Here Lily smiled triumphantly. “But Jean is mine. I shall accept nothing from him. He is afraid to recognize Jean because it would ruin him. I shall send the boy where I like.” She leaned forward, glowing with a sudden enthusiasm. “You don’t know how handsome he is and how clever.” She pushed back her chair. “Wait, I’ll get his picture.”
The mother interrupted her. “Bring me the enameled box from my dressing table. There is something in it that will interest you.”
XVI
IN a moment the daughter returned bearing the photograph and the enameled box. It was the picture which interested Julia Shane. Putting aside the box she took it up and gazed at it for a long time in silence while Lily watched her narrowly across the polished table.
“He is a handsome child,” she said presently. “He resembles you. There is nothing of his father.” Her blue eyes were moist and the tired hard face softened. “Come here,” she added almost under her breath, and when the daughter came to her side she kissed her softly, holding her close to her thin breast. When she released Lily from her embrace, she said, “And you? When are you going to marry?”
Lily laughed. “Oh, there is plenty of time. I am only twenty-seven, after all. I am very happy as I am.” She picked up the enameled box, smiling. “Show me the secret,” she said.
Mrs. Shane opened the box and from a number of yellow clippings drew forth one which was quite new. “There,” she said, giving it to the daughter. “It is a picture of him and his new wife, taken at the wedding.”
There was a portrait of the Governor, grown a little more stout, but still tall, straight and broad shouldered. His flowing mustache had been clipped; otherwise he was unchanged. In the picture he grinned amiably toward the camera as if he saw political capital even in his own honeymoon. By his side stood a woman of medium height and strong build. Her features were heavy and she too smiled, although there was something superior in her smile as though she felt a disdain for the public. It was a plain face, intelligent, yet somehow lacking in charm. The clipping identified her as the daughter of a wealthy middle-western manufacturer and a graduate of a woman’s college. It continued with a short biographical account of the Governor, predicting for him a brilliant future and congratulating him upon a marriage the public had long awaited with interest.
Lily replaced the clipping in the enameled box and closed the lid with a snap. “He had done well,” she remarked. “She sounds like a perfect wife for an American politician. I should have been a hopeless failure. As it is we are both happy.”
The look of bewilderment returned to her mother’s eyes. “The boy,” she said, “should have a father. You should marry for his sake, Lily.”