A Modern Chronicle | Page 7

are some things you are too young to
understand. But try to remember, my dear, that happiness doesn't
consist in being rich."
"But I have often heard you say that you wished you were rich, Aunt
Mary, and had nice things, and a picture gallery like Mr. Dwyer."
"I should like to have beautiful pictures, Honora."
"I don't like Mr. Dwyer," declared Honora, abruptly.
"You mustn't say that, Honora," was Aunt Mary's reproof. "Mr. Dwyer
is an upright, public-spirited man, and he thinks a great deal of your
Uncle Tom."
"I can't help it, Aunt Mary," said Honora. "I think he enjoys being--
well, being able to do things for a man like Uncle Tom."
Neither Aunt Mary nor Honora guessed what a subtle criticism this was
of Mr. Dwyer. Aunt Mary was troubled and puzzled; and she began to
speculate (not for the first time) why the Lord had given a person with
so little imagination a child like Honora to bring up in the straight and
narrow path.
"When I go on Sunday afternoons with Uncle Tom to see Mr. Dwyer's
pictures," Honora persisted, "I always feel that he is so glad to have
what other people haven't or he wouldn't have any one to show them
to."

Aunt Mary shook her head. Once she had given her loyal friendship,
such faults as this became as nothing.
"And when" said Honora, "when Mrs. Dwyer has dinner-parties for
celebrated people who come here, why does she invite you in to see the
table?"
"Out of kindness, Honora. Mrs. Dwyer knows that I enjoy looking at
beautiful things."
"Why doesn't she invite you to the dinners?" asked Honora, hotly. "Our
family is just as good as Mrs. Dwyer's."
The extent of Aunt Mary's distress was not apparent.
"You are talking nonsense, my child," she said. "All my friends know
that I am not a person who can entertain distinguished people, and that
I do not go out, and that I haven't the money to buy evening dresses.
And even if I had," she added, "I haven't a pretty neck, so it's just as
well."
A philosophy distinctly Aunt Mary's.
Uncle Tom, after he had listened without comment that evening to her
account of this conversation, was of the opinion that to take Honora to
task for her fancies would be waste of breath; that they would right
themselves as she grew up.
"I'm afraid it's inheritance, Tom," said Aunt Mary, at last. "And if so, it
ought to be counteracted. We've seen other signs of it. You know
Honora has little or no idea of the value of money--or of its ownership."
"She sees little enough of it," Uncle Tom remarked with a smile.
"Tom."
"Well."
"Sometimes I think I've done wrong not to dress her more simply. I'm

afraid it's given the child a taste for--for self-adornment."
"I once had a fond belief that all women possessed such a taste," said
Uncle Tom, with a quizzical look at his own exception. "To tell you the
truth, I never classed it as a fault."
"Then I don't see why you married me," said Aunt Mary--a periodical
remark of hers. "But, Tom, I do wish her to appear as well as the other
children, and (Aunt Mary actually blushed) the child has good looks."
"Why don't you go as far as old Catherine, and call her a princess?" he
asked.
"Do you want me to ruin her utterly?" exclaimed Aunt Mary.
Uncle Tom put his hands on his wife's shoulders and looked down into
her face, and smiled again. Although she held herself very straight, the
top of her head was very little above the level of his chin.
"It strikes me that you are entitled to some little indulgence in life,
Mary," he said.
One of the curious contradictions of Aunt Mary's character was a never
dying interest, which held no taint of envy, in the doings of people
more fortunate than herself. In the long summer days, after her silver
was cleaned and her housekeeping and marketing finished, she read in
the book-club periodicals of royal marriages, embassy balls, of great
town and country houses and their owners at home and abroad. And she
knew, by means of a correspondence with Cousin Eleanor Hanbury and
other intimates, the kind of cottages in which her friends sojourned at
the seashore or in the mountains; how many rooms they had, and how
many servants, and very often who the servants were; she was likewise
informed on the climate, and the ease with which it was possible to
obtain fresh vegetables. And to all of this information Uncle Tom
would listen, smiling but genuinely interested, while he carved at
dinner.
One evening, when Uncle Tom had gone to play piquet with Mr. Isham,

who was