The innocent remark was flint and steel, with Lavinia’s powder heap in dangerous proximity. “I suppose your mother was delighted with that. But of course she was a rich woman, and glad to be rid of the moral training of her children. I can say for myself that I never shirked my duty—and I don’t intend to hand it over to you or Nanny or Dr. Schubert now. I made up my mind that I wouldn’t say a word about this; but it’s grinding my heart out. I can’t stand it any longer.”
“Mother, I don’t follow you at all. I asked you to be frank with me.”
“Very well, I’ll put it so plain that you can’t pretend you don’t understand. How would you feel if you had a daughter, and some stranger came along and took that girl’s life clear out of your hands? I haven’t a word to say about her. She runs to you for all sorts of things—clothes—as if I wouldn’t know what was stylish or becoming. If she’s in doubt about what to do, she talks it over with Larimore or Syd. When anything comes along to make her proud, she tells her father. She talks to Theodora by the hour about the things she saw when she was abroad—and she never tells me one thing. I’m simply shut out on every side, and it’s killing me!” She burst into hysterical weeping.
“I’m so sorry, mother. I hadn’t realized. Perhaps if you weren’t always so short and critical with her—”
“Oh, I’m to go down on my knees to her? Indeed I won’t. As long as she is under eighteen, she takes her orders from me. She’ll go to the dogs, with all this flattery and praise—”
“The surest way to ruin Eileen is to take that attitude towards her.”
“Well, she is my child, and I have a right to do with her as I please.”
“No—you—have—not!” Judith’s eyes flashed and her voice was hoarse with indignation. “Rather than permit you to wreck her chance for happiness, I’ll send her to Laura Ramsay—or even to my mother.”
II
Lavinia fled weeping through the door. She would tell Larimore how his wife had insulted her. Unfortunately he was in New York. At least she could write to him ... and the letter had distinct advantages. She would be spared interruption. Larimore always broke the point of her lance before she had time to drive it home. She wrote. She read the long letter through twice—and tore it into shreds. A second letter followed the first one. Then it was time to go down to luncheon.