Miss Clendenning picked up her white silk mits and fan lying beside the candles, and moved toward the fireplace. Malachi saw her coming--he was always in the room during the interludes--and with an alacrity common to him when the distinguished little lady was present, drew up a low chair beside his mistress and stood behind it until she took her seat. Miss Clendenning smoothed out her skirt and settled herself with the movement of a pigeon filling her nest. Then she laid her mits in her lap and fanned herself softly.
"Well, Sallie, what is it? Did you ever hear Nathan play so well!" she asked, at last.
"What did Oliver want, my dear?" replied Mrs.
Horn, ignoring her question. "Is there anything worrying him, or is Sue at the bottom of it!"
The little woman smiled quizzically. "No, Sallie --not Sue--not this time. That little rattle-brain's affections will only last the week out. Nothing very important--that is, nothing urgent. We were talking about the Tilghman portraits and the Lely that Cousin John has brought into town from Claymore Manor, and what people should and should not do to earn their living, and what professions were respectable. I thought one thing and Ollie thought another. Now, what profession of all others would you choose for a young man starting out in life?"
"What has he been telling you, Lavinia? Does he want to leave Judge Ellicott's office?" Mrs. Horn asked, quietly, She always went straight to the root of any matter.
"Just answer my question, Sallie."
"I'd rather he'd be a lawyer, of course; why?"
"Suppose he won't, or can't?"
"Is that what he told you, Lavinia, on the sofa?"
She was leaning forward, her cheek on her hand, her eyes fixed on the blazing logs.
"He told me a great many things, half of them boy's talk. Now answer my question; suppose he couldn't study law because his heart wasn't in it, what then?"
"I know, Lavinia, what you mean." There was an anxious tone now in the mother's voice. "And Oliver talked to you about this?" As she spoke she settled back in her chair and a slight sigh escaped her.
"Don't ask me, Sallie, for I'm not going to tell you. I want to know for myself what you think, so that I can help the boy."
Mrs. Horn turned her head and looked toward Richard. She had suspected as much from some hints that Judge Ellicott had dropped when she had asked him about Oliver's progress. "He is still holding down his chair, Madam." She thought at the time that it was one of the Judge's witticisms, but she saw now that it had a deeper meaning. After some moments she said, fixing her eyes on Miss Clendenning:
"Well, now, Lavinia, tell me what YOU think. I should like your opinion. What would you wish to do with him if he were your son?"
Miss Lavinia smiled and her eyes half-closed. For a brief moment there came to her the picture of what such a blessing would have been. Her son!
No! It was always somebody else's son or daughter to whom her sympathy must go.
"Well, Sallie," she answered--she was leaning over now, her hands in her lap, apparently with lowered eyelids, but really watching Mrs. Horn's, face from the corner of her eye--"I don't think we can make a clergyman out of him, do you?" Mrs. Horn frowned, but she did not interrupt. "No, we cannot make a parson out of him. I meant, my love, something in surplices, not in camp-meetings, of course. Think of those lovely pink cheeks in a high collar and Bishop's sleeves, wouldn't he be too sweet for anything?" and she laughed one of her little cooing laughs. "Nor a doctor," she continued, with a slight interrogation in her tone, "nor a shopkeeper, nor a painter"--and she shot a quick glance from under her arching eyebrows at her companion --but Mrs. Horn's face gave no sign--"nor a musician.
Why not a musician, Sallie, he sings like an angel, you know?" She was planting her shafts all about the target, her eyes following the flight of each arrow.
Mrs. Horn raised her head and laid her hand firmly on Miss Clendenning's wrist.
"We won't have him a shopkeeper, Lavinia," she said with some positiveness, "nor a barber, nor a painter, nor a cook, nor a dentist. We'll try and keep him a gentleman, my dear, whatever happens.
