Beauty and mary blair

BeautyandMaryBlair
ANovel
byEthelMayKelley
BOSTONANDNEWYORK
HOUGHTONMIFFLINCOMPANY
TheRiversidePressCambridge
1921
Beauty—andMaryBlair


CHAPTERI
Motherdidn’tspeak.Ofcourse,Fatherdidn’treallyputanythinguptoher,but
thegeneralideawastherejustthesame.Whathewantedtoknowwas,whether
afamilylikeours,consistingofoneyoungmarriedfeminist,oneeligiblethough
unsusceptibleyoungunfeminist,oneincorrigiblekidbrother,andalarge,
sentimentalcoloredlady,couldbetrustedtolookafteritselfwhilethenatural
guardiansofittookaprotractedbusinesstripintoCanada.Therewasonlyone
answer,ofcourse,butMotherdidn’tmakeit.Amongotherthingsshedidn’t
wanttospendthemoney.
“Ifyouwerelookingforaniceathleticyoungdaughternow,”Isaid,“Iknowof
onethatwouldaccompanyyourwanderingsdelightedly.”
“I’mnot,”Fathersaid.“NotthatIwouldn’tliketohaveyou,Baby,butyour
mothercandrive,andsheknowswhattodoformeifIgetthecollywobblesand
—”
BobbywinkedatDella,whowasmovingmajesticallyaroundthetableserving
pie.
“Dellaatesomebread,Dellaatesomejelly,Dellawenttobed—”Bobbysays
everythingthatcomesintohisheadwithoutanyreferencetotimeandplace,or
whoeverelsehappenstobespeaking.
“IcandrivealmostaswellasMother,andIcouldgiveyoucastoroil,ifIcan

giveittoRex.”
Fathersmiled.
“Youpoureditonthepuppy’shead,Iunderstand,andhelickeditofftogetrid
ofit.PeculiarasitmayseemI’dratherhaveyourmother.”
ButMotherhedged.
“I’dliketogo,”shesaid.“YouknowIwould,Robert.”
“Wecouldgetacoupleofweeksofcamp,”Fathersuggested,“anditwouldset


youup.—Oh!Iknewyouwouldn’tthinkofitseriously.”
“No,”Mothersaid,“Ican’tleave.”Andthatendedit.
TheAngelinthehousetriedtogetusstartedonsomegeneralconversation,with
thecoffee.She’saprohibitionist,andacommunist,—sometimes.Atothertimes,
Ibelieve,she’sacentristoraleft-winger!—andshewon’tliveinthesamehouse
withherperfectlygoodhusband,asitisn’tdoneinthosecircles.
“It’sonlyaquestionofafewweekswheneveryStateintheUnionratifies,”she
said.
“It’snewstomethattheyhaven’t,”Fatherwasmomentarilyinterested.
“Iwastalkingofsuffrage,”theAngel—herrealnameisStella—condescended.
MotherturnedaratherintentlookonStella.Thewomenofourfamilyarea
greatpuzzletoeachother.Stella,withherbraidsboundroundthatburninghighbrowofhers,andherunquenchablecravingforintellectualbreakfastfood,isa
perpetualthorninMother’sflesh,dearlyasshelovestohaveonethere.Father’s,
too,thoughFatherisn’tquitesomuchgiventokissingthebeethatstingshim,as
itwere.FatherandMotherareonlygoingonforty,anyway.
“Isupposeifyouhadafamily,youwouldleaveittolookafteritselfwheneverit
wasconvenient,”Mothersaidmusingly.
Stellaisgoingtohaveafamily,butMother’ssocialerrordidn’tintheleastruffle
her.She’ssohigh-mindedshedoesn’tcarewhethershehasafamilyornot.I
shouldhaveverydecidedideasfororagainst.IunderstandthatMotherdid—
against.

“YouknowIbelieveintherightsoftheindividual,”Stellasaidgently.Well,so
doI,ifhecangetthem.
Fatherlookedsoworriedtome,asifsomethingagooddealmoreimportantthan
Mother’sgoingornotgoingtoCanadahunginthebalance,thatItackledhim
aboutit.
“Daddy,”Isaid,“doyouwantmetomakeMothergowithyouoranything?Do
youfeelawfullyseedy?Youknowshedoesn’twanttospendthemoney.”


“Iknowit,”Fathersaid.Thenhespokebetweenhisteeth:“Iwanttospendthe
money,”hesaid;“whathaveImadeitfor?”
“Youcouldn’t,seriously,Imean,spenditonme,Daddy?I’dlovetogo.”
“Toomuchofarow.Besides,Iwantyourmother.”Iknewfromhistonethathe
didwanther—heaps,morethanheaps.
“Daddy,”Isaid,“doyourchildrenboreyou?”
“Sometimes.Why?Notyou,Baby,exceptingassuch.”
“Oh!Iknowthat,”Isaid;“well,theyboreme,too,rather.Motherdoesn’tbore
you?”
“Never.”
“Don’tyouthinkthatthefactthatsheissoterriblygood-lookinghassomething
todowiththat?”
“Probably,”Fathersaid;“andletmegiveyouawordofadvice,Mary.Ifyou
reallywanttokeepaman—keephimgoing,youunderstand,andtruetoyou—
utilizehim;usehim,allthebestthereisinhim,andevenalittleoftheworstifit
comestothat.Usehistime,usehismoney.Makethemostofhim.Youcankeep
anyman,youknow,ifyoukeephimbusyenough—ifyoumakethemostof
him.”
“Father,”Isaid,“letmegotoCanadawithyou.I’dbebetterthannothing.”
AndIthinkIwouldhavebeen.
Iamoneofthosepeopletowhomlifeisaverygreatpuzzle.Somanypeople

