“I must talk to your father about it, then.”
“He will only say for you to ‘follow your own judgment.’”
Mrs. Van Buskirk laughed. “Well, I’ll think about it and see your teacher when he comes this morning. Remember that it is bread and butter to him.”
Cathalina puckered up her face at the prospect of the coming lesson, but seeing her mother’s disturbed look, she said, “All right, Mamma, I’ll try to be decent!” With her fingers she pretended to smooth out the frown and turn up the corners of her mouth. “Here is Philly’s happy grin! Is that all right?”
But her mother had called Mrs. Knickerbocker’s telephone number and only gave Cathalina a kindly smile.
“Is this Mrs. Knickerbocker’s residence? Yes;—O, is this Aunt Katherine? This is Sylvia. I have just received your note. Yes; I see. By some mistake it was put with the mail. I am quite interested in your ideas. No, I have not had time to look it over carefully, but will do so. Cathalina is looking at it now. I hardly know. She does not seem to be exactly wild at the prospect.” Mrs. Van Buskirk’s eyes wandered to Cathalina, who was languidly turning the pages of the catalogue again.
“We must talk it over. Are any of Cathalina’s friends going there? Not a soul? Well! What I want to suggest, Aunt Katherine, is that you all come over to dinner tonight. ‘Little Phil’ came home unexpectedly about half an hour ago. No, nothing wrong, finished his examinations and did not care, I suppose, to stay through the Commencement exercises. I’ve hardly seen him yet; he went right to his room for clean attire. O, is Uncle away? I’m sorry. But bring Ann Maria, anyway. Goodbye. Yes, thank you, goodbye.”
CHAPTER II
AUNT KATHERINE GIVES ADVICE
The Van Buskirk dinner hour was approaching. After a heavy thunder storm with hail, a cool breeze freshened the hot city. The dainty lace curtains in the drawing room were blowing dangerously for their gossamer threads. But Sylvia Van Buskirk let them blow while she threw open every one of the long French windows which opened on the veranda. Its stone floor was covered with rose petals and leaves from the vines that twined around the great pillars. “What a storm it was!” she was thinking as she looked out. An easy chair was drawn near one of the windows and she was looking about for the evening paper when Mr. Van Buskirk appeared in evening dress. Some little services for her husband Sylvia kept as her own. It was not one of those houses in which the servants are always in evidence.
Mr. Van Buskirk came smiling toward his wife and putting his arm around her drew her to the window, while he, too, looked out upon the results of the storm. Philip Van Buskirk Senior was a little above average height, well built but not heavy. He did not possess the dark eyes which were characteristic of so many of the Van Buskirks, but blue ones of the unfading blue type, passed on to Cathalina. His hair was beginning to show grey threads, but he looked active and well, and his air was that of the well-poised, successful business man who is accustomed to carry responsibility. His face was rather serious, refined, and just now very tender; for dear as his children were to him, Sylvia had always stood first.