The
unday Bee
MAGAZINE SECTION
VOL. 52 NO. 2. OMAHA, SUNDAY MORNING. JUNE 25, 1022. ' FIVE CENTS
EILEEN by W. L. George
"It Surely Would Spoil Her," Said
Mrs. Delabole. "You Wouldn't
Put a Bunch of Daisies Into
a Gold Vase, Would You?
LL'N'CH was ending at Rose Cottage. The heat of this
Miiumer afternoon, the heavy scent of flowering hay,
laid upon Peter Walt'ord a pleasant languor... lie had
eaten enough. He watched the course of a bee, which
had entered the dining room and now widely circled, dis
tracted and uncomprehending, mysteriously confined by the
walls. Mr. and Mrs. Delabole, his hosts, were silent, as if
. I ...I .i I l. -. 1 . .I.... UA tn a
time of life where peace yields joys that earlier years ob
tain from activity. They were old, both oS them, he just
70, his wife a year or two younger; they sat now, neat and
cool, with their thin faces the color of fossil ivory, soft
eyed, delicate handed, old people of lace.
"Do you know," said Walford, suddenly turning to Mrs.
Delabole. "I love being here?"
"We love to have you. Peter," said the old lady, smil
ing. A blush of pleasure rose for a moment into her cheeks,
that were like the crumpled petal of a faded tea rose. .
"I love being here," repeated Walford. "In town there's
hurry, noise, assertion. But all the time one wcjiders
whether one makes a noise to convince oneself that ono'j
alive. Here, in the country, one doesn t need
to assert. Life is real. Slowly the cattle go
by to feed, heads lowered to the grass in the
ditches. The day passes; night falls; slowly
the cattle come home. Mrs. Delabole, you
endure forever in a world without change."
"Without change." cried the old lady
petulantly. "I don't say that Burleigh Abbas
is a giddy village. But things do happen.
There's well, lots of things happen."
"For instance?" asked Walford. ma
liciously, as he split a peach.
"Why, Peter, you haven't noticed; we've
got a new maid." The two men laughed
together, and Mrs. Delabole. looked offended.
"Don't be cross. Chloe," said her husband.
"I know she's a pet, but '' .
'She is a pet," said Mrs. Delabole. firm
ly. "Do ydu mean to say that you haven't
noticed her, Peter? She's so pretty, and only
16. She's beeiu with us two months now,
and it's as if she was the tittle girl I never
had. She's like a brown thrush fallen from
the nest, all soft and shy, with the dearest
eyes, though' one doesn't see thym often be
cause she's too shy."
"I can't help wishing they'd taught her
how to black bods," said Mr. Delabole.
"Don't 'be brutal, Allan. Eileen's a dar
ling." "I know. 'She was not born to black,
immortal bird.' "
"Well," said Walford. "I'm anxious to
see your paragon. You know how sus
ceptible I am to feminine charms. And I do
my boots myself."
At this moment the door opened and
Eileen slowly came in, carrying coffee upon
a tray. Nothing; was said. The girl must
have been conscious of the silence, for as
she went round, holding out the tray, she
blushed. Walford considered her with a sort
of cynical amusement. He appreciated the
fact that she had made airentrance just when
attention was concentrated upon her. By
Tove. the old oeoole were rieht. Eileen was
pretty in a v?ay that village girls aren't pretty.
She had none of the color, the buxom health that
makes a village belie.
As she stood by Mr. Delabole, holding out the
tray, with immense awkwardness, as if its weight were
enormous, he took in the details of her, the dark hair
fluffed out by its fineness, and upon which, as she moved,
a reddish shadow seemed to flit. The skin was not white,
but almost pure waxen yellow, which imperceptibly at the
cheeks changed to a healthy color. There was no move
ment in the features, except that the small and excessively
red mouth was compressed, as if she was making an effort.
When she came to. him he noticed first the amaaing red
ness of her hands and wrists, the almost calculated awk
wardness of the way in which she held the tray with both
thumbs rigid and erect. But he looked up sideways,- for he
wanted to see her eyes; only the lashes were downcast, and
made upon her cheeks two crescents of blurred shadow.
She went out, treading gently. Peter Walford grew
conscious of the 'simplicity, the childishness of these o.ld
people. So, very lightly, as if to shock them, he said:
"She's perfectly charming.. All she wants' is a brown taf
feta frock with short sleeves and paniers to the skirt. Trim
ming, I think, old gold. And for the evening, just a strip
of black silk with big yellow pods, and a bright blue and
yellow turban. Yes, I think I'll marry her and get her
the clothes."