seemtogetusedtoliving,butIdon’t.Ican’tseemtogetupanyreallysatisfying
philosophy,orfindanybodyoranythingtohelpmeaboutit.Iwanteverything,
littleandbig,fixedupinmymindbeforeIcanproceed.
EvenasaverysmallchildIalwayswantedmyplansmadeinadvance.Once
whenMotherhadabadsickheadache,Isatontheedgeofherbed,andbegged
hertotellmeifshethoughtshewasgoingtodie,soifshewasIcouldplantogo
andlivewithmyAuntMargaret.Iwasanodiousinfant,butallthesame,Ireally


wantedtoknow,andthat’sthewayIamtothisday!Iwanttoknowwhatthe
probabilitiesare,inordertoactaccordingly.Iwanttoknowabouthuman
beings,andhowtheygotintothefixtheyarein,andwhatthepossibilitiesareof
theirgettingoutofit.Iwantrtoknowwhatlifemeans,butnobodywantstotalk
aboutit.
Ipursueknowledgeinvariousways.Ireadagoodmanybooks,moresinceIleft
schoolthanbefore.I’vewadedthroughmostofourgreenclotheditionofthe
PopularScienceLibrary.Itisn’tverymoderntoreadDarwinandHuxleyand
JohnStuartMill,butIdon’tknowhowtopickandchoosebetterthings—thatis,
bettersoundthings.Iamhandicappedbyhavingasisterwhoknowseverything.
Shelightlyacquiredaclassicaleducation,becameaconspicuousbanner-bearing
feminist,andmarriedanotoriousradicaleditor,allbeforeshewastwenty.The
Angel’sawonder.IalwaysexpectMothertopeeloffsomelittleanecdoteabout
herhavingpreparedherownbabyfoodaccordingtoformula,attheageof
thirteenmonths.It’sawfullyhardtoimaginehereverhavingletMotherdoit.
ButSisterisn’tmuchhelptomebecauseshe’sanideacannibal.Ifshecan’tget
herrationofrawhumantheorytogorgeoneveryday,sheisn’tquitethesame
girl.Ifyouwon’tbepsychoanalyzed,orreadbooksaboutRussia,ortrytoget
upsomelittleprivatesystemofsolvinglaborquestions,why,Sister’sinterestin
youceases.IhopeherunluckyinfantwillbebornlispingtheEinsteintheoryof
Relativity.Idon’tknowwhatitis,butthatinfantwillhavetobeinformedonit

ifitexpectseitheroneofitsparentstotakeanintelligentinterestinit.Ican’t
liveonSister’sdiet.I’dgetmentalhookworm.
Mother’sliterarytastesareagaindifferent.Mother’sinclinedtoSpiritualism,
andthingsoccult.ShereadsalotoffaintlyPollyannaishnovelswithaWestern
settingifpossible,andshedoesn’tcareatallaboutbooksthatshowyouhowthe
heroandtheheroineconnectupwithlife.H.G.WellsandJohnGalsworthybore
herstiff,forinstance,andsheusedtocrywhenhermothermadeherread
GeorgeEliot.AndI’dcryifshemademereadallthosebooksaboutthe
RomancesoftheInsectWorld,andWhattheFlowersKnow,thatshe’ssofond
of.ThethingsIwanttoknownobodybutCarlyleandStevensonandBrowning
havehadmuchtosayabout,andthey’redead,andmuchlesscompanionablefor
thatreason.Sister’scultured,andMotherisn’t,Isupposethat’sthegistofit,and
I’mstuckinbetweenthemsomewhere,drowningbetweenthehigh-browsand
thedeep-blueseaofignorance.
Fatherissafelyoutofitall,becausehedoesn’treadanythingbutthe


newspapers.He’sgoodlookingenoughnottoneedtobeculturedintheleast.
It’stoobadthatSistertriedtolooksomuchlikehim,anddidn’tsucceed.She’s
gotthebigblueeyes,andthestraight-cutprofile,allthemakings,butshehasn’t
gotthelookitself.Fatherisacharmer.IamdarklikeMother,butnotsopretty,
thoughIamthankfultosaythatIlookmorelikemyselfthananyone.Mycolor
isgoodanyhow.Bobbylookslikeme.
IfIcouldthinkwhatitwasIwantedoflifeIwouldbeawholelotbetteroff.I
havealltheopportunitiesthereare,alltheadvantagesofalifeinNewYorkCity
inatwo-hundred-dollarapartmentthatwepaidahundredforfiveyearsago—all
theculturethereis;butitisn’tcultureI’mafter,someway.Iwanttogetthehang
ofthings,andIdon’tknowhowI’mgoingtodoitatpresent.
I’mtheonlyoneofthefamilywhoisverymuchinterestedinpeople,well,as
people,thoughweallhaveaweirdlotoffriends.TheAngelfillstheplacewith

ladiesinwell-cuttweeds,whoareeconomicallyindependentoftherace,and
Byronicboyswithrecordsasdraft-dodgers.Friendhusbandisthebestfriend
she’sgot,butofcourseshewon’ttakehisnameoranything.She’sstillMiss
Blairtothebornandunborn.EvangelineTuckerisherclosestwomanfriend,I
shouldsay.TheygettogetherontheJugo-Slavs,andexchangeconfidenceson
personalsubjectsliketheEasternquestion,andhowtomakeaconfirmed
aestheteofthepoorworking-girl.WhenIsitinatoneoftheseconfabsIalways
feelliketakingupwrestlingforalifework.Awrestlerusesthebonystructureof
hisskullasaweapon.Hebuttstheotherfellowinthestomachwithit.
Mother’sfriendsconsistoffatwomenwholookeighteenyearsolderthanshe
does,andhaven’thalfsuchgood-lookingfamilies—andElleryHowe.Idon’t
knowwhereMotherpickedhimup,butshe’shadhimforyears.He’samusic
houndandapicturesleuth.Motherdoesn’tcaremuchforeithermusicor
pictures,butshe’susedtoEllery,andsoarealltherestofus.AtonetimeI
thoughtthatStellamightmarryhimandgethimoutoftheway.Heseemedto
meltintosomeofthecrevicesofhergranitenature,butIdon’tthinkMother
likeditverymuch.Itseemedratherawaste,too;likespatteringaneggagainsta
stonewall.Thewalldoesnotabsorbit,andyoulosetheingredientofaperfectly
goodomelet.AningredientisaboutwhatElleryis.
FatherandIaremorealikeaboutfriends.Wedon’thavethemsomuchto
exchangesentimentswithaswedoforgeneralpurposesofamusement.Weboth
likefools,rather;thatis,peoplethataresillyandhealthyandgood-looking,and


