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Updated: June 4, 2025
IT was the firm conviction of Andora Macy that every object in the Vincent Deerings' charming little house at Neuilly had been expressly designed for the Deerings' son to play with.
The two women faced each other, Andora kneeling, Lizzie motionless before her, the letters in her hand. The blood had rushed to her face, humming in her ears, and forcing itself into the veins of her temples like hot lead. Then it ebbed, and she felt cold and weak. "It must have been some plot some conspiracy!"
The next evening, on her return home, she found Andora hovering in the entrance hall. "I thought you'd like me to put this in your own hand," Miss Macy whispered significantly, pressing a letter upon Lizzie. "I couldn't bear to see it lying on the table with theothers." It was Deering's letter from the steamer. Lizzie blushed tothe forehead, but without resenting Andora's divination.
"Have you any idea where that bag came from, Lizzie?" Mrs. Deering, bent above a pile of dis-collared shirts, shook an inattentive head. "I never saw such wicked washing! There isn't one that's fit to mend. The bag? No; I've not the least idea." Andora surveyed her dramatically. "Doesn't it make you utterly miserable to think that some woman may have made it for him?"
How can it have been kept back from him, when we've found it here among his things?" "Yes; but then why was it never opened?" Andora held out the letter, and Lizzie took it. The writingwas hers; the envelop bore the Passy postmark; and it was unopened. She stood looking at it with a sudden sharp drop of the heart. "Why, so are the others all unopened!"
A moment later the gate opened slowly to admit a perambulator, propelled by the nurse and flanked by Juliet and Andora. Lizzie's eyes rested on the familiar group as if she hadnever seen it before, and she stood motionless, instead of flyingdown to meet the children. Suddenly there was a step on the stairs, and she heard Andora's agitated knock.
She lifted him in her arms, and for the first time no current of life ran from his bodyinto hers. He felt heavy and clumsy, like some one else's child; and his screams annoyed her. "Take him away, please, Andora." "Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie!" Andora wailed. Lizzie held out the child, and Andora, struggling to her feet, received him. "I know just how you feel," she gasped out above the baby's head.
Jackson Benn had fixed her attention, and the languid effort of her imagination to adjust him to her requirements was seconded by thefond complicity of Andora and the smiling approval of her cousins. Lizzie did not discourage these demonstrations: she suffered serenely Andora's allusions to Mr. Benn's infatuation, and Mrs. Mears's casual boast of his business standing.
"Give the bag to Aunt Andora, darling! Here look inside, and see what else a big big boy can find there! Yes, here's another! Why, why " Lizzie rose with a shade of impatience and crossed the floorto the romping group beside the other trunk. "What is it? Give me the letters, please." As she spoke, she suddenly recalled the day when, in Mme.
One ofthe girls was Swiss, the other English; the third, Andora Macy, was ayoung lady from the Southern States who was studying French with the ultimate object of imparting it to the inmates of a girls' school at Macon, Georgia. Andora Macy was pale, faded, immature. She had a drooping Southern accent, and a manner which fluctuated between arch audacity and fits of panicky hauteur.
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