The Priceless Pearl

								

Never get tied up to a gambler. During my poor sister's romance and
marriage Conway was winning--large sums--on the races. But that stopped
a month or so after their marriage, and ever since then, as far as I
know, he has lost--in stocks, at Monte Carlo, and finally at every
little gambling casino in Europe. After about six years of it we
managed to get her a divorce. She has entire control of the children,
of course. Conway has sunk out of sight. Oh, once in a while he turns
up and tries to get a little money from her, but fortunately what
little she inherited from my father came to her after her divorce,
or otherwise he'd have managed to get it away from her. She's very
generous--weak--whichever you call it. One of the things I'm going
to ask you to do is to prevent her seeing him at all, and certainly
prevent her letting him have any money. Though it isn't likely to
happen. I believe he's abroad.
"The great point is the children. I'm sorry to say that it seems to
me my sister is ruining three naturally fine children as rapidly as a
devoted mother can. Of course, many parents are over indulgent, but my
sister not only indulges her children but gives them at the same time
the conviction that they are such interesting and special types that
none of the ordinary rules apply to them. The elder girl, Dorothy, is
a pretty, commonplace American girl--no fault to find with her except
that her mother treats her as if she were an empress. If, for instance,
her mother keeps her waiting five minutes she behaves as if she were
an exiled queen faced by treachery among her dependents--won't speak
to her mother perhaps for a day. And if I say--which I oughtn't to do,
for it's no use--'Isn't Dorothy a trifle insolent?' my sister answers,
'I'm so delighted to see that she isn't growing up with the inferiority
complex that I had as a girl.' The boy is a perfectly straight manly
boy, but he smokes constantly--at fifteen--and when I criticize him my
sister says before him, 'Well, Anthony, you know you smoke yourself. I
can't very well tell Durland it's a crime. Besides, I have the theory
that if he smokes enough now he'll be tired of it by the time he grows
up.'"
"But that isn't sound," said Miss Exeter, quite shocked at the sketch
she was hearing. "Habits formed in youth----"
"Of course it isn't sound," said Wood. "And as a matter of fact, my
sister never thought of it until I objected. She evolves these theories
merely for the sake of protecting her children. Oddly enough, she not
only doesn't want to change them herself but she doesn't want any one
else to change them. Three years ago I engaged in a life-and-death
struggle with her to get Durland--the boy--to boarding school. She
advanced the following arguments against it: First, that he was a
perfectly normal, manly boy and did not need to go; second, that he was
of a peculiar, artistic, sensitive temperament and would be wrecked