knowtheirwayabout.That’swhyIliketheWebstergirlsandTommy
Nevers,andthat’swhyFatherisalwayshavinglunchwithladieswithearrings
andgreenturbans,andmenlikeJimmieGreer.IlikeJimmie,butIdefyany
othermemberofourrefinedfamilycircletofindagoodwordtosayforhim,
exceptthathe’sthefriendofFather’sbosom.
ItwasJimmiethatFatherthoughthecouldgettogowithhimontheCanadian

trip.Motherwasdeadagainstitbecausehedrinkssomuch,andwhenitturned
outthatJimmiecouldn’tgoanywayshewasaspleasedasifsomebodyhad
handedherapresent.
“Idon’tlikeJimmieGreer,”shesaid;“he’scoarse-fibred.Yourfatherwouldn’t
getthebenefitofhistripifhewerewithhim.”
“Idon’tseehowhe’sgoingtogetthebenefitofhistripanyway,”Iargued;“he
hatestogoaloneso,andhe’sstartingoffsounsatisfied.”
“It’stoobadhehastogoatall,”Mothersaid.
“Menareverychildishthings,Mother.Yououghttoknow.”
“It’stoobad,”Motherrepeated.
“Toobadthey’rechildishthings?”
“Toobadhe’sgottogo.”
“Buttheyare,”Isaid.—Andtheyare.Oh!dearme.
ItseemstomethatifMotherwantedtoknowanythingaboutFather,she’djust
havetogetrightdowntobrasstacksandstudyBobby.
ThenightthatFatherwentawayIfeltratherchildishmyself.Thedinnerwas
perfectlypunkforonething.WehadvealwhichFatherhated,andmacaroni,
whichhehatesworse,andcornfritters,whichhenevereats,andricepudding,
whichIdon’tthinkanymanevereats.Dellaisaprettygoodcook,butMother
orderedthisdinner,andsosheproducedit.Fatheratealittle,andthenwentoff
intotheliving-roomandsulked.Iputmyarmsaroundhim,butthatonlyseemed
toaddinsulttoinjury.Mothertranquillyknitted,andtheAngelspokelovingly
oftheAdriatic,andEsthonia,whateverthatis.


ThenElleryHowewasannounced,andFatherquitcold.Icorneredhiminthe
hallwithhishaton.
“Whitheraway,Daddy?”Isaid.
“I’mgoingouttogetsomethingtoeat.”
“Takeme.”

“Idon’tthinkso.”
ButhewouldhaveifTommyNevershadn’tputinhisappearanceatthatinstant.
“You’llhavetogoaway,Tommy,”Isaid,*’becauseI’mgoingoutwithFather.”
“Sheisn’t,though,”Fathersaid.“Takeheroffmyhands,Tommy.”
“It’sFather’slastnight,”Isaid.
Father’sreplytothiswasmerelytogooutandshutthedoor.
“Let’sgointothedug-out,”Tommysaid,meaningthelounging-holeI’vemade
outofmydressing-room.
“No,Iwanttogotowalk,”Isaid;“andifyouknowanythingthatwilltakethe
tasteofricepuddingoutofmymouthIwouldbeverygratifiedtohavesomeof
it.”
“Weusedtodrinkclaretlemonade,”Tommysaidregretfully.
“Theyusedtoraiselive-stockrightonBroadway,”Isaid.
WewalkedalongtheDriveforawhile,andTommytoldmewhathethought
aboutwomen.Hecertainlythinksalotaboutthem.Helikesagirlthatknows
whereshegetsoff,andthatmakesafellowcomfortable,andthatkeepsherself
rightuptothemark.He’dprefertohaveherhaveapermanentwaveifshegets
itdoneright,andtohaveherbeagoodsportwithoutevergettingoutbeyonda
certainpointwheretheiceistoothin.Iknowitallbyheart.
“Well,Tommy,”Isaidbriskly,“IthinkIanswerallthosequalifications,except
thepermanentwave.”


“Oh!youdo,”Tommyassuredmeearnestly.
“Istrivetoplease,”Isaid.Hehasn’tanysenseofhumor.“Ifyouwereaman,”I
addedhastily,“andyougotthekindofawifethatwasn’tallthosethings,andit
keptdraggingonandonandeverythinggoingwrong,orwrongishallthetime,
whatdoyouthinkthatyou’dfinallycometodoaboutit?”
“Idon’tknow,”Tommysaiduncertainly;“makethebestofabadbargain,I
suppose.”

“Butjustpractically,whatwouldyoudo?”Isaid.“Supposingyourwifewould
nevergowithyouanywhereorletyouspendanymoneyonheroranything?
Supposingshejustgottobekindoflackadaisicalaboutyou,andsataround
refusingtobeasportfornoparticularreason?”
“I’dfindsomebodythatwouldbeasport,then.”
“Butthatwouldberatherhardonyourfamily,wouldn’tit?”
“Iwouldn’thaveafamilyunderthosecircumstances,”Tommyargued.
“Butyoucan’talwayspickandchoosewhetheryouwillhaveafamilyornot!
Supposingyouhadonefirst,andthenthislackadaisicalconditiondeveloped
afterward,whatwouldyoudo?”
“Well,thisisaman’sworld,”Tommysaid,ratherthreateningly.
WewanderedovertotheHotelLaFrancealittlelater,andfoundoursamelittle
tableoveragainstthesidewall.Iadorehavingthesametable,andTommyis
prettyadequateaboutgettingitforme.Tommyissomuchbetterthannothing
thatIoftenwonderwhatIshouldeverdowithouthim.Idon’tlikesuitors,but
thenIdon’tverymuchlikethesegoodoldchumsthatletyoupayforyourown
refreshments.Idon’tknowwhyitisthataboythinksmoreofyouifyoueatat
hisexpensethanatyourown,butsuchindeedisthecase.TheAngelis
economicallyindependentonmoneythatGrandfatherearnedforGrandmother,
whenshewasparasiticallybringingeightchildrenintotheworld.Ihavenosuch
advantages,soIcan’tmarryanybodybutaconservative.
Afterwehadbeensittingthereforawhiledrinkinggingerale,andwaitingfor
thePeachMelbaswehadordered,incameFatherwithJimmieGreer,andoneof


