AN EPISODE OF JULY  
THE MIDSUMMER MOON
When Rodney Kent, known as Billy, and Marjory, his wife, instead of taking a honeymoon abroad, immediately tied themselves down by purchasing a very modest house on the west slope of the Oakland Bluffs, their friends held up their hands and rolled their eyes in astonishment.
It is true that the couple themselves had never entertained a thought of the European trip, but their friends, after seeing the amazing display of wedding gifts, concluded that an expensive and protracted honeymoon would be a fitting way to begin the state of life that living up to the presents indicated. They did not formulate that Marjory was the last of a large family whose parents had always lived quite up to their income in rearing and educating their brood, or that Billy, with a host of friends, naturally hospitable and all doors open to him, was as yet only a confidential clerk in a law firm in spite of the fact that the distinguished chief, himself a bachelor until recently, treated Billy like a younger brother.
The young couple, however, from the beginning had faced facts as they were, for at their respective ages of twenty-four and thirty, they not only had a goodish bit of common sense mingled with their affection, but they had also seen more than one matrimonial shallop, at best equipped only for still water and overloaded with unsought responsibilities, founder pitifully in the cross currents of the social sea.
The house had at once absorbed all of Kent’s savings, and was consequently, unlike a city apartment, an object to be considered seriously. This was the attitude that his men friends held toward the venture; neither did it seem strange to any one of the twoscore of assorted male temperaments that the couple should desire to spend their first summer entirely away from the paths of conventional social restraint. All the criticism, of which there was a belated April shower, mingled with not a few hailstones, came from the bride’s friends, her own elder sister Agatha taking the lead by saying to a select few who had dropped in a couple of weeks after the wedding to talk it over and hear the latest news of the bride, that Marjory seemed determined to slump, and had no sense whatever of the duties she owed society. While that any woman with her wedding presents, possessing a grain of pride, would try to make a front during the first year at least, adding as a final thrust, “So selfish in Marjory, short-sighted too; she’ll ruin Billy’s prospects for a place in the firm by keeping him away from all his friends. If they had only taken a smart little apartment, they would have been able to give half a dozen select dinners before the season breaks, and possibly they might have managed to get the Head of the Firm and his wife to come to one, and see the silver service he sent them, or at least give them a return invitation, for if Mrs. Coates should take up Marjory, you know their fortune, social and financial, would be made.”
“Marjory can entertain in the country quite as well as in town, and it’s far less stuffy from now on; it’s almost May, you know,” said little Mary Taylor, called Pussy from her demure and confiding ways, which none the less covered sharp, if delicately pointed, claws, when their use became necessary for the defence of her friends; she had been maid of honour at the wedding, and was a staunch friend of the bride.
“You know English couples often borrow a country house from friends to settle in for the honeymoon, if they’ve none of their own,” she continued. “There is nothing lovelier than a newly furnished country house, all white enamelled furniture, flowered chintz, and muslin draperies, with the maids in light blue or pink chambray and ruffled bib aprons; besides, Agatha, you know that to be asked to a week-end party is more of a compliment than a dinner. I shall make Margie invite me to the very first of them. Then, of course, she will be sure to go in for a specialty,—golf, tennis, motoring, or the garden craze; everybody rushes you out to see the garden now, and tells you how many loads of earth it took to fill it in, and who the landscape architect was.
“I only hope Margie will have an English garden with wooden benches; the seats in an Italian garden have no backs, and are so cold if you sit out in the moonlight, in a thin petticoat; and of course that’s one of the things that one goes to week-end parties for, the moonlight spooning, I mean.”
“You may banish all your pictures of that sort of thing,” said Agatha, speaking in a tone in which mystery and disgust were blended. “There will be no draperies or garden seats or maids; my sister has but one person to do everything, an old black woman named Juno, who wears a turban, and who, I believe, was Billy’s nurse. As for the house, it’s in the middle of a field, with some gloomy woods behind it; there’s hardly a thing in it but wall-papers, Japanese matting, and flower vases, for Marjory has absolutely sent all of her magnificent silver and bric-à-brac to storage at Tiffany’s. For the rest, they’ve a ginger-coloured pony and an absurd buggy, by way of a trap, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find that they all, including the pony, take their meals in the kitchen, and that Billy wears an apron and waits on Marjory and Juno, for she says they intend to lead the simple life this summer. Think of it! Deliberately committing social suicide.”