They both laughed at him. Mrs. Delabole said:
" "Oh, that would never do. It w-ould spoil her. You
wouldn't put a bunch of daisies into a vase' of gold, would
you?"
The conversation changed and evaporated. Mrs. Dela
bole went to some household errand, while her husband
retired to the place he called his study, which he used as a
dormitory after lunch. Walford went out in the garden
where now the afternoon heat indisposed him to movement.
He stood, hands in his pockets, blinding his eyes at the glare
of the south wall. He made a discordant figure in this gar
den, so ancient that the lavendar bushes had grown stems
YleVas a man of middle height, fresh faced, blue eyed,
short mustached; he looked sturdy and pleasant; he had a
clean, brushed, comfortable air; only two shallow folds on
either side of his mouth caused his lower lip to retract,
gave his features individuality. -
Walford was always laughing at things a little. He did
no work, and did it with ironic satisfaction. He suspected
the profundity of his pleasures and ignored the value of his
griefs; he thought that nothing lasted, but that things were,
worth beginning all the same. He wrote a little, and hoped
"othing of posterity; he played golf, but knew the limits of
w dffl '-if "tiiw
7 :
,r,- -1 - f :-
ea swjic arranging, and she'd make no end of a sen
n. a lord stopped suddenly upon the path, stabbing
rot. Absurd of course. Still it would be rather fun.
aid aloud. " hy not?" The folds on cither side of his
It seemd wrong to Eileen, somehow, to sit in the
drawing room except on Sunday.
his handicap. He had once said that the best sensation in
the day was the first mouthful of eggs and bacon.
Next morning as he went about the house he could
hear Eileen upstairs, making the beds. He couldn't go up,
and help her. He found himself vaguely exasperated, as
he always was when some wish formed by his languid and
disillusioned mind could net be satisfied.
It was II o'clock before he saw Eileen cross the kitchen
garden and go into the kitchen. Smiling at himself, he
thought, "Now's the time." So hands in pockets, Peter Wal
ford went to the back door. It stuck, and as he wrenched
at the handle and nearly fell into the kitchen, his opportunity
was made, for Eileen turned around, staring, then looked
away. He was irritated. He would force her to confront him.
"Sorry." he said, "to burst in like this. What's the matter
with this lock?"
"It sticks, sir." "She was looking at him now, the red
mouth a little open. And as she turned aside again, he saw,
with a little thrill of semi-hoslilc satisfaction, a hot blush
run over the girl's neck.
"Well," thought Walford, a little later, "you've seen her
eyes, and how much forrader are you, my dear fellow? But,
by Jove, they were pretty eyes!" A very bright brown,
brown with a red light in them. Coffee colored eyes. Just
for a moment they'd come up behind a black vejl of lashes.
As he went along slowly, swishing with his stick at ttll
clumps of nettles, he was thinking how right he'd been
about brown taffeta with touches of gold. And there was
a lot to be done with bright blues. By Jove, she only
wanted a Utile arranging, and she'd make no end of a sen-
UUI1,
at a rat
He sail
mouth grew deeper, l'eonle wonlH think hM ..j'.
they d buzz like a hive; they'd rush round tea parties asking
each other, did they know that Peter Walford, etc.? lie en
joyed these ideas immensely, being one of those men who
like to pay tricks on society. A trick in taffeta!
In the early afternoon Walford addressed his hosts:
By the way. I'm going to marry Eileen."
w y.bL0,,h s,ared at nim- and Mr- Delabole laughed. But
Mrs. Delabole had caught in Walford's quiet tone something
real which disquieted her. Still she tried to be light:
How awfully nice for you, Peter, hut we've told you she
can t black boots."
"For her sake," said Peter, "I will wear patent
leather. You know, I'm perfectly serious. I'm
going to marry Eileen."
"My dear fellow," said Mr. Delabole, "don't be
absurd.'
"Why are you so surprised? Don't you think
shes charming? Mrs. Delabole, didn't you say
she was a pet?"
..L "J f..urse'" said H'e old lady, in an acid tone,
but I didn t mean it like that!"