thoseladiesinearringsthatJimmieimportseverylittlewhile.Ihadamomentof
realpang,becauseitwouldhavebeensomuchmoresuitableifIhadbeenthere
withDaddyandalltheotherswerenonesL
“There’sMary,”JimmieGreetsaid,indicatingme.
Fatherconsignedmetothenetherregionswithoutanupwardglance,andthe

ladystretchedinmydirection.Shewaswearinganimitationmoleskincoatwith
asquirrelcollar—ofallthings-andaniridescenthatshapedlikeasaladbowl,
withahearth-brusheffectovertherightear,thecurvedkindofhearth-brushthat
getsintoallthecornersandcrevices.
“There’syourfather,”saidTommy.
“You’veseenhimbeforethisevening.”
“Hewantsustogoovertohistable.”
“Hedoesn’t;JimmieGreerdoes.”
“Who’sthevamp?”
“She’sJimmie’svamp.”
Fathercameovertospeaktome.
“IranintoJimmieandMrs.VanderWater,afriendofhis.I’lljusthavea
sandwichandrunhome.Don’tstayouttoolateyourself,Kitten.”
“WhoisMrs.VanderWater?”
“ACanadianwoman,afriendofJimmie’s.Inevermetherbefore.”
WhenIgothomeMotherwassittingupandwaitingforFather.Stellawas
receivingoneofhersemi-weeklyvisitsfromherhusband,buttheywentoffinto
herownroomthemomenttheysawmeapproaching.Cosgrovehadhadhishair
cut,whichgavehimaratherbereftappearance.Amanwhohasthehabitof
wearinghishairlongalwayslookssodistraitwithoutit,someway.
Whatdoyousaytoyourmotherwhenyou’vejustseenyourfatherbaskingin


thesmilesofahand-paintedsiren,breakingtheprohibitionlawswiththeaidofa
concealedflaskandthreebottlesofWhiteRock?TheashofElleryHowe’s
Panatelawasstillsmokinginthejadeash-trayhebroughther.Everybodyhasa
righttoenjoythemselvesintheirownway—everybodywhoisdecent,thatis.I
hatetostirupanything.
“There’sbeerontheice,dear,”MothersaidtoFather,whenatlasthedidcome
in.

“I’vehadadrink,”Fathersaid,withasuspiciouslookatme.
“Where?”Motherasked.
“AttheLaFrance.Greerhaditinhispocket.”
“He’llgetarrestedsomeofthesedays,”Mothersaid.
“It’smylastnight,Helen,”Fathersaidslowly.
“Iknowit.Imustgettobedsoastobeuptogetyouoffinthemorning.”
“Iwishyouwerecoming.”
“IwishIwere,Robert,butit’ssomuchmoneyforsuchashorttime.”
“Iwishyou’dcomewithme,andspendit.”
Thentheykissed,andFatherwentofftohisroomandMothertohers.Thevoice
ofStellaandhershornradicalcouldbeheardeverandanonechoingthroughthe
apartment.TherewasagorgeousandgloriousmoonovertheDrive.Icouldsee
itfrommywindow,andIstoodthereandcried.Theredidn’tseemtobe
anythingaboutlife—ourlife—mylife—togetyourteethin.


CHAPTERII
AFewdaysafterFather’sdepartureElleryHowetookmetoapictureshow.
Motherhadaheadache,andhedecidedthatIwasbetterthangoingalone.Stella
wouldn’tgoforsomereasonbestknowntoStella.IthinkthereasonthatMother
hadaheadachewasthatFathertelegraphedherthatmorning,askingherifshe
wantedhimtogetherafull-lengthsealcoatworthtwelvehundreddollarsfor
half-price.OfcourseMotherwiredinapanicthatshewouldn’twearitunder
anycircumstances,buttheincidentupsether.PoorMother,shegrewuppoor,
anditaboutkillshertospreadout.Shejustcan’tseemtobelievethatour
incomewillbearourweight.She’sgotwhattheAngelcallsacomplexaboutit.
IputonmycrimsonfeatherturbanwhichIamcrazyaboutbecauseit’sthefirst
mature-lookinghatI’veeverhad.Awomanoffortycouldwearit,andit’svery
smart,too.Itgoesverywellwithmysuit,whichisbeavercolorandtrimmed
withbeaver.Ellerycastaveryslightlookofsatisfactiononmeaswestartedon

ourway.Ioughttoknowmoreaboutart,andsoIamalwaysgladofanychance
tolookatpictureswithanybodywhoknowsanythingaboutthem.Ellerytalks
toomuchgibberishtobeofmuchuse,butsometimesIgetagleam.
“Whatarewegoingtosee?”,Iaskedencouragingly,asthebusconductor
changedEllery’sdollarbillintodimesandnickels.Ialwaysliketoputthefares
intotheautomaticcollector,myself.OnceIputineightbeforetheconductor
couldstopme,butIwouldn’ttellElleryanythinglikethatforworlds.
“Wearegoingtosee”—hefedinthetwodimes—“mostlystudiesinabstract
form.Therearetobeafewportraitsinthenewmanner,butthecolorstudiesare
theinterestingthings.”
“TheyarenotCubistic,arethey?”
“Well,notexactly.Thisparticularexhibitionisbyagroupwhoarejustabout
halfwaybetweentheCubistsandtheVorticists.”
“Thewhich?”Isaid.Iwaswatchingtheautomaticcollectornibblingdimes.I
alwaysfeelasifsomebodywhowasclumsywouldgetarealnipifhedidn’t
watchout.


