The Green Bay Tree (Bromfield, Frederick A. Stokes Company, printing 11)/Chapter 16
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."
"He shall have . . . in time. There is no hurry. Besides, his position is all right. I am Madame Shane, a rich American widow. Madame Gigon has taken care of that. My position is excellent. No woman could be more respected."
Gradually she drifted into an account of her life in Paris. It followed closely the line of pleasant anticipations which Madame Gigon had permitted herself during the stillness of that first evening on the terrace above the Marne. The house in the Rue Raynouard was big and old. It had been built before the Revolution at a time when Passy was a suburb surrounded by open meadows. It had a garden at the back which ran down to the Rue de Passy, once the open highroad to Auteuil. Apartments, shops and houses now covered the open meadows but the old house and the garden remained unchanged, unaltered since the day Lenôtre planned them for the Marquise de Sevillac. The garden had a fine terrace and a pavilion which some day Jean should have for his own quarters. The house itself was well planned for entertaining. It had plenty of space and a large drawing-room which extended along the garden side with tall windows opening outward upon the terrace. At a little distance off was the Seine. One could hear the excursion steamers bound for Sèvres and St. Cloud whistling throughout the day and night.
As for friends, there were plenty of them . . . more than she desired. There were the respectable baronnes and comtesses of Madame Gigon's set, a group which worshiped the Prince Bonaparte and talked a deal of silly nonsense about the Restoration of the Empire. To be sure, they were fuddyduddy, but their sons and daughters were not so bad. Some of them Lily had known at the school of Mademoiselle de Vaux. Some of them were charming, especially the men. She had been to Compiegne to hunt, though she disliked exercise of ro violent a nature. Indeed they had all been very kind to her.
"After all," she concluded, "I am not clever or brilliant. I am content with them. I am really happy. As for Madame Gigon, she is radiant. She has become a great figure in her set. She holds a salon twice a month with such an array of gateaux as would turn you ill simply to look at. I give her a fat allowance but she gets herself up like the devil. I think she is sorry that crinolines are no longer the fashion. She looks like a Christmas tree, but she is the height of respectability." For an instant a thin shade of mockery, almost of bitterness colored her voice.
Julia Shane reached over suddenly and touched her daughter's arm. Something in Lily's voice or manner had alarmed her. "Be careful, Lily. Don't let yourself grow hard. That's the one thing."