She soon grew weary of the everlasting appeals for money
to send to Europe. She grew weary of writing checks and putting on
costumes for bazaars, spectacles, parades, and carnivals. She found
herself circumscribed by so much altruism. Her benevolences left her
too little for her magnificences.
She grew frantic for more fun and more personal glory. The
extravagance of other women dazed her. Some of them had
inexhaustible resources. Some of them were bankrupting their
own boodle-bag husbands. Some of them flourished ingeniously by
running up bills and never running them down.
The competition was merciless. She kept turning to Jim for money.
He grew less and less gracious, because her extravagances were more
and more selfish. He grew less and less superior to complaints. He
started bank-accounts to get rid of her, but she got rid of them
with a speed that frightened him. He hated to be used.
Kedzie took umbrage at Mrs. Dyckman's manner. Mrs. Dyckman tried
for a while to be good to the child, strove to love her, forgave
her for her youth and her humble origin; but finally she tired of
her, because Kedzie was not making Jim's life happier, more useful,
or more distinguished.
Then one day Mrs. Dyckman asked Kedzie for a few moments of her
time. Kedzie was in a hurry to an appointment at her hairdresser's,
but she seated herself patiently. Mrs. Dyckman said:
"My dear, I have just had a cable from my daughter Cicely. She has
broken down, and her physician has ordered her out of England for
a rest.
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