“TheVorticists.Youknowwhatavortexis.”
Icouldn’tthinkwhatitwasatthemoment.
“Isthatwhattheydo,paintvortexes?”Iasked,togaintime.
“Well,no,notexactly.Theyseemotionintermsofstaticform,though
sometimestheyconveytheactualvibrationbysomeeffectwithcolor.Don’tyou
rememberseeingthePrimitivesintheartmuseumwithhalosabouttheirheads,
crudelyrepresentingscintillation?”
“TheentireclasswenttoseetheItalianPrimitivesonce.Ilikedthembecause
theylookedlikethingsIcouldhavedonemyself.”
“Exactly.That’sthewholemoderntheory,reversiontothesimplestart
expressionwearecapableof.”
“Whydon’ttheydrawpicturesofcatsanddogsandhouses?”

“Theyaretryingtogetawayfromthepresentationofanyliteralimage,any
concreteidea.”
“Whataretheytryingtodo?”Isaid.Itwashardtokeepmymindonwhathe
wassayingbecause,speakingofvortexes,thatwaswhatFifthAvenuewasaswe
skimmedalongit,awhirling,swirlingmassofcolorandpersonalityandlife.
“Theyaretryingtoappealtotheimaginationbyachievingabalanceofabstract
colorandform.”
“Butwhy?”Isaid.
WhenwegotinsidethegallerytheinterestingthingwasEllery,thoughIadmit
thepicturesthemselveswerefearfulandwonderful.Seriously,that’swhatthey
were—fearfulandwonderful.Afteryoustudiedthemforawhileyougotafraid.
“Theyallmeansomething,”Ellerysaid.
“Ican’tseewhatthismeans.”Itwasacanvascoveredwithlongcurvedthings
likeladies’stockings,somewithfeetinthemandsomejusttwistedonce,allin
themostgorgeousandbrilliantcolors.


“It’sjustadesign.”
“Butwhat’sitfor?”
“Justastudyincolorandform.”
“Youreallylikeit?”Isaid.
“Betterthananythingelsehere.”
“Whatdoyougetoutofit?”
“Beauty.”
“Butthereisn’tanythere.”
“Lookagain.Takeagoodfiveminutes.”
Idid,andIgotsortofhypnotized.Therewasapersonalitybehindthatpicture
justthesameasthereisbehindotherpictures.Isuddenlygotawfullyhomesick
forWhistler’spictureofhismother.
“It’sbetterthanIthought,”Iadmitted;“itmightmeansomethingtosomebody,

butnottome.”
“Ifanymanisstrongenoughyoufeelhimthroughhismedium,”Ellerysaid.
Ilookedathimcritically.Hehasbigvelvet-browneyesandasweetsmile,and
hewearsputty-coloredclotheswithsolid-colorties,mostlyinbrilliantorange.
“WhatdoyoumeanbyBeauty?”Iaskedhimaswewendedourwayupthe
Avenue.Itsuddenlyoccurredtome.thathemustmeansomethingbythewayhe
goesaboutthings.There’smilkineverycocoanut,theysay.
“Whatdoyoumeanbyit?”
“Idon’tknowverymuchaboutit.”
“It’s—thethingbehindeveryartimpulse.”
“ButIhaven’tany,”Isaid.


“Well,neitherhaveI,”Elleryacknowledged;“butIthinkperhapsBeautyismy
religionjustthesame.”
“IreadapoembyMasefieldtheotherday,youknowtheoneongrowingold.
‘Bewithme,Beauty,forthefireisdying.’Beautyseemsprettyrealtohim,
doesn’tit?IthinkwhenIgettobethatageI’llbemorelikelytowriteapoem
thatsays,‘Bewithme,AmosorBessie,’orsomebody.”
Ellerydidn’tcrackasmile.
“Therearelotsofpoemsaboutit,”Imused.“‘BeautyisTruth,TruthBeauty,—
thatisallyeknowonearth,andallyeneedtoknow.’Isthatwhatyoumeanby
havingitforareligion?”
“Somethinglikethat.”
“Doyoulikenewpoetryaswellasyoulikenewart?”
“Idon’tunderstanditsowell.”
“Iunderstanditbetter,”Isaid;“whenit’sidioticIknowit’sidiotic.Idon’tget
theartsostraight.”
ButElleryhadgoneoffintoasortofcoma.
“Beauty,”hesaid,“beauty.‘Helen,thybeautyistome,likethoseNiceanbarks

ofyore,thatdumptyo’eradumptysea!’”Iforgethisexactwords;whatIwas
struckwithwasthefactthatmymother’snameisHelen.
Wewalkedhomepracticallyinsilence,thoughIannoyedhimsomewhatby
singsongingapoemIfoundinacollectionofmodernversestheotherday:
“Wehaveaoneroomhouse,
youhaveatworoom,threeroom,fourroom.
Wehaveaoneroomhouse
becauseaoneroomhouseisallwehave.
Wehaveaoneroomhouse


becausewedonotwant
atworoom,threeroom,fourroom.
Ifwehadatworoom,threeroom,fourroom,
wewouldwantmorethanaoneroom—”
andsoonadinfinitum.
Elleryknowsalot,andhasgotveryhighidealsaboutlife.Idon’tknowwhyitis
thatwheneverIdropintoserioushumanconversationwithhim,Ialwayswish
thatIhadn’t.IfeelthatsamewayabouttheAngel,exceptthatwithherInever
eventryiton.
Motherwassittingupinapale-bluehostessgownwhenwegotbacktothe
house,lookingsostrickenandmotherishthatshealmostdisarmedmy
suspicions,butnotenoughsothatIgotoutoftheway.
“Ihopeyourheadacheisbetter,”Ellerysaid;“wemissedyou,MaryandI.”
“UncleEllerymissedyou,”Isaid.Ihadnever“uncled”himbefore,andhe
lookedalittlesurprised.
“Ididn’tfeelequaltoit,”Mothersaid.
“It’sbeensometimesinceyoucomplainedofaheadache.”Ellerylookedather
anxiously.
“Idon’talwayscomplainofthem.”

