She moved toward the door, then paused and said:
“Isn’t Essex a sort of Frenchman? Or wasn’t he, anyway, brought up in Paris, or had a French mother, or something?”
“As to his mother,” said Mrs. Willers, sourly, “the Lord alone knows who she was. I’ve heard she was everything from the daughter of a duke to a snake-charmer in a dime museum. But he told me he was born and partly educated in Paris, and Madame Bertrand, at the Rôtisserie, tells me he must have been, as he talks real French French, not the kind you learn out of a book.”
“He certainly looks like a Frenchman,” said the departing guest. “Well, good by. It’s a sort of bond between us to try to settle to her advantage this silly girl who doesn’t want to be settled. If you hear any more of her affair with Essex, you might let me know. In spite of my criticisms, I take the greatest interest in her. I wouldn’t criticize if I didn’t.”
As Mrs. Shackleton was slowly descending the long stairs, Mrs. Willers still stood beside her desk, thinking. The visit had surprised her in the beginning. Now it left her feeling puzzled and vaguely disturbed. Why did Mrs. Shackleton seem to be so desirous of thinking that Mariposa was betrothed to Essex? The bonanza king’s widow was a woman of large charities and carelessly magnificent generosities, but she was also a woman of keen insight and unwavering common sense. Her interest in Mariposa was as strong as her husband’s, and was entirely explainable as his had been, in the light of their old acquaintance with the girl’s father. What Mrs. Willers could not understand was how any person, who had Mariposa Moreau’s welfare at heart, could derive satisfaction from the thought of her marrying Barry Essex.
CHAPTER XVII
FRIEND AND BROTHER
“Wisdom is good with an inheritance, and by it there is profit to them that see the sun.”—Ecclesiastes.
Mariposa’s sixteen dollars a month had been augmented to twenty-eight by the accession of three new pupils. These had been acquired through Isaac Pierpont, who was glad to find a cheap teacher for his potential prima donnas, who were frequently lacking in the simplest knowledge of instrumental music.
Mariposa was impressed and flattered by her extended clientele, and at first felt some embarrassment in finding that one of the pupils was a woman ten years older than herself. The worry she had felt on the score of her living was now at rest, for Pierpont had promised her his continued aid, and her new scholars professed themselves much pleased with her efforts.
Her monthly earnings were sufficient to cover her exceedingly modest living expenses. The remnants of her fortune—the few dollars left after her mother’s funeral and the money realized by the sale of the jewelry and furniture that were the last relics of their beaux jours—made up the amount of three hundred and twenty dollars. This was in the bank. In the little desk that stood on a table in her room was the five hundred dollars in gold Shackleton had sent her. She had not touched it and never intended to, seeming to repudiate its possession by keeping it thus secret and apart from her other store.