At Sagamore Hall Marian really lived, keeping out of doors most of the time, entertaining her friends in a manner which made every one feel that each of the many attractions had been arranged for his own special enjoyment. Here the Bermuda party was again united. Thatcher still kept his wife in ignorance of the business complications which now seemed certain to overwhelm him. Marian noticed that he was tired and worried, but this had happened so many times before that she had come to look upon these conditions as deplorable but none the less inevitable factors in her husband's business life. In fact he had so explained on earlier occasions when she questioned him, and had discouraged her from showing too much concern. She recognized that he was scarcely in a mood for the reunion she had planned, but justified her insistence on the ground that he needed the relaxation; while he deemed it wise to yield rather than attempt an explanation.
Edith Stevens had been their guest for a fortnight before the other members of the party arrived. Philip was entertaining several of his college chums, including Billy Huntington, but Mrs. Thatcher particularly requested her daughter to have no guests during this visit, holding herself free to assist in the entertainment.
Since her return home after the Class Day festivities Merry had shown little interest in what went on around her. Had her mother noticed it she would have passed it over lightly as "one of the child's moods," but Mrs. Thatcher was too completely engrossed in her own great scheme to be keenly sensitive to anything around her. In fact Merry's attitude seemed peculiarly receptive, and encouraged her, a few days before Hamlen was expected, to take her daughter into her confidence.
In answering Huntington's question Marian expressed greater confidence in Merry's acquiescence than she really felt. To herself she admitted that she did not understand her daughter. Since the elaborate plans for Merry's social life fell through because of the girl's lack of interest and failure to respond, Marian had almost given up in despair. Merry was unlike the daughters of the Thatchers' friends, who might be counted on at all times to do the expected thing when given the expected conditions; with her it was always the unexpected which happened. She loved athletics, not because of the companionship of boys, as other girls did, but for the games themselves; she was fond of dancing, but she would as soon dance with another girl as with a man,—it was the rhythmic motion of the dance itself which fascinated her; she had no interest nor ability in making "small talk," but was always eager to discuss problems which her mother felt she might better leave alone; she tolerated young people of her own age, but expressed her real self only when thrown with older friends. Mrs. Thatcher worried more over her daughter's future than over any other phase of the family life, and the solution which now seemed to offer itself contained so much promise that Marian believed it to be foreordained.
It was not easy to broach the subject, but when once accomplished Marian talked on for some time without waiting for Merry to enter into the discussion. It was important, she felt, that the girl should know the whole story before being permitted to express an opinion. As the full significance of her mother's words dawned upon Merry there was an instinctive recoil, but she listened with outward calm. Marian believed herself to be suggesting nothing save deepest concern for her daughter's future; Merry heard nothing but a personal appeal for sacrifice. The romance of her mother's early experience, the results which came from the breaking of the engagement, her own interest and participation in Hamlen's new life,—all went to strengthen the appeal, but still it asked for sacrifice.
As she listened Merry's mind was working fast. What were the relations existing between them? She admired her mother tremendously, and was proud of the attention her beauty excited wherever they went. She respected her, for no wife or mother ever carried herself in these positions with greater regard for the proprieties. Did she love her? Of course! what a question to come to a girl's mind! Did she? The question repeated itself insistently. Merry wondered. If this were disloyalty, then the thought itself formed the offense; to analyze it was imperative before putting it aside. The girl knew that she was face to face with the crisis of her life, that the question now in mind had really been the cause of that unrest she had failed to understand.
"Is this something which you ask me to do?" Merry inquired at length.
"No, my dear; that would be exceeding a mother's rights."
"But you wish it?"
"Yes; that is a different matter."