Papa's own girl: A novel

by Marie Stevens Howland

Mrs. Forest kept on talking, making a mountain of the importance of getting rid of Susie. She would, of course, be kind to her; all the ladies of the church would do something for her; but Dr. Delano’s august father and Miss Charlotte were coming, and they must never hear of this terrible disgrace.

Clara was bewildered. Her education at Stonybrook had inculcated the conventional respect for the proprieties; but now face to face with a practical trouble like this, she did not feel like trusting entirely her mother, who was the very soul of conventionality. She would see her father, and then judge for herself; and with this decision she dropped asleep.

In the morning Clara slept rather late, and when she went down-stairs her father was gone. During breakfast Mrs. Forest had hardly addressed a word to him. In her mind, there was a kind of lovers’ quarrel between her and the doctor. There had been many of these in her married life; but feeling conscious of her power when she chose to be gracious, it did not trouble her much. She felt he ought to be punished, and rather enjoyed his perturbation, not being sufficiently discriminating to perceive how deeply he was disappointed in her want of sympathy with his desire to help Susie in her strait. If Clara should fail him also, it would go hard with poor Susie. He determined, however, to say very little to Clara until he found how she would be disposed to act. This was a most interesting point to him. How would his Clara face a thing like this? Of course he might influence her through her love for him, but he scorned to do that—she must act freely. If he saw her, he would simply state the case and leave her to her own decision. The opportunity occurred unexpectedly, for in his drive across the common, in the middle of the forenoon, he overtook his daughter, who was out for a walk. He drew up beside her and talked a few minutes, being careful to avoid any expression as to how a woman ought to act to any sister woman in such a case. He expressed simply his own feeling for Susie, and his determination to stand by her. Clara listened silently, and walked home turning the matter over in her own mind. She found herself unconsciously calculating effects, after the manner of her mother, and was disgusted with this evidence of meanness. When she reached home, Miss Marston and her mother were in the drawing-room, where the latter had just informed her guest of the scandal, regretting that anything so unpleasant should occur during Miss Marston’s visit. Mrs. Forest was careful to avoid mentioning her son as in any way implicated, but she was pleased to have some one with whom she could talk of her troubles and cares—one, too, who had sound notions upon moral questions. Miss Marston indeed was a rigid moralist of the conventional school, not, indeed, from any narrowness of heart, but through logical conclusions from premises which, if not sound in principle, were at least well considered. Mrs. Forest knew that the influence of her guest was very great over Clara, because of her affection and admiration for Miss Marston, and so Mrs. Forest continued the conversation about Susie after Clara entered. One thing troubled her, however. Clara was ignorant of her mother’s intention to shield Dan from Miss Marston’s censure; and she might, by some ill-timed remark, let out the cat that her mother would so carefully tie up. Tact was necessary, and she soon found a pretext to send Clara to her room for something, and another pretext to follow her and implore her to not mention Dan. What was the use? It could do no good, and it was her duty to be kind to Dan as well as to Susie. Clara said nothing, but pondered deeply over her mother’s ways of securing her ends.

When the conversation was resumed, Mrs. Forest showed a remarkable clemency toward Susie, especially after discovering that Clara had been talking with her father during her walk. This was tact again. Clara had somehow inherited her father’s tendency to radicalism, and might be easily shocked into a heroic course toward her brother’s victim.

“I do not think,” said Mrs. Forest, “that we can do better than to get her a place where she can be quiet; and as she is so very deft with her needle, and can make herself useful in many ways, I do not think this will be difficult.”

“This will be to fail her in what she most needs—sympathy,” Clara remarked.

“My dear Clara,” said Miss Marston, “we cannot sympathize with folly unless we are foolish ourselves. You know the meaning of the word sympathy.”

There was a little too much of the dogmatism of the teacher in this to please Clara, but she showed no displeasure in her very calm reply: “But we can sympathize with suffering in all cases.”

“Yet even for her good,” replied Mrs. Forest, “we should show disapprobation of her conduct. By being too lenient, it would lead her to hold her act lightly, and open the way for its repetition.”

“Well, I think, mamma, with all proper deference, that your reasoning is exceedingly weak. Will not one terrible lesson like this be enough for any girl like Susie? Besides, you forget how many years it must be before she can outlive her love for——” Mrs. Forest trembled; but Clara saw the danger her mother dreaded, and continued, “for her betrayer, and by that time she will become staid and prudent.”