“Iknow,”Ellerysaid.
“I’vebeenalittletroubledinsomeways.”
4PoorHelen.”
“Well,weallhaveourlittleproblems.”Mothersmiledbravely.Afatproblem
shehad,astowhetherornottodeclineathousanddollars’worthoffurs—
besideshavingalreadydeclinedthem.IdecidedthenandtheretowriteFatherto
getmeacross-foxsetifhecould.


“Mother,”Isaidsuddenly,”“whatdoyouthinkaboutallthisnewartstuff?Do
youthinkit’sgoingtogetanybodyanywhere?”
MothersmiledatEllery.
“She’saterriblechild,”shesaid,indicatingme;“shealwaysasksthatabout
everything.”
“Well,doyou?”Iinsisted.
“Itdependsonwhereyouaregoing,”shesaid,matronizingme.
“Idon’tknowwhereI’mgoing,”Isaid,“butI’monmyway.Areyou?”
“Isaidshewasaterriblechild,”Mothersighed.She’sreallyquitecutewhenshe
kittenswithEllery.
FinallyItookpityonthem,andwentoutintothekitchentomakethemsome
cinnamontoastandtea,itbeingDella’sdayout.Ilikeourkitchen,andIspend
allthetimeIcantherewhenitisn’tencumberedbyDella.Motherhasblue-andwhitecheckedginghamsashcurtains,andblue-and-whitelinoleumonthefloor.
Thetubsandshelvesarealldoneinwhiteoilcloth,andthereisanenameltoppedtable,veryconvenienttositonandswingyourfeet,andakitchencabinet
thatmakescookinganaestheticdelight.Iloveorderandimmaculateness,
thoughIamnotoneofthosewhocanreducethingstothatstateunaided.Once
aided,however,Icankeepthemgoing.Cinnamontoastisquiteanart.Youdon’t
wantiteithercrumblyorgooey.Motherlovesit.AnybodybutMotherwouldbe
fatonwhatsheeats,butnotshe—nother.Agecannotwitherherscrumptious
figure.
EllerycameoutintothekitchentosaythatMotherwouldtakelemon,insteadof

thehabitualcream,butpersonallyhewouldsticktotheEnglishmanner.
“TheEnglishhavemilk,”Iremindedhim.
“Well,I’llhavemilk.”
“Creamiswhatyouusuallyhave.”
“Oh!isit?Well,I’llhavethat,then.”


PersonallyIcan’tseewhyyou’dcallhavingmilk“theEnglishmanner”evenif
youknewthedifference,whichyousooftendon’t.
“I’mreallyalittleworriedaboutyourmother,”Ellerysaid.“Sheseemsso
distrait.”
“Sheis,”Isaid.
“Ihatetohaveherbeginthoseheadachesagain.”
“Well,maybesheisn’tbeginning.”
“Shelookswell.”
“Sheis.ShehadachancetogotoCanadawithFather,butshewouldn’t.Father
thoughtthatwouldsetherup.”
Ellerylookedconscientious.
“Maybeitwouldhavebeenwiserforher,”hesaid.
“Shecouldn’tleaveus.Stellamighthavegotthecolicorsomething.”Thebrown
sugarandcinnamonwereactingup.Istirredthemfrantically.
“Mary,”Ellerysaidsolemnly,“yourmotherisaveryrarehumanbeing.”
“Doyouthinkso?”Isaid,wavingthesaucepaninmidairsothestuffwouldn’t
granulate.
“She’sveryhighlyorganized,andshesuffersfromamillionpettyannoyances
thatalesssensitivecreaturewouldn’tevenknowtheexistenceof.”
“Well,maybe,”Isaid.Thekettleboiledoveropportunely.Elleryhelpfullybegan
spreadingtoastforme.
“She’ssucceededinmakingaverybeautifullifeforherself.Irealizethat,butin
asenseitisalifethatisveryhardforher.She’smiscast,onemightalmostsay.

Shewasmadeforalargerscopeofexistence.”
“Whatdoyoumean—largerscope?”


“Afreer,morefacileexistence.Onecanimagineherthemistressofasalon,orin
aEuropeancountrythepresidinggeniusofagroupofdiplomats.Shehasgreat
socialgifts,youknow.”
“Youthinkshewouldn’thaveheadachesifshehadasalon?”Isaid.
“Shewouldbebetterpoisedphysicallyifshewereinperfectaccordmentally
andspiritually.”
“Wouldn’tweall?”Iaskedflippantly;buttherewassomethinginEllery’sface
thatmademeaddquickly,thewayIdotoBobbywhenhehasn’tbeentaken
seriouslyenough,“I’mgoingtothinkitallover.”
Weborethetea-traytogetherbacktotheliving-room.Motherwaspoisedinthe
bigcarvedSpanishchair,withherheaddroopingalittle,andonelittlesilver
shoestuckoutfrombeneathherbluedress.Shemighthavebeenanythinginthe
world—exceptingmymother.
Ellerydrewinasharpbreathofadmiration.
“Helen,thybeautyistome-”Isaidtomyself.
It’sjustallIcandotothinkofthepossibilityofmymotherorfathereverhaving
marriedanyoneelse.It’spositivelyuncannytoworkbacktoaperiodwhere
yourrespectedparentswerethinkingofbreakingtheirengagementtoone
another.Itleavesyousooutinthecold.Itmakesmyhairslowlyriseanydayof
theweektothinkoftheMayorofToledo,forinstance,whoonceinquiredof
Motherifshewouldbehiswife.ButthisEllerybusinessissomethingelse
again.IwishIknewwhattothink.Motherisn’tGuinevereoranything.Butdoes
sheknowwhereshe’sgoing?DoesEllery—sweetsoul—thinkhecangoon
foreverwatchingoverMother’shead,anddeploringtheabsenceofagilded
salonforher—Motherwhowon’ttakethesealskinofferingsthatthegodsare
hankeringtoprovideforher?

