Chapter VII

Extreme youth is always susceptible to diversion which affords a degree of alleviation for grief.  Many older people have the same facility of turning before the impetus of circumstances to another view of life, which serves to take their minds off too close concentration upon sorrow, but it is not so universal.  Maria, although she was sadly lonely, in a measure, enjoyed taking her meals at Mrs. Jonas White’s.  She had never done anything like it before.  The utter novelty of sitting down to Mrs. White’s table, and eating in company with her and Mr. Jonas White, and Lillian White, and a son by the name of Henry, amused her.  Then, too, they were all very kind to her.  They even made a sort of heroine of her, especially at noon, when her father was in New York and she, consequently, was alone.  They pitied her, in a covert sort of fashion, because her father was going to get married again, especially Mrs. White and Lillian.  Lillian was a very pretty girl, with a pert carriage of blond head, and a slangy readiness of speech.

“Well, she’s a dandy, as far as looks and dress go, and maybe she’ll make you a real good mother-in-law,” she said to Maria.  Maria knew that Lillian should have said step-mother, but she did not venture to correct her.

“Looks ain’t everything,” said Mrs. White, with a glance at her daughter.  She had thought of the possibility of Harry Edgham taking a fancy to her Lillian.

Mr. Jonas White, who with his son Henry kept a market, thereby insuring such choice cuts of meat, spoke then.  He did not, as a rule, say much at table, especially when Maria and her father, who in his estimation occupied a superior place in society, were present.

“Guess Mr. Edgham knows what he’s about,” said he.  “He’s going to marry a good-looking woman, and one that’s capable of supportin’ herself, if he’s laid up or anything happens to him.  Guess she’s all right.”

“I guess so, too,” said Henry White.  Both nodded reassuringly at Maria, who felt mournfully comforted.

“Shouldn’t wonder if she’d saved something, too,” said Mr. White.

When he and his son were on their way back to the market, driving in the white-covered wagon with “J.  White & Son” on the sides thereof, they agreed that women were queer.

“There’s your mother and Lillian, they mean all right,” said Jonas White, “but they were getting that poor young one all stirred up.”

Maria never settled with herself whether the Whites thought she had a pleasant prospect before her or the reverse, but they did not certainly influence her to love Miss Ida Slome any more.

Miss Slome was so kind to Maria, in those days, that it really seemed to her that she ought to love her.  She and her father were invited to take tea at Miss Slome’s boarding-house, and after tea they sat in the little parlor which the teacher had for her own, and Miss Slome sang and played to them.  She had a piano.  Maria heard her and her father talking about the place in the Edgham parlor where it was to stand.  Harry stood over Miss Slome as she was singing, and Maria observed how his arm pressed against her shoulder.