XXXIX Lavinia
I
It was the largest funeral Springdale had ever seen. Lavinia reflected, with grim pride, that not even President Henderson had called forth so many or such magnificent floral tributes. Dr. Clarkson conducted the simple service and the Conservatory Quartette sang the old sweet songs that David loved. With uncovered heads his townsmen stood by while his tired body sank to rest. Then life went on as before.
II
Lavinia and Theodora were alone in the big house with Drusilla. Lary thought it absurd for them to occupy so much room. He would be going to New York in the early fall, now that Springdale had nothing to hold him. His mother might as well return to Vine Cottage. She had built the great Colonial house in order to make a propitious marriage for Sylvia. A similar need would never confront her.
“Move into this little place? Indeed I shall do nothing of the sort. In fact, I have made up my mind to go back to Bromfield.”
“Bromfield?” The tone carried something dangerously like a sneer.
“The town was good enough for your grandparents,” his mother retorted hotly. “I won’t have a relative left here but Eileen, and she will certainly never be any comfort to me. It’s a shame, the way she could forget her father in less than a month. She acts as if Dr. Schubert were her own father. I don’t believe she has shed a tear. No, I wouldn’t stop a day in Springdale for that ungrateful girl.”
“But your friends of a lifetime are here.”
“You can make new friends in New York. Why shouldn’t I? You think of me as an old woman, Larimore. I don’t like it. The day has gone by when a woman of fifty has to sit in the chimney-corner. I have written to Ted, telling him that I want to buy back the old home. You shall remodel it for me. That would be a work you could take pride in—the house your great-grandfather built.”