“poor dear mamma and i did not have a harsh word for years, uncle hutchinson,” miss lee explained, in the course of the somewhat animated discussion that arose in consequence of mr. port’s declaration that a part of their summer would be passed, in accordance with his usual custom, at the white sulphur, and of dorothy’s declaration that she did not want to go there. this, her first summer in america, was the third summer after mrs. lee’s translation; and since dorothy had come into colors again she naturally wanted to make the most of them. “no, not a single harsh word did we ever have. we always agreed perfectly, you know; or if mamma thought differently at first she always ended by seeing that my view of the matter was the right one. the only serious difference that i remember since i was quite a little girl was that last autumn in paris; when i had everything so perfectly arranged for a delightful winter in st. petersburg, and when mamma was completely set in her own mind that we must go to the south of france. her cough was getting very bad then, you know, and she said that a winter in russia certainly would kill her. i don’t think it would have killed her, at least not especially; but the doctor backed mamma up—and said some horrid things to me in his polite french way—and declared that st. petersburg was not even to be thought of.
“and so, when i found that they were both against me that way, of course i sacrificed my own feelings and told mamma that i would do just what she wanted. and mamma cried and kissed me, and said that i was an angel: wasn’t it sweet of her? to be sure, though, she was having her own way, and i wasn’t; and i think that i was an angel myself, for i did want to go to russia dreadfully. after all, as things turned out, we might almost as well have gone; for poor dear mamma, you know, died that winter anyway. but i’m glad i did what i could to please her, and that she called me an angel for doing it. don’t you think that i was one? and don’t you feel, sir, that it is something of an honor to be an angel’s uncle?
suppose i kiss you right on your dear little bald spot 030
“now suppose i kiss you right on your dear little bald spot, and that we make up our minds not to go to that horrid sulphur place at all. everybody says that it is old-fashioned and stupid; and that is not the kind of an american watering-place that i want to see, you know. it would have been all very well if we’d gone there while i was in mourning, and had to be proper and quiet and retired, and all that; but i’m not in mourning any longer, uncle hutchinson—and you haven’t said yet how you like this breakfast gown. do you have to be told that white lace over pale-blue silk is very becoming to your angel niece, uncle hutchinson? and now you shall have your kiss, and then the matter will be settled.” with which words miss lee—a somewhat bewildering but unquestionably delightful effect in blond and blue—fluttered up to her elderly relative, embraced him with a graceful energy, and bestowed upon his bald spot the promised kiss.
“but—but indeed, my dear,” responded mr. port, when he had emerged from miss lee’s enfolding arms, “you know that going to the white sulphur is not a mere matter of pleasure with me; it is one of hygienic necessity. you forget, dorothy”—mr. port spoke with a most earnest seriousness—“you forget my liver.”
“now, uncle hutchinson, what is the use of talking about your liver that way? haven’t you told me a great many times already that it is an hereditary liver, and that nothing you can do to it ever will make it go right? and if it is bound to go wrong anyway, why can’t you just try to forget all about it and have as pleasant a time as possible? that’s the doctrine that i always preached to poor dear mamma—she had an hereditary liver too, you know—and it’s a very good one.
“anyhow, i’ve heard mamma say countless times that saratoga was a wonderfully good place for livers; now why can’t we go there? mamma always said that saratoga was simply delightful—horse-racing going on all the time, and lovely drives, and rowing on the lake, and dancing all night long, and all sorts of lovely things. let’s go to saratoga, uncle hutchinson! mamma said that the food there was delicious—and you know you always are grumbling about the food those sulphur people give you.
“but what really would be best of all for you, uncle hutchinson,” miss lee continued, with increasing animation, “is carlsbad. yes, that’s what you really want—and while you are drinking the horrid waters i can be having a nice time, you know. then, when you have finished your course, we can take a run into switzerland; and after that, in the autumn, we might go over to vienna—you will be delighted with the vienna restaurants, and they do have such good white wines there. and then, from vienna, we really can go on and have a winter in russia. just think how perfectly delightful it will be to drive about in sledges, all wrapped up in furs”—mr. port shuddered; he detested cold weather—“and to go to the court balls, and even, perhaps, to be present the next time they assassinate the czar! oh, what a good time we are going to have! do write at once, this very day, uncle hutchinson, to carlsbad and engage our rooms.”
to a person of mr. port’s staid, deliberate temperament this rapid outlining of a year of foreign travel, and this prompt assumption that the outline was to be immediately filled in and made a reality, was upsetting. his mental processes were of the philadelphia sort, and when miss lee had completed the sketch of her european project he still was engaged in consideration of her argument in favor of throwing over the white sulphur for saratoga. however, he had comprehended enough of her larger plan to perceive that by accepting saratoga promptly he might be spared the necessity of combating a far more serious assault upon his peace of mind and digestion. travel of any sort was loathsome to mr. port, for it involved much hasty and inconsiderate eating.
“very well,” he said, but not cheerfully, for this was the first time in a great many years that he had not made and acted upon plans shaped wholly in his own interest, “we will try saratoga, since you so especially desire it; but if the waters affect my liver unfavorably we shall go to the white sulphur at once.”
“what! we are not to go to carlsbad, then? oh, uncle hutchinson, i had set my heart upon it! don’t, now don’t be in a hurry to say positively that we won’t go. think how much good the waters will do you, and think of what a lovely time you can have when your course is over, and you can eat just as much as you want of anything!”
but even by this blissful prospect mr. port was not to be lured; and dorothy, who combined a good deal of the wisdom of the serpent with her presumable innocence of the dove, perceived that it was the part of prudence not further to press for larger victory.
“and from saratoga, of course, we shall go to the pier,” said mr. port, but with a certain aggressiveness of tone that gave to his assertion the air of a proposition in support of which argument might be required.
“to narragansett, you mean? oh, certainly. from what several people have told me about narragansett i think that it must be quite entertaining, and i want to see it. and of course, uncle hutchinson, even if i didn’t care about it at all, i should go all the same; for i want to fall in exactly with your plans and put you to as little trouble as possible, you know. for if your angel wasn’t willing to be self-sacrificing, she really wouldn’t be an angel at all.”
pleasing though this statement of early christian sentiment was, it struck mr. port—as he subsequently revolved it slowly in his slowly-moving mind—as lacking a little on the side of practicality; for miss lee, so far, unquestionably had contrived to upset with a fine equanimity every one of his plans that was not absolutely identical with her own.
