high-protein diet. She had been accepted at both Wellesley and Smith. Aunt Cornelia planned to send her niece through college in the same first-cabin manner in which she had sent her through boarding school. But Honey had another plan, conceived in grief and rage. On her last visit to her great-aunt Wilhelmina, who was being taken care of by the family in a nursing home, the ancient lady had given her a certified check for ten thousand dollars.
“It’s my savings,” she said. “Don’t let them know you’ve got it or George will take it away to manage for you and you won’t even see the interest on it. Use it while you’re young, do something foolish. I’ve never done anything foolish in my life and oh, Honey, how I regret it now! Don’t wait until it’s too late—promise me you’ll spend it on yourself.”
A week later, Honey confronted Aunt Cornelia. Quaveringly, she announced, “I don’t want to go to college. I can’t stand the idea of another four years in a girls’ school. I have ten thousand dollars of my own and I intend to—I intend to go to Paris and live there as long as I can.”
“How—where on earth did you get ten thousand dollars?”
“Great-Aunt Wilhelmina gave the money to me. You don’t even know where I’ve deposited it. I’m not letting anyone, not even Uncle George, invest it for me.” The fat girl quivered with unexpected defiance now that she had finally begun to speak. “If I want to, I can run away and be in Paris before you know I’ve gone—and you won’t be able to find me.”
“Absolutely impossible. Out of the question, my dear child. You’ll adore Wellesley. I loved every minute of my four years—” Cornelia had begun to look at Honey closely for the first time in this incredible conversation. What she saw was not reassuring. The girl obviously meant every word she was saying. In fact, if you wanted to be fanciful, you might almost say it was a question of do or die. And old Wilhelmina had certainly been most unorthodox. Giving cash to a child! Unheard of—she must be senile. Still, perhaps something could be rescued from this contretemps. Honey could hardly be made to attend college. Cornelia had long wondered what the girl would do with herself after college. Graduate school most likely and perhaps a teaching career. After all, she had been at the top of her class in French. It did seem a pity, Matilda’s daughter becoming another spinster schoolteacher.
“Honey, come here and sit down. Now—I promise to consider your plan, but on two conditions. First, we must find a good French household for you to live in where you will be looked after properly. I can’t have you living in a hotel or one of those sinister student hostels. Second, you may stay only one year—one year is quite sufficient for Paris—and when you come home you must promise to go to Katie Gibbs and take their one-year program. If you do that you’ll be assured an excellent job as an executive secretary, since you’ll obviously have to begin thinking about earning a living.”
Honey was silent for a few minutes, considering. Once she actually got to Paris it wouldn’t be easy to force her to come home again. And her money would go farther if she lived as a paying guest with some family. She had heard, at Emery, that French families really didn’t bother about what their paying guests were doing just as long as they paid their pension on time. And she’d get out of Katie Gibbs somehow. Who could possibly face life as a secretary? Or go to that stuffy, strict school?
“It’s a deal!” She gave her aunt a rare smile. The child really did have an enchanting smile, even with her fat cheeks and triple chin, Cornelia realized vaguely. But one saw it so seldom.
That night Cornelia wrote to Lady Molly Berkeley, a Lowell by birth, and one of Boston’s chief conduits to “people one knows” in Europe.
Dear Cousin Molly ,
I have some rather exciting news. Honey Winthrop, Joe’s girl,
“It’s my savings,” she said. “Don’t let them know you’ve got it or George will take it away to manage for you and you won’t even see the interest on it. Use it while you’re young, do something foolish. I’ve never done anything foolish in my life and oh, Honey, how I regret it now! Don’t wait until it’s too late—promise me you’ll spend it on yourself.”
A week later, Honey confronted Aunt Cornelia. Quaveringly, she announced, “I don’t want to go to college. I can’t stand the idea of another four years in a girls’ school. I have ten thousand dollars of my own and I intend to—I intend to go to Paris and live there as long as I can.”
“How—where on earth did you get ten thousand dollars?”
“Great-Aunt Wilhelmina gave the money to me. You don’t even know where I’ve deposited it. I’m not letting anyone, not even Uncle George, invest it for me.” The fat girl quivered with unexpected defiance now that she had finally begun to speak. “If I want to, I can run away and be in Paris before you know I’ve gone—and you won’t be able to find me.”
“Absolutely impossible. Out of the question, my dear child. You’ll adore Wellesley. I loved every minute of my four years—” Cornelia had begun to look at Honey closely for the first time in this incredible conversation. What she saw was not reassuring. The girl obviously meant every word she was saying. In fact, if you wanted to be fanciful, you might almost say it was a question of do or die. And old Wilhelmina had certainly been most unorthodox. Giving cash to a child! Unheard of—she must be senile. Still, perhaps something could be rescued from this contretemps. Honey could hardly be made to attend college. Cornelia had long wondered what the girl would do with herself after college. Graduate school most likely and perhaps a teaching career. After all, she had been at the top of her class in French. It did seem a pity, Matilda’s daughter becoming another spinster schoolteacher.
“Honey, come here and sit down. Now—I promise to consider your plan, but on two conditions. First, we must find a good French household for you to live in where you will be looked after properly. I can’t have you living in a hotel or one of those sinister student hostels. Second, you may stay only one year—one year is quite sufficient for Paris—and when you come home you must promise to go to Katie Gibbs and take their one-year program. If you do that you’ll be assured an excellent job as an executive secretary, since you’ll obviously have to begin thinking about earning a living.”
Honey was silent for a few minutes, considering. Once she actually got to Paris it wouldn’t be easy to force her to come home again. And her money would go farther if she lived as a paying guest with some family. She had heard, at Emery, that French families really didn’t bother about what their paying guests were doing just as long as they paid their pension on time. And she’d get out of Katie Gibbs somehow. Who could possibly face life as a secretary? Or go to that stuffy, strict school?
“It’s a deal!” She gave her aunt a rare smile. The child really did have an enchanting smile, even with her fat cheeks and triple chin, Cornelia realized vaguely. But one saw it so seldom.
That night Cornelia wrote to Lady Molly Berkeley, a Lowell by birth, and one of Boston’s chief conduits to “people one knows” in Europe.
Dear Cousin Molly ,
I have some rather exciting news. Honey Winthrop, Joe’s girl,
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