Agatha’s voice had a tragic break in it. Poor Agatha, who had never committed a social error in her life, and had made the most of everything almost to the extent of separating a poached egg on toast garnished with parsley into three separate courses, toast, egg, and salad! Yet at thirty-eight she had acquired nothing but an equivocal sense of correctness and a complexion that refused either to stand the light of day or to receive graciously and absorb the improvers that the owner lavished upon it.
Before Pussy Taylor or any one else could recover from their astonishment, the door was flung open, the butler announced in his formal drawl,—Mrs. Rodney Kent, and Marjory herself came in, stopping short in the middle of the room with a quizzical expression as she saw the very conscious faces of her friends.
“My dear,” purred Pussy Taylor, throwing her arms around the bride’s neck, “you’ve come just in time to defend yourself. Oh, yes, of course we were talking about you, and now, before you begin about the country, we must know instantly why you have on your last spring suit, which is of an entirely different shade of brown from this season’s wear, instead of your lovely reseda going-away gown; what you are doing in the city at five o’clock in the afternoon, when you are supposed to be wandering in green lanes and picking violets hand in hand with Billy, who, every now and then, kneels to tie your shoes; and lastly, why you are personally conducting those three queer bundles, and what do they contain? I’m sure if I had appeared at the front door similarly laden, that last butler of Agatha’s training would have sent me to the basement.”
Marjory looked about for a safe place of deposit for her bundles, which she finally confided to a tufted chair; then, throwing off her jacket and drawing off her gloves very deliberately, she took the proffered half of the seat that Pussy occupied by the tea-table.
Marjory was not what is commonly called a pretty woman; every feature was alert and too well adapted for the expression of humour for mere prettiness. A brunette of good colouring, she possessed that quality of charm that no one denies, even while they cannot locate its exact source. Matching her forefingers together, she began to count off the answers to Pussy’s questions.
“Number one. I wore my old suit because this morning it looked like rain; no one seems to bother much about rain in the city, but in the two weeks we’ve been at Oaklands, I’ve learned to tell by the colour of the morning sky, as we see it between two great trees on the hilltop, what the weather is likely to be. This morning it said rain, and though it’s held off all day, it’s beginning now.”
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Pussy, rushing to the window; “and my new lace coat is shrinkable, and interlined with chiffon, to say nothing of my maline hat. May I use the ’phone to call a cab, Agatha?”
“Secondly,” continued Marjory, “the Head of the Firm asked Billy, as a favour, if he would come down to-day,—though he still has two weeks to his credit,—for things were getting in a snarl. As I didn’t care to stay alone, and needed some downtown things, I came, too, and where do you think Billy and I lunched? In the private office of his Majesty, to be sure.”
“What a common thing for you to do,” interrupted Agatha, “trailing into the office after Billy and lunching with Mr. Coates before Mrs. Coates has had a chance to make her wedding call.”
Marjory flushed, but without replying to the criticism, continued, “Then after luncheon the Head of the Firm kindly offered to pilot me to do my last errand, which was in a very mussy sort of street that ran west of City Hall Park, and the result of the shopping is in those three boxes.
“Yes, Pussy, something breakable; I’ll give you three guesses. No? You give it up? Well, then, the boxes are full of eggs. Plymouth rocks, white leghorns, and buff cochins, each kind by itself. Not store eggs for cooking, with some ingredients missing, but hatching eggs that will turn into chickens; for it seems that they are quite different affairs, and Mr. Coates explained the whole matter to me so nicely.” (“How disgusting,” muttered Agatha.) “I find that he was brought up on a stock farm, and expects to have a model one of his own as soon as he and the Missus can settle upon a location.”
“Marjory Kent, will you please remember who you are, and refrain from applying such a vulgar title to Mrs. Erastus Coates, whose mother was Martin Cortright’s aunt, and her father a Philadelphia Biddle? Suppose it reached her ears, do you think it would improve your prospects?”
“Me? Oh, that’s not original; I was merely quