because when you begot her you gave her your own weapons to fight you with. You might as well give in, Mr. Upjohn. It’s the revenge of the chromosome.”
There was a silence. Kester and Eleanor waited. At last Fred nodded slowly. “I know when I’m licked.” He glanced at Eleanor. “You’re going to marry him, whether or no?”
“Yes, dad.”
“All right. Kester, I guess that’s so, what you said. I’d never thought of it that way.”
“Neither had I,” said Kester demurely, “till I walked in and saw Eleanor’s face when she looked at you. Thanks, Mr. Upjohn.”
After that Fred made no more opposition, and gave Eleanor a check to spend for clothes. But he could not hide his disappointment, and Eleanor was eager to be gone. She did not have much time to think, however, and but for the help of her sister Florence, who came home from school for the Easter holidays, she did not know how she would have done her shopping. When the engagement was officially announced in the Picayune (with a photograph of herself pled for by the society editor with an eagerness that made Eleanor recognize the Larne hand in the background, for she knew nothing about the society section), then she found herself breathlessly busy. Lysiane called the next day, and one would have thought this marriage was the consummation of her dreams—“I cannot tell you, Mrs. Upjohn, how happy we are that your lovely daughter is to be one of us”—and Kester’s brother Sebastian called, and his married sister Alice gave her a luncheon, and Alice’s friends gave her luncheons, and wedding presents began to arrive with an abundance that made her understand that in marrying a man named Larne she was entering a tower of mighty significance. Her best friend, Lena Tonelli, whose family owned a tropical fruit company and had grown vastly rich from bananas, undertook the task of keeping the list of the letters Eleanor would have to write after she was married, and she sat competently among the gifts, collecting cards and scribbling on them with amazed exclamations. “Good heavens, Eleanor, these are all names out of the state history books! I thought they were dead. What are you getting into?”
Eleanor sighed and then laughed. “Once I told Kester he was a Southerner and I was an American. I’m beginning to grasp what I meant.”
“My dear,” said Lena Tonelli, “you’re marrying the Louisiana Purchase and the whole Confederate Army.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I wouldn’t get mixed up with this outfit—”
“Neither would I, but for one reason.”
Lena nodded soberly. “I never met him but once, the day I happened to be here when he walked in, but I do think he’s enchanting. Eleanor, is he really worth all this?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Lena.
Eleanor smiled to herself. There was a great deal about Kester’s people Lena could not be expected to know, as she was only beginning to discover it herself. Their gallantry, for instance. The Larnes did not approve of this marriage. But once it had been decided on, they had accepted the fact with far more ease than Fred. No outsider could have guessed it was not all they had wished. They simply closed the door on their private lives. It was such a spirit, she thought, that had carried them through pestilence and war; for all their artificial graces they had their own invincibility.
But Fred too was gracious, in his own blunt fashion. The evening before Eleanor was married Fred sent for her. Eleanor went with some reluctance, for Fred’s disapproval of what she was doing was still so keen that she had been avoiding him as much as she could. But Fred started the interview in a matter-of-fact way. He merely wanted her signature. He had made over to her a little of his stock in the Tonelli Fruit Lines, to give her an income of about a hundred dollars a month. Eleanor was astonished, and protested as she thanked him. No, no, Fred said, looking
There was a silence. Kester and Eleanor waited. At last Fred nodded slowly. “I know when I’m licked.” He glanced at Eleanor. “You’re going to marry him, whether or no?”
“Yes, dad.”
“All right. Kester, I guess that’s so, what you said. I’d never thought of it that way.”
“Neither had I,” said Kester demurely, “till I walked in and saw Eleanor’s face when she looked at you. Thanks, Mr. Upjohn.”
After that Fred made no more opposition, and gave Eleanor a check to spend for clothes. But he could not hide his disappointment, and Eleanor was eager to be gone. She did not have much time to think, however, and but for the help of her sister Florence, who came home from school for the Easter holidays, she did not know how she would have done her shopping. When the engagement was officially announced in the Picayune (with a photograph of herself pled for by the society editor with an eagerness that made Eleanor recognize the Larne hand in the background, for she knew nothing about the society section), then she found herself breathlessly busy. Lysiane called the next day, and one would have thought this marriage was the consummation of her dreams—“I cannot tell you, Mrs. Upjohn, how happy we are that your lovely daughter is to be one of us”—and Kester’s brother Sebastian called, and his married sister Alice gave her a luncheon, and Alice’s friends gave her luncheons, and wedding presents began to arrive with an abundance that made her understand that in marrying a man named Larne she was entering a tower of mighty significance. Her best friend, Lena Tonelli, whose family owned a tropical fruit company and had grown vastly rich from bananas, undertook the task of keeping the list of the letters Eleanor would have to write after she was married, and she sat competently among the gifts, collecting cards and scribbling on them with amazed exclamations. “Good heavens, Eleanor, these are all names out of the state history books! I thought they were dead. What are you getting into?”
Eleanor sighed and then laughed. “Once I told Kester he was a Southerner and I was an American. I’m beginning to grasp what I meant.”
“My dear,” said Lena Tonelli, “you’re marrying the Louisiana Purchase and the whole Confederate Army.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I wouldn’t get mixed up with this outfit—”
“Neither would I, but for one reason.”
Lena nodded soberly. “I never met him but once, the day I happened to be here when he walked in, but I do think he’s enchanting. Eleanor, is he really worth all this?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Lena.
Eleanor smiled to herself. There was a great deal about Kester’s people Lena could not be expected to know, as she was only beginning to discover it herself. Their gallantry, for instance. The Larnes did not approve of this marriage. But once it had been decided on, they had accepted the fact with far more ease than Fred. No outsider could have guessed it was not all they had wished. They simply closed the door on their private lives. It was such a spirit, she thought, that had carried them through pestilence and war; for all their artificial graces they had their own invincibility.
But Fred too was gracious, in his own blunt fashion. The evening before Eleanor was married Fred sent for her. Eleanor went with some reluctance, for Fred’s disapproval of what she was doing was still so keen that she had been avoiding him as much as she could. But Fred started the interview in a matter-of-fact way. He merely wanted her signature. He had made over to her a little of his stock in the Tonelli Fruit Lines, to give her an income of about a hundred dollars a month. Eleanor was astonished, and protested as she thanked him. No, no, Fred said, looking
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