“But she’s got to have a home, meanwhile; that’s the point,” said Mrs. Montgomery, who seemed to be repressing her own eloquence, as great upon occasion as Mrs. Cartright’s. “She must have a home and a mother, poor little thing. Think if it were Tiny! I have cried myself ill. And she can’t grow up from pillar to post either; she would become quite demoralised, quite unworthy of her blood——”
“The very oldest families of the South!” cried Mrs. Cartright with enthusiasm.
“That’s all very well, but I can’t see why she shouldn’t be placed at Mill’s Seminary for the next seven years,” said Mrs. Geary. “Of course, she could spend her vacations in Menlo with us.”
Mrs. Montgomery shook her head with emphasis. “She must have a home! She must have a mother! She’s full of feeling. It would wound and demoralise her to feel a waif, with no anchor, no one in particular who took an interest in her—it is too terrible to think of!”
“It comes to this then,” said Mrs. Geary: “one of us must take her.”
“That is what I mean,” said Mrs. Montgomery eagerly.
“If it were not for Helena——” began Mrs. Cartright, ready to recapitulate. Mrs. Brannan interrupted her with unusual firmness.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” she said. “I’d really love to, and she would be such company for Coralie; but Ila is so exacting and jealous, and as imperious in her quiet way as Helena. I wait on her like a slave, and she’d fairly hate an outsider who made any claim on me. Fortunately Coralie adores her and is so sweet. It was all I could do to persuade Ila to let me come back and look after Mr. Brannan and Coralie for a few months—and I do hate Paris! I’ll do everything I can in the way of a good substantial present at Christmas, and she and Coralie might study together; that would save a little on both sides, and I’m sure they’d get on, but I don’t dare risk taking her.”
“Of course you would take her if you could,” said Mrs. Montgomery; “we all know how good and kind you are. And you, Maria?”
Mrs. Geary shook her head emphatically. “Mr. Geary wouldn’t listen to it for a moment. He detests sentiment and everything out of the common, and he has a special prejudice against adopting other people’s children. Besides, as you know, Marguerite used to snub him, as she did all Northerners, and he’s not the kind that ever forgets. No, I haven’t even thought of it. I’ll make her little presents, and give her a party dress when she’s eighteen, but I can’t do more.”