 | Chapter VII Miss Spring Morning |  |
7. Chapter VII
After waiting what seemed an interminable length of time for her son, Mrs. Tyrrell sent a message to Edith Latimer, asking her to come to her at once.
The girl found her friend, sitting agitatedly by the window, peering out into the dimly lighted street. She began to cry as soon as Edith came in.
“Oh Edith, is it you? I am so glad you came. I'm sure I don't know what to do.”
“Why, what is the matter, dear?” inquired the girl, with genuine concern.
“Edith--” Mrs. Tyrrell plunged at once into the subject that troubled her. “I don't want that girl in my house. I won't have her here.”
Edith smoothed the older woman's hand lovingly. “Well, if that is all that's troubling you! I'll get Spring-morning another home. So don't you give the matter a second thought.”
Mrs. Tyrrell looked at her gratefully.
“How reasonably you take it, dear. Now when I said the identical thing to Jamison, he was very angry with me--” Miss Latimer's brows went up slightly, but she did not interrupt Mrs. Tyrrell. “Yes indeed he was, and he said in that event--if I would not have her, he would go to her and engage her as a model. And he has gone out--to her!”--Mrs. Tyrrell's voice arose to a wail half hysterical, half angry- -“without even waiting for his supper, and--well, I feel as if something dreadful were going to happen. I'm so afraid Jamy will do something foolish. You know how quixotic he is. He is a perfect child, my poor Jamy!”
“Nonsense!” chided Miss Latimer, laughing a trifle forcedly, and in spite of her words somewhat of her natural cheeriness seemed to have departed. “Jamison is perfectly able to take care of himself. He is simply sorry, as I am, for this poor girl, and I think it's a fine idea for him to engage her for a model. That will solve the problem for all of us, don't you see? And as for a home, why, I'm sure I can arrange it somehow--I'll talk to Father Daly. I'd take her myself, but you know we are going so soon to Nikko, and then all those other places, and I can't tell when I'll be back in Yokohama.” After a moment she added thoughtfully: “Spring- morning will make a perfectly lovely--model.”
“No, no--Edith. I would rather have her here with me-- under my eye--than that she should work for my son as a model!”
“But dear, Jamison has always had models. Why not this lovely girl as well as any other person?”
“Oh, I don't know just why, Edith. I have a feeling-- call it mother-intuition. Somehow, when Jamy was looking at that sketch of her--I don't know, I sensed something-- something in his look--and it frightened me, Edith--and warned me!”
“Frightened you?”
“Startled me! I was appalled suddenly with the thought of the possibility that Jamy--my son--might become interested in a Japanese girl. It would simply kill me, Edith!” she added violently.
Edith seized her roughly by the shoulders and shook her.
“There! You deserve to be shaken. How can you think such things of your son? The very idea! Jamison has too much common sense.”
“Ah, you don't know him, if you say that,” cried his mother. “Edith, my son Jamison has no common sense-- absolutely none! Don't you remember what his uncle Dan used to say of Jamy--that he had all kinds of uncommon sense, but not a grain of common sense; and it's perfectly true. That's the way it always is with people of Jamy's temperament. They are enthusiasts--impressed and deceived too easily. Anyone could deceive Jamison--a child could--easily. Oh, I suppose you call it the artistic temperament, for he is so clever, so wonderful, and yet in certain things as utterly foolish and helpless as a baby. Jamy has never really grown up!”
“You are getting excited over nothing,” said Edith quietly. “Now let's wait till he gets in. I can't for the life of me see any harm at all in his engaging this girl to work for him. Poor little soul, goodness knows she needs help terribly. But if you really feel that way about it, you have right in your hands the remedy. Why not have her come to you for a time; then I'll soon find something else for her to do--maybe I could take her with our party. She speaks English quite well, and might serve as interpreter. For the time at least, let's just make Jamison think we are not deserting her.”
Mrs. Tyrrell sat down resignedly, and folding her hands, tried to compose herself. To Edith's last suggestion she made no response. For a while she sat in silence, both of them watching from the window for Jamison. Presently Mrs. Tyrrell restlessly moved, as if to arise, but Edith promptly led her back to her seat.
“Now you sit right still, and I'll have Ume bring you tea.”
She clapped loudly for the maid, and ordered the tea, but when it was brought Mrs. Tyrrell barely tasted it, and presently, setting the cup down beside her, she began again upon the tormenting subject.
“You know Jamison has always been crazy about Oriental things and people. Even as a child he used to collect queer little fans and ivory figures and old tea-boxes and things. I did everything I could at first to break up his intimacy with Mr. Taganouchi after he went to college, even though I grew to like this Japanese later. Jamy thought the sun was above him--couldn't see an imperfection in him. Then, when Mr. Taganouchi went home, and they corresponded for a while, nothing would do but Jamison had to follow him out here. I thought he would never come home--just think, he has been here more than a year now, and when I found my letters begging him to come home had no effect whatever upon him, I came clear out here, intending, if I could, literally to force the boy to return. I don't like Japan. I never did, and I tell this to Jamy every day. We are always arguing about it, for he is infatuated with the country, and I cannot get him even to say when we might return to our home.”
“Well, you are just foolish then to nag him about it,” said Edith wisely. “Just let his infatuation for the country spend itself. Everyone is crazy about it at first. I was, and am, and Jamison's got it worse than I have--Japan-fever! He's not had enough yet.
“Ye-es, I thought that too; but now things are complicated by this girl.”
“I don't see that at all.”
“Oh, but I do. I have such a feeling about it, and in some things my intuitions are never wrong.”
She hesitated, as though turning over some idea that had come to her timidly in her mind before voicing it. Then:
“Edith, do you suppose, if I did engage this girl, it would be possible for me to keep her--well, completely away from Jamy, until we could make some other plan for her--send her away with you as you suggested?”
Edith laughed.
“Well, you might forbid her to speak to or look at Jamison, but that would be very foolish. Keep her occupied all the time--give her plenty of work to do, and then she won't have the chance to bewitch him--as you seem to fear.”
“Well--I shall have to give in then,” said Mrs. Tyrrell resignedly. “Anything rather than have her working alone with Jamy--as a model. And you see--”
“Wait--I hear Jamison now!”
She put her head out of the window, and called cheerily to the young man, but a moment later she drew in, and hurrying across the room, she went out into the hall, closing the doors of the living room behind her--and holding them closed.
| Chapter VII Miss Spring Morning | |