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Updated: May 24, 2025
"What a question! Do what you want." Gora took out the pins and let down her hair. It was not as fine as Alexina's, but it was brown and warm and an unusual head of hair for these days. It fell down both sides of her face, and her long cold unrevealing eyes looked paler than ever between her sun-burned cheeks and her low heavy brows.
"You remember I told you I was looking for an investment of the proceeds of those bonds of Alexina's which matured the other day? This morning I took a mortgage on a boat Cowan is building at his yard." Alexina heard her name, but did not understand. There came a day the following spring when Alexina, seeking her aunt, wept. Harriet gazed at her dismayed, at a loss.
Alexina's tall white figure, the soft blue of her hat forming a halo about her face, was bathed in its light; a radiant vision in that shattered town whose very stones cried out against the injustice of life. Alexina, who was feeling like anything but a madonna in a stained glass window, waved a questing hand. "The fortunate of earth!" thought Gora.
Alexina's face grew hot; she hated Molly, whose every thought she was reading; and, by the girl's arrangement, they fell into two groups, Molly and the men making one, King William perched on the railing of the gallery, and Alexina and Mrs. Leroy the other, drawn a little apart. There was so much to say. "We see the Kentucky papers," Charlotte told Alexina, "so I know of most of the happenings."
But there had been no evidence of anything but a young girl's natural love of pleasure since her debut in society, and she was quite unaware of Alexina's wicked divagations. She had spent the winter in Santa Barbara, for the benefit of her oldest, boy, whose lungs were delicate, and, like her mother, never deigned to read the society columns of the newspapers. Her reason, however, was her own.
Alexina's heart was choking her. Her father daddy Molly had spoken to her of daddy. And all the while Molly was talking on, feverishly, incessantly. "You must keep him away, Malise, that minister, he worries me and his eyes make me uncomfortable, following me. He makes me remember things, and I don't want to. He says it's his duty.
Heughlin relates how, after the death of Madame Tinné, he went daily from the zeribah to Alexina's own residence, situated at a considerable distance, to inquire after her health, and console her in her affliction. To drag himself to and fro was all he could do; and frequently his strength failed him on the way, so that he had to sit down and rest.
On the other, she recognized a certain distinction in Alexina's severe style, and felt proud of her notice. This afternoon Alex's influence had been in the ascendant.
As she had said, everything was so different from what it had been a year ago. Their father had been alive then and they had been very cosy and happy in the little house at the end of the street. There had been no mother there since Alexina's birth sixteen years ago. Alexina had kept house for her father and Stephen since she was ten. Stephen was a clever boy and intended to study medicine.
Those arms had held more than one violent man in his bed. "Better wait," she said softly. Alexina's body grew rigid as she slowly drew back on Gora's arm and stared up at her. In a moment she asked in a hard steady voice: "Is my mother dead?" "Yes. It was very sudden. I had no time to telephone for the doctor; to call you. She was sleeping. I was sitting beside her.
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