"I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that a man can make a woman love him—"
"Are you? Be so good as to let me know when you succeed.—I warn you that the Equator is getting ready to drop between."
When they passed the cedars and came to the porch steps, it was to find Old Miss sitting in the large chair, her white-stockinged feet firmly planted, her key-basket beside her, and her knitting-needles glinting.
"Did you have a pleasant walk?" she asked, and looked at them with a certain massive eagerness.
"Ask Hagar, ma'am. She may have," answered Ralph; and took himself into the house. They heard his rather heavy footfall upon the stair.
Hagar sat down on the porch step. "Ralph has, doubtless, a great many good qualities, but he is spoiled."
Now Old Miss had a favourite project or projects, and that was matings between Coltsworths and Ashendynes. Every few years for perhaps two centuries such matings had occurred. Many had occurred in her day. With great intensity she wanted and had wanted for years to see a match made between her granddaughter and so promising, nay, so accomplishing, a Coltsworth as Ralph. She was proud of Ralph—proud of his appearance, of his ability to get on in the world and make money and restore Hawk Nest, of his judgment and knowledge of public affairs which seemed to her extraordinary. She wanted him to marry Hagar, and characteristically she refused to admit the possibility of defeat. But Ralph was no longer quite a young man—he ought to have been married years ago. As for Hagar—Old Miss loved her granddaughter, but she had very little patience with her. She was not patient with women generally. She thought that, on the whole, women were a poor lot—witness Maria. Maria lived for Old Miss, lived on one side in space of her own, core of an atmosphere of smouldering, dull resentment. If Maria had been different, Medway would have lived at home. If Maria had known her duty, there would have been a brood of grandchildren to match with broods of Coltsworths and others of rank just under the first. If Maria had been different, this one grandchild wouldn't be throwing a million dollars away and failing to love her cousin! If Maria hadn't been a wilful piece, Hagar might have escaped being a wilful piece. Old Miss loved her granddaughter, but that was what she was calling her now in her mind—a wilful piece.
Factors that counted with the others at Gilead Balm, Hagar's very actual detachment and independence, name and prestige and personality, failed to count with Old Miss.
Such things counted in other cases; they counted in Ralph's case. But Hagar was of the younger, therefore rightfully subordinate, generation, and she was female. Ralph was of the younger generation, also, and as a boy, while Old Miss spoiled him when he came to Gilead Balm, she expected to rule him, too. But Ralph had crossed the Rubicon. As soon as he grew from young boy to man, some mysterious force placed him without trouble of his own in the conquering superior class whose dicta must be accepted and whose judgment must be deferred to. The halo appeared about his head. He came up equal with and passed ahead of old Miss, elder generation to the contrary. But Hagar—Hagar was yet in the class that was young and couldn't know; she was in the class of the "poor lot." She was a wilful piece.
"I do not see that Ralph is spoiled," said Old Miss. "He receives a natural recognition of his ability and success in life. He is a very successful man, a very able man. He is giving new weight to the family name. There was a piece in the paper the other day that said the state ought to be proud of Ralph. I cut it out," said Old Miss, "and put it in my scrapbook. I'll show it to you. You ought to read it. I don't see why you aren't proud of your cousin."