"She wants to marry you to that boy; they've seen Captain Jay and they're frightened.""Well, dear mamma, I can't take Mr.Mangler for a husband.""Of course not.But oughtn't we to go to the luncheon?""Certainly we'll go to the luncheon," Rose said; and when the affair took place, on the morrow, she could feel for the first time that she was taking her mother out.This appearance was somehow brought home to every one else, and it was really the agent of her success.For it is of the essence of this simple history that, in the first place, that success dated from Mrs.Vesey's Venetian dejeuner, and in the second reposed, by a subtle social logic, on the very anomaly that had made it dubious.There is always a chance in things, and Rose Tramore's chance was in the fact that Gwendolen Vesey was, as some one had said, awfully modern, an immense improvement on the exploded science of her mother, and capable of seeing what a "draw" there would be in the comedy, if properly brought out, of the reversed positions of Mrs.Tramore and Mrs.Tramore's diplomatic daughter.
With a first-rate managerial eye she perceived that people would flock into any room--and all the more into one of hers--to see Rose bring in her dreadful mother.She treated the cream of English society to this thrilling spectacle later in the autumn, when she once more "secured" both the performers for a week at Brimble.It made a hit on the spot, the very first evening--the girl was felt to play her part so well.The rumour of the performance spread; every one wanted to see it.It was an entertainment of which, that winter in the country, and the next season in town, persons of taste desired to give their friends the freshness.The thing was to make the Tramores come late, after every one had arrived.They were engaged for a fixed hour, like the American imitator and the Patagonian contralto.Mrs.Vesey had been the first to say the girl was awfully original, but that became the general view.
Gwendolen Vesey had with her mother one of the few quarrels in which Lady Maresfield had really stood up to such an antagonist (the elder woman had to recognise in general in whose veins it was that the blood of the Manglers flowed) on account of this very circumstance of her attaching more importance to Miss Tramore's originality ("Her originality be hanged!" her ladyship had gone so far as unintelligently to exclaim) than to the prospects of the unfortunate Guy.Mrs.Vesey actually lost sight of these pressing problems in her admiration of the way the mother and the daughter, or rather the daughter and the mother (it was slightly confusing) "drew." It was Lady Maresfield's version of the case that the brazen girl (she was shockingly coarse) had treated poor Guy abominably.At any rate it was made known, just after Easter, that Miss Tramore was to be married to Captain Jay.The marriage was not to take place till the summer; but Rose felt that before this the field would practically be won.There had been some bad moments, there had been several warm corners and a certain number of cold shoulders and closed doors and stony stares; but the breach was effectually made--the rest was only a question of time.Mrs.Tramore could be trusted to keep what she had gained, and it was the dowagers, the old dragons with prominent fangs and glittering scales, whom the trick had already mainly caught.By this time there were several houses into which the liberated lady had crept alone.Her daughter had been expected with her, but they couldn't turn her out because the girl had stayed behind, and she was fast acquiring a new identity, that of a parental connection with the heroine of such a romantic story.She was at least the next best thing to her daughter, and Rose foresaw the day when she would be valued principally as a memento of one of the prettiest episodes in the annals of London.At a big official party, in June, Rose had the joy of introducing Eric to his mother.She was a little sorry it was an official party--there were some other such queer people there; but Eric called, observing the shade, the next day but one.
No observer, probably, would have been acute enough to fix exactly the moment at which the girl ceased to take out her mother and began to be taken out by her.A later phase was more distinguishable--that at which Rose forbore to inflict on her companion a duality that might become oppressive.She began to economise her force, she went only when the particular effect was required.Her marriage was delayed by the period of mourning consequent upon the death of her grandmother, who, the younger Mrs.Tramore averred, was killed by the rumour of her own new birth.She was the only one of the dragons who had not been tamed.Julia Tramore knew the truth about this--she was determined such things should not kill HER.She would live to do something--she hardly knew what.The provisions of her mother's will were published in the "Illustrated News"; from which it appeared that everything that was not to go to Eric and to Julia was to go to the fortunate Edith.Miss Tramore makes no secret of her own intentions as regards this favourite.
Edith is not pretty, but Lady Maresfield is waiting for her; she is determined Gwendolen Vesey shall not get hold of her.Mrs.Vesey however takes no interest in her at all.She is whimsical, as befits a woman of her fashion; but there are two persons she is still very fond of, the delightful Bertram Jays.The fondness of this pair, it must be added, is not wholly expended in return.They are extremely united, but their life is more domestic than might have been expected from the preliminary signs.It owes a portion of its concentration to the fact that Mrs.Tramore has now so many places to go to that she has almost no time to come to her daughter's.She is, under her son-in-law's roof, a brilliant but a rare apparition, and the other day he remarked upon the circumstance to his wife.
"If it hadn't been for you," she replied, smiling, "she might have had her regular place at our fireside.""Good heavens, how did I prevent it?" cried Captain Jay, with all the consciousness of virtue.
"You ordered it otherwise, you goose!" And she says, in the same spirit, whenever her husband commends her (which he does, sometimes, extravagantly) for the way she launched her mother: "Nonsense, my dear--practically it was YOU!"
End