assuming this freedom of action and Dorothy developing a streak of real obstinacy, I have to ask myself why I ever assumed the responsibility of bringing daughters into the worlds. Sons would doubtless have been far more satisfactory, particularly under the present unfortunate circumstances." And she returned to her rocker, her smelling-bottle, and her French novel, shaking her head and sighing portentously.
CHAPTER XVI
A STRANGE BETROTHAL
Nothing of Dorothy's doing in all her young life had so exasperated Mrs. Lawton as her refusal to drive out with William Henry Bulkley. How, she asked herself, could a child of hers be so stupidly content in poverty and obscurity, when, by a little self-sacrifice, she could acquire wealth; then with beauty and wealth combined with the Bassett-Lawton finesse she could attain position and exist socially. With the slightest sense of her own value and an adroit touch of coquetry now and then, she could simply twist Mr. Bulkley about her little finger.
"Of course he is a bit old for her, indeed," admitted Mrs. Lawton to herself. "He is a trifle older than her father, but—but—love for me, a tender desire for my welfare, should outweigh that objection; and I have tried hard to make her understand that my worldly salvation depends wholly upon her conduct. And yet the stupid creature receives the rich man who has cast her his handkerchief with frightened silence or with prim monosyllables! I—I could shake her! In my days of affluence and power, I always raised my voice against corporal punishment for children; but live and learn, live and learn! I know now I was in error, for the other day when she hid herself to avoid going to drive with William Henry Bulkley nothing would have given me more unalloyed pleasure than to have soundly trounced Miss Dorothy Lawton, my own youngest born daughter! If he only had an opportunity, no doubt Mr. Bulkley would flatter her vanity, arouse her ambition; but if he has no chance even to make splendid promises to her—well, he shall have a chance! She shall go out for a drive with him! Simpleton! She might herself have been driving a pair of dear little ponies this month past but for John Lawton's stiff-necked refusal to permit her to accept them. He's always ready to join hands with the girls in any sentimental folly. But I have a plan in my mind. The bird that can sing, but won't sing, my dear, must be made to sing! So next time Mr. Bulkley drives out here you will accept the seat beside him for at least a short drive, or I am not Letitia Lawton and your mother, Miss!"
While she was brooding over her plans in the sitting-room, Dorothy and Lena were busy in the kitchen, which was filled with the pleasant odor of baking bread. A large bottle of Lena's providing had been carefully covered with white flannel, and around and around it Dorothy was smoothly winding and basting down a bit of good old lace that was soiled beyond all using, and, as there was no money to spare for its renovation, she was taking this slow and tiresome way of cleaning it herself.
Lena, always delighted to do something for her favorite Miss Lady, was shaving some white soap up, ready for melting in a kettle of boiling water, and was earnestly assuring Miss Dorothy that she would "get uf der hands scalded, uf she attempted to do dose jobs! Youst tell me, my Miss," she begged, "und I vill boil de bottle, or younce him up und down, or twist him round or vat you vant every hows, only don' you get of der hands scalted."