Maybesomeotherkindoflifewouldhavebroughtheroutmore.Isupposeshe
isaravingbeauty.Iforonewouldliketoseeheralwaysinvelvetswithchiffon
hangingsandsilverslippers;butifallwe’vegottoholdoutforisthekindoflife
forwhichwe’rebestfitted,why,I,asStellasofrequentlyremarks,don’tseethe
logicofit.


CHAPTERIII
TheWebstergirlsliveinahouse,arealhousewithanupstairsandadownstairs,
andabackyardwithapolicedogchainedinit.Iknowthegirlsarerathersilly,
butIadoregoingthere.Theirchiefobjectinlifeistogetoutofdoinganything
thatisexpectedofthem.Forinstance,theyaresupposedtogetuptobreakfast,
buttheyhaveallkindsofdevicestocheattheirfamily,andbribethecookinto
lettingthemstayinbed.Sometimesoneofthempretendssheissick,andthe
other—Mertisusually—bringsenoughbreakfastforbothofthemtoherbedside.
Ortheygetthewaitresstofillathermosbottlefullofcoffee,andthentheydrink
itwithzwiebackorLornaDoonesthattheyhavesmuggledinfromthegrocer’s.
Ofcourse,thisdoesn’tappealtomesomuch,becauseBobbywillbringinmy
breakfastanytimeIaskforit,andhefixesitverynicely,too.Heneverslopsthe
coffeeorslidesthethingsaroundonthetray.
“Excusemypajamas,Sister,”hesays.Bobbyisawfullycutewhennobodyis
houndinghimintobeingaperfectgentleman.
MarionistheprettiestWebster,butIthinkthatMertishasthemostcharacter,if
youcanspeakofcharacterinconnectionwitheitherofthem.Theylookalittle
liketheDollysisters,ifyouhaveeverseentheminmusicalcomedy,whichI
haven’t.Theyarenottwins,buttheydressalike.Thiswintertheybothhadgraysquirrelcapes,thelongkindtothebottomoftheirdresses,withdeepyokesto
theirwaists,andtheyworeblackhatswithbigorangepinsinthem.Alltheir
clothesarecute.
Ofcourse,theyhaven’tanideabetweenthem.Alltheycareaboutismaking
lingerie,andgoingtoshowsanddancing,butIlikethem.Ispendwholedays

withthem.Mrs.WebsterlikestohavemebecauseshethinksI’marestraining
influence.I’mnot.Iliketoseethemperform,andI’mprettylikelytostartthem
goingagainwhenevertheystopforbreath.
It’scuriousthattheyaresogayandgiddy,withthatkind,white-hairedfather,
andgentle,frillymother.Iguesstheirparentswereolderthanminearenow
whentheywereborn.They’vegotamarriedbrotherthatlookspositively
patriarchalascomparedwithmyyoungdaddy.
IfIcouldgettheparentsofmyfriendstogetherinoneroomsometimeI’dhave


thefunniestcollectionanybodyeversaw.TommyNevers’smotheristhe
presidentoftheWoman’sCivicUnion,andshealwayswearsauniform.
Cosgrove’sfatherhasbeeninjail,andI’vegotagirlfriendwhosemotherdyes
herhairpink,andismarriedtoaboyoftwenty-two.Sheisn’thalfbadeither,
andPrunellaisthelambiestlambIalmosteverknew.GoodoldSouthernfamily,
andallthat.Stellasaysthatit’sthechildrenthateducatetheirparents.Well,it’sa
luckythingthatwedon’thavetohavethemallatschooltogether.Corporal
punishmentwouldn’tdoforallalike,butsomeofthemwouldneeditbadly.
ThemostsuccessfulaffairthattheWebstersgavewasthatorchidteainJanuary,
arealth�dansantintheirownhouse.Thewholeplacewasbankedwith
lavenderflowers,mostlymums,butthegirlsthemselvesworeorchidsandpale
mauveGeorgettefrocks—themostravishingthingsI’veeverseeninmylife.
TheyhadtheirhairdressedatRichardson’s,brushedbackfromtheirforehead
andpulledwayoutovertheirears.Theyhadastringquartette,andthefattest
catererIeversaw.Everyonetookhimforaguest.Iworepeachcolorwithmy
hairbandedaroundmyhead.EvenStella,whosegeneralideaofeveningdressis
aBatikportiere,sansstockings,thoughtIlookedsatisfactory,andsaidso.
Ilovethesmellofaparty,flowersandchickensaladandicesandtalcum
powder;withakindofgeneralodorofdressmakingestablishmentsbrooding
overeverything.WhenIstoodinthefronthallIgotmyfirstwhiffofit,and

oftenwhenIamwithCarringtonChase,whomImetthereforthefirsttime,the
generalscentofthatpartycomesbacktome,justasitsmelledonmyfirst
entranceuponit.Youdon’talwayshaveasgoodatimeasyouexpectatparties,
butIdidatthatone.
CarringtonChaseisapeculiarperson.IlikehimbetterthanalmostanyoneI
know,butalotofpeoplecan’tstandhim.Hehasn’ttheconventionaltypeof
manners.WhenMertisintroducedus,forinstance,hejustlookedatme,under
hiswinglikeeyebrows.
“ThisisMary,”Mertissaid;“I’vetoldyouallabouther.MissBlair,Mr.Chase.”
“Soitis,”CarringtonChasesaid,“Mary.”
“I’veheardagooddealaboutyou,too,”Isaid.
“Ididn’tknowyoureyesweregoingtobegray,”hesaid.