"I can't help that," said Peter. "It's you who
pointed her charms out to me, so it's your fault "
"But I'm not reproaching you, so don't reproach me
fl,W' w,n?w 'nat, yu'-e BO'"B to say; you're going to sav
that a Walford, whatever that may be, can't marry a girl
like that just because he's been to Cambridge and she's a
gardener s daughter. Everybody'll be saving that. She'll be
frightened of her servants; when people call 6n her she
wont dare to open her mouth; when she has to do the
household she'll order boiled bacon every dav. Oh. it will
be lovely."
Mrs. Delabole jumped up: "Don't, Peter. It's as if you
disliked her. Oh. do let's talk of something else."
"We will if you like, but I'm going to marry her all
the same. Oh. don't you worry. In six months she'll have
pale hands, and I'll love them; she'll have her hair scragged
off her forehead unless I have her bobbed. Bobbed! Yes!
Manicured to the point of agony. Shoes three sizes smaller
than her present ones and a size smaller than her feet. And
taffeta. Some are born for the purple. E'leen is born for
taffeta."
The old people did not reply.
Without surprise. Peter Walford found himself involved
in a courtship filled with cynical comedy. That day he
spoke twice to Eileen. The first time she answered, "I
don't know, sir." The second time, when he commented
upon the heat, she flung him a shy glance, blushed and al
most ran away. "It's like hunting a fawn," he thought. She
did not understand. She thought him a nic;e, civil gentle
man. If only he wouldn't look at her like that.
As that evening she sat down in her room with a worn
copy of "The Woman Thou Gavest Me," she felt unac
countably worried. She could not understand that she was
disturbed by the purposefulness of Walford's gaze; she
knew only that she felt very young and small, and that she
wanted to talk to her mother. Only it wasn't her evening
out. She cried a little as she went to bed, and immediately
after went to sleep, being a healthy young animal in whom
the body soon prevailed over ttre spirit.
It was not until next day that Walford aroused in her
more precise emotions; in the afternoon he had the audacity
to enter the kitchen, where Eileen was alone, peeling apples.
He leant against the dresser and said, "You'll have no apples
left if you takje the peel off so thick."
She did not reply. Her heart was beating with fear, like
that of a wounded bird in a man's hand. No wonder she
was slicing the peel so thickly.
' "Let me show you," said Walford. With slow,
deliberate movements, he picked up an apple and
took the knite trom the little red hand that first
stiffened, and suddenly relaxed as his fingers
brushed hers. He peeled the apple perfectly, and
neld it out tor her, expecting her to smile. "Well,
he said, "what do you think of that" A sunbeam powdered
with dust was falling upon her hair, making it golden.
"It's very nice, sir," she replied, in little more than a
whisper. She was very frightened. He pleased her, this
easy mannered man with the queer smile, though she had
,an idea he was making a fool of her. But he disquieted her
all the same, and she liked' him, but she did wish he'd go
away. Suppose Mrs. Delabole came in! What would she
say?
Three days later events took their definition. Wralford
had found out in conversation that Friday was Eileen's
evening out. She had a great deal to say to her mother,
and she did not know whether she would dare say it. It
seemed so silly. After all, he hadn't said or done anything.
Only . . . She was wearing a green coat and skirt that
had belonged to Mrs. Delabole. It was the worst possible
shade she, could wear. She had enhanced the effect with
a black straw hat garlanded with a large number of roses,
one of which hung on a broken wire and swung from the
back of the brim. Her little hands on the horn handle of
an umbrella glowed purplish! She'd teli Mrs. Stone. She
felt excited and reassured! ShVd know. But what would
she say? Then just as she jumped over a stile she stopped,
for a figure in brown rose from the shelter' of the hedge
and came towards her.
"Hullo!' said Walford. "May I go with you a little
way?" She stared at him, and her gaze was so strained
that her eyelids took on a new shape. "What's the mat
ter?" he said. "You aren't frightened, arc you?"
"No, sir."
"Well, then! Where are you going to?"
"I'm going to see my mother, sir."
"Where does she live? In Burleigh Abbas?"
"Just the other side, sir," whispered Eileen.
"All right. I'll go along with you and keeg the tramps
off." She did not reply, and they walked side by side. She
went faster than before.
"Why are you hurrying?" asked Walford. You ve
lots of time before you. One might think you were going
to your young man insteadof to your mother. Haven't
you got a young man?" She did not reply. "Don't be shy.
I'm sure you haven't even though you may have one
soon." Still she said nothing, but when they reached ths