"None that really amounts to anything, or that need give you any trouble, if you don't think of it.But he's been all his life in society, and he knows just what to say and what to do, and he can talk about the things that society people like to talk about, and you--can't."Lapham gave a furious snort."And does that make him any better?""No.But it puts him where he can make the advances without demeaning himself, and it puts you where you can't.Now, look here, Silas Lapham! You understand this thing as well as I do.You know that I appreciate you, and that I'd sooner die than have you humble yourself to a living soul.But I'm not going to have you coming to me, and pretending that you can meet Bromfield Corey as an equal on his own ground.You can't.He's got a better education than you, and if he hasn't got more brains than you, he's got different.And he and his wife, and their fathers and grandfathers before 'em, have always had a high position, and you can't help it.If you want to know them, you've got to let them make the advances.
If you don't, all well and good."
"I guess," said the chafed and vanquished Colonel, after a moment for swallowing the pill, "that they'd have been in a pretty fix if you'd waited to let them make the advances last summer.""That was a different thing altogether.I didn't know who they were, or may be I should have waited.
But all I say now is that if you've got young Corey into business with you, in hopes of our getting into society with his father, you better ship him at once.
For I ain't going to have it on that basis.""Who wants to have it on that basis?" retorted her husband.
"Nobody, if you don't," said Mrs.Lapham tranquilly.
Irene had come home with the shaving in her belt, unnoticed by her father, and unquestioned by her mother.
But her sister saw it at once, and asked her what she was doing with it.
"Oh, nothing," said Irene, with a joyful smile of self-betrayal, taking the shaving carefully out, and laying it among the laces and ribbons in her drawer.
"Hadn't you better put it in water, 'Rene? It'll be all wilted by morning," said Pen.
"You mean thing!" cried the happy girl."It isn't a flower!""Oh, I thought it was a whole bouquet.Who gave it to you?""I shan't tell you," said Irene saucily.
"Oh, well, never mind.Did you know Mr.Corey had been down here this afternoon, walking on the beach with me?""He wasn't--he wasn't at all! He was at the house with ME.
There! I've caught you fairly."
"Is that so?" drawled Penelope."Then I never could guess who gave you that precious shaving.""No, you couldn't!" said Irene, flushing beautifully.
"And you may guess, and you may guess, and you may guess!"With her lovely eyes she coaxed her sister to keep on teasing her, and Penelope continued the comedy with the patience that women have for such things.
"Well, I'm not going to try, if it's no use.But Ididn't know it had got to be the fashion to give shavings instead of flowers.But there's some sense in it.
They can be used for kindlings when they get old, and you can't do anything with old flowers.Perhaps he'll get to sending 'em by the barrel."Irene laughed for pleasure in this tormenting."O Pen, I want to tell you how it all happened.""Oh, he DID give it to you, then? Well, I guess I don't care to hear.""You shall, and you've got to!" Irene ran and caught her sister, who feigned to be going out of the room, and pushed her into a chair."There, now!" She pulled up another chair, and hemmed her in with it."He came over, and sat down on the trestle alongside of me----""What? As close as you are to me now?"
"You wretch! I will GIVE it to you! No, at a proper distance.
And here was this shaving on the floor, that I'd been poking with my parasol----""To hide your embarrassment."
"Pshaw! I wasn't a bit embarrassed.I was just as much at my ease! And then he asked me to let him hold the shaving down with his foot, while I went on with my poking.
And I said yes he might----"
"What a bold girl! You said he might hold a shaving down for you?""And then--and then----" continued Irene, lifting her eyes absently, and losing herself in the beatific recollection, "and then----Oh yes! Then I asked him if he didn't like the smell of pine shavings.And then he picked it up, and said it smelt like a flower.And then he asked if he might offer it to me--just for a joke, you know.
And I took it, and stuck it in my belt.And we had such a laugh! We got into a regular gale.And O Pen, what do you suppose he meant by it?" She suddenly caught herself to her sister's breast, and hid her burning face on her shoulder.
"Well, there used to be a book about the language of flowers.