“Theyaren’tgoingtobe;theyare,”Iretorted.
Hehasaquizzical,ratherbenignsmile,andhairthatstandsstraightuponend.
He’squiteyoung,andlooksveryolduntilyoucometoexaminehimclosely.
WhatIlikeabouthimisthedownrightwayhesayswhathethinks,andwhathe
wants.1“Comeandsitoverhereonthissofa,”hesaid,“andtellmeaboutit.”
“Aboutwhat?”
“AboutMaryBlairandwhatshethinksoftheworld.”
“There’snothingmuchtotell.”
“There’severythingtotell,”hesaidearnestly.“I’llwagermyluckypennythatI
knowyourreactiontothisparty,andallpartieslikeit.”Ineverheardanybody
say“wager”before.“Youwanttoknowwhatthewholesillyshowisabout.”
“Why,yes,”Isaid,“Ido.NotthatIthinkthisisasillyparty.”
“Oh!yes,youdo.”
“Idon’t,”Imaintained.
“Butit’sapartoftheshowthatyoucan’tacceptunthinkingly.”
“Well,no,Ican’t.”

“It’sallinthosebiggrayeyesofyours.They’vechallengedlife,Isuppose,ever
sinceyoufirstopenedthemonit.”
“I’mnotexactlyintellectual,”Isaid.“MysisterStella,Mrs.Cosgrove
Worthington,istheprominentmemberofourfamily.”
“Mrs.CosgroveWorthington—StellaBlair—youmean.Issheyoursister?My
Lord!”
“Didn’tMertistellyouthat?”
“No,shedidn’t.MyLord!”hesaidagain.
“She’smysisterjustthesame,”Isaid.


“Amazing!”
“Idon’tthinkyousoundveryflattering,”Isaid.“Stellaisrathernicewhenyou
cometoknowher.”
“Oh!Isupposesheis.Butyouarenicer.”
“I’mnotgenerallysupposedtobeveryimportant,andsheis.”
“You’redelicious,”hesaid,“andsheisn’t.I’llbetyouneverreadabookon
PoliticalEconomyinyourlife.”
“Well,Ihaven’t.Igotoneoutofthelibraryonce,butFathersaidifitwas
politicalitwasn’teconomy.Sometimesthingslikethatstickinmymindand
spoilasubjectforme.”
“I’llwageryouwenttoboarding-school.”
“IdidwithMertisandMarion.”
“Youplay?”
“Yes,some.NotBeethoven.NotScriabin.”
Helaughed.Whenhelaughshethrowshisheadupsuddenly,andallhis
gleamingwhiteteethshow.Hiseye-teethareratherfangy,butnotunpleasantly
so.
“Areyouanartist?”Iasked.
“NotI.I’mintheexportbusiness.”

“Youdon’tlooklikeabusinessman.”
“Ihavethedilettantetemperament.”ItwasthefirsttimeIhadeverheardany
onesay“dilettante.”
“Youlooklikeanartist,”Isaid.
“Youlooklikearose.Let’sdance,”hesaid,andwedid.


Itwasn’tthathedancedsowellasfarasthemerestepswereconcerned,butour
dancingtogetherwasjustasifonepersonwasmoving,insteadoftwo,notonly
movingbutgliding,swaying,andstandingpoisedlikeonehumanbeing.
“Thatwasbeautiful,”hesaid,aswefoundourseatsagain.
“Yes,”Isaid.
“I’mgoingtobreakintothis.”Marionpounceduponus,withadesiccatedblond
thingintow.“I’mgoingtodancewithCarringtonmyself,andMr.Miffenis
crazytodancewithyou,Maisie.Mr.Miffen,MissBlair.Now,youknoweach
other.”
“Howdoyoudo,MissBlair?”Mr.Miffenwasslightlycrosseyed.IhadallI
coulddotorefrainfromstartinginbytellinghimthatFrenchstoryofthelame
manandthecrosseyedlady:“Commentvousportez-vous?”“Commevous
voyez.”—Butfortunatelyheexpectedmetodance.ItwasluckyIdidn’texpect
himto.
Whenhesaidgood-nighttomeCarringtonaskedifhecouldcometoseeme.He
alsoaskedifIwouldgooutwithhimanddanceatdifferentplacessometimes.
Thatwasn’tsoeasytoanswerbecause,exceptinggoingtotheHotelLaFrance,
whichisnearhome,withTommyNevers,orthecrowd,mypublicappearance
withinterestingyoungmenhasbeenconscientiouslyfrownedon.Motherhad
suchahardtimewithStella’sprofessionalindiscretions,andtheybegansoearly,
thatI’vebeenkeptmoreorlessdoneupinabsorbentcotton.StillIputupa
front,andacceptedonthespot.I’veneverregrettedit.Hisfirstcallonme
wasn’tthemostsuccessfulthingonearth.Inthefirstplace,hehatescats,and

OmarKhayyam,freshfromthecoal,whereshealwaysgoeswhenBobbytakes
herdowntovisitthejanitor,madeaflyingleapforhisshoulderswhenhefirst
camein.AfterOmar—Mrs.Omarsheoughttobe—Bobbycameineating
something;andMotherdidn’tlookasniceasusual,andwasveryexpansive
aboutspiritualism.Idon’tthinkmanypeopleliketohaveseancesdescribedout
atlength.It’sallrighttotiptables,andmakethemlurcharoundtheplace
groaningandspellingoutpeople’sdeadfriends,butIdon’tthinkamerelong
recitalofthesemanifestationsisveryinteresting.AfterMother,theAngelthrew
himadissatisfiedlook,andthensettleddowntodoherdutybyhim.Cosgrove
doesn’tbelieveintalkingtoanyoneunlessyoulikethem,andhecarefullysays
sotoanyonehedoesn’tlike,butStellahasn’tgotGreenwichVillagemanners,