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Heeny's clippings, aside from their great intrinsic interest, might furnish him the clue to many things he didn't understand, and that nobody had ever had time to explain to him. His mother's marriages, for instance: he was sure there was a great deal to find out about them.
She had begun to see this, but she could not always master the weakness: never had she stood in greater need of Mrs. Heeny's "Go slow. Undine!" Her imagination was incapable of long flights. She could not cheat her impatience with the mirage of far-off satisfactions, and for the moment present and future seemed equally void.
Heeny's clippings supplied her with such items as her own reading missed; and one day the masseuse appeared with a long article from the leading journal of Little Rock, describing the brilliant nuptials of Mabel Lipscomb now Mrs. Homer Branney and her departure for "the Coast" in the bridegroom's private car.
Marvell was about to ask her to return them to their donor. In the light of Mrs. Heeny's unclouded gaze the whole episode took on a different aspect, and Undine began to be vaguely astonished at her immediate submission to her father's will. The pearls were hers, after all! "To be re-strung?" Mrs. Heeny placidly suggested.
Undine stood for a moment with bright cheeks and parted lips; then she flung her soft arms about the masseuse. "Oh Mrs. Heeny you're lovely to me!" she breathed, her lips on Mrs. Heeny's rusty veil; while the latter, freeing herself with a good-natured laugh, said as she turned away: "Go steady. Undine, and you'll get anywheres." GO STEADY, UNDINE! Yes, that was the advice she needed.
Marvell's sister at least she says she's his sister." Mrs. Spragg, with a puzzled frown, groped for her eye-glass among the jet fringes of her tightly-girded front. Mrs. Heeny's small blue eyes shot out sparks of curiosity. "Marvell what Marvell is that?" The girl explained languidly: "A little fellow I think Mr.
She thought she had learned enough to be safe from any risk of repeating the hideous Aaronson mistake; yet she now saw she had blundered again in distinguishing Claud Walsingham Popple while she almost snubbed his more retiring companion. It was all very puzzling, and her perplexity had been farther increased by Mrs. Heeny's tale of the great Mrs. Harmon B. Driscoll's despair.
But she had noticed lately that Undine was beginning to be nervous, and there was nothing that Undine's parents dreaded so much as her being nervous. Mrs. Spragg's maternal apprehensions unconsciously escaped in her next words. "I do hope she'll quiet down now," she murmured, feeling quieter herself as her hand sank into Mrs. Heeny's roomy palm. "Who's that? Undine?" "Yes.
But the tables in the library held only massive unused inkstands and immense immaculate blotters; not a single volume had slipped its golden prison. His loneliness had grown overwhelming, and he suddenly thought of Mrs. Heeny's clippings. His mother, alarmed by an insidious gain in weight, had brought the masseuse back from New York with her, and Mrs.
Undine! You look's if you'd been setting up all night with a remains!" the masseuse exclaimed in her round rich tones. Undine, without answering, caught up the pearls and thrust them into Mrs. Heeny's hands. "Good land alive!" The masseuse dropped into a chair and let the twist slip through her fat flexible fingers.
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