“And I’m afraid to venture,” sighed Mrs. Cartright, “but Jack will do something handsome——”
“Then it’s settled,” cried Mrs. Montgomery. “I am to have her! The very day of the funeral I begged her to come home with me, but she wouldn’t: she thought that heartless Englishman would take her, poor little innocent thing—but Cecil was a dear, quite as nice as any Southern lad before the war. Well, when I got home, I reflected that perhaps it was as well that Lee had refused, as I have made so many resolutions to consult my children before taking any important step—it is their right. I thought all night and finally decided that it did not concern any one but Tiny and Randolph, as the others are married. I spoke to Randolph the next morning, and he said he could see no objection; he’s sixteen now, and so sensible; and after breakfast I wrote a letter of ten pages to Tiny and told her all about it, and how deeply I felt on the subject, and dilated upon the brilliant prospects of Lee’s babyhood, and the distinguished blood in her veins—a Tarleton of Louisiana! to say nothing of all the others! I begged her to think it over carefully and write at once—it does take so long to get an answer from Paris! I told her I would leave it entirely to her. She has so much heart, but her head is far cooler than mine. Even when she was a child I respected her judgment, and she quite managed her elder sisters. I’ve rarely seen her excited. Well! I had her answer this morning. That is the reason I asked you to come to-day and decide once for all. She is so sweet and sensible about it. She began by saying that of course it would be a great risk to take an alien into the family, no matter how well we had known the parents: for no matter how many different characters there were in a family there was always a sort of general disposition among them that carried things off. And we were all so devoted to each other, and so happy together. It would be quite terrible if Lee should turn out a strong individuality. Therefore she begged me not to take her unless Mrs. Tarleton’s other friends absolutely refused to do so. But if they did refuse, then I must not hesitate—I must take her by all means and make her as much like my own children as possible—after all, she was only eleven. So it’s decided! She’s mine!”
“Tiny certainly has a level head,” said Mrs. Geary dryly. “And I really don’t see how Lee could do better, or as well, if you really care to take her. You will see that her manners are all that could be desired, and that nobody ever speaks a cross word to her; and Tiny will see that you do not spoil her, and that she acquires the family disposition.”
“You dear sarcastic Maria! You know you’d just love to spoil her yourself. I’m so happy. I haven’t dared go to see her, but I’ve sent her candy, and fruit, and a new coat and hat. I’ll go straight away and fetch her.”
Thus was the momentous question decided, and Lee entered upon the third chapter of her life.
CHAPTER XIV
THAT same day she was installed in the old Montgomery house on Rincon Hill. It was a low irregularly built house, wooden, but substantial. The walls of the lower storey were panelled, and covered with portraits of Southern ancestors and relations. The furniture and carpets were worn, but as both had been bought in the golden days of Mr. Montgomery’s career, before he, like Hayward Tarleton, had speculated and lost, they were of the first quality, and would last for many years to come. Moreover, his widow had picked up many bibelots and much antique furniture in Europe, which added to the reserved, aristocratic, and un-Californian atmosphere of the house. And her silver and crystal were the finest in San Francisco.
Mrs. Montgomery was no longer wealthy, but she was as exclusive as in the Fifties, when exclusiveness meant self-protection, and, if not a social power, a person whom it showed a proper pride to know. Mr. Montgomery had not lost his entire fortune, by any means, and what his wife and the unmarried children inherited was unencumbered. It was also sufficient to enable Mrs. Montgomery to indulge her passion for travelling, to educate Tiny in Paris, to give Randolph his leisurely choice of careers, to keep up the Rincon Hill and the Menlo Park property, and to enable the family generally to live as became one of the “old families of California,” i. e., of the early Fifties.
The house was on the crest of the hill, and commanded a fine view of the city and mountains and water. It stood in a dilapidated high-walled garden, full of the Castilian roses, pinks, gladiolus, and fuchsias of the older time. In one corner was a large weeping-willow, and in the middle the remains of a stone fountain. The hum of the city on the plain, and on the heights beyond, never reached that quiet old garden, which symbolised a phase of California’s life already remote.
Lee was given a pretty blue bedroom overlooking the city, and found her new life very pleasant, albeit her roving propensities could no longer be gratified. Mrs. Montgomery, indulgent and yielding in most things, was inexorable on all points of deportment, and gave Lee strict orders that she must never put her foot outside the gate alone. She also missed not being obliged to think for herself, to have no responsibility but punctuality at meals; even her studies were over for the summer. But she was very young; the artificial habits of the last five years fell from her, and the instincts of her nature reached forth to the conditions which had been hers during her earlier years and her mother’s before her. She was never quite so young and so dependent as other children, but in less than a month she would have shuddered at the mere mention of Market Street; and she loved the repose and low-toned richness of her surroundings after the clatter and vulgarities of a boarding-house. She still mourned her mother with sudden childish outbursts, but she enjoyed the unbroken rest of her nights, and felt strong and unfatigued as a little girl should.