“Now, mamma,” began father, “I wouldn't-”
“I mean every word of it,” reaffirmed mother with the voice of doom. “No grades, no holiday. Missy's got to learn balance and moderation. She lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet. She's got to learn, before it's too late, to think and control herself.”
There was a moment's heavy pause, then mother went on, significantly:
“And I don't know that you ought to buy that car this spring, papa.”
The parents exchanged a brief glance, and Missy's heart dropped even lower. For months she had been teasing father to buy a car, as so many of the girls' fathers were doing. He had said, “Wait till spring,” and now-the universe was draped in gloom.
However, there was a certain sombre satisfaction in reflecting that her traits of frailty should call forth such enthrallingly sinister comments. “Lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet”—“before, it's too late”—“must learn to control herself—”
Human nature is an interesting study, and especially one's own nature when one stands off and regards it as a problem Allen, mysterious and complicated. Missy stared at the endangered recesses of her soul—and wondered what Raymond thought about these perils-for any girl. He liked her of course, but did he think she was too enthusiastic?
Yet such speculations did not, at the time, tie up with views about the Colorado trip. That was still the guiding star of all her hopes. She must study harder during the spring term and stave off the threatened and unspeakable calamity. It was a hard resolution to put through, especially when she conceived a marvellous idea-a “farce” like one Polly Currier told her about when she was home for her Easter vacation. Missy wrestled with temptation like some Biblical martyr of old, but the thought of Colorado kept her strong. And she couldn't help feeling a little noble when, mentioning to mother the discarded inspiration-without allusion to Colorado-she was praised for her adherence to duty.
The sense of nobility aided her against various tantalizing chances to prove anew her gifts of leadership, through latter March, through April, through early May—lengthening, balmy, burgeoning days when Spring brings all her brightly languid witchery in assault upon drab endeavour.
The weather must share the blame for what befell that fateful Friday of the second week in May. Blame? Of course there was plenty of blame from adults that must be laid somewhere; but as for Missy, a floating kind of ecstasy was what that day woke in her first, and after the worst had happened—But let us see what did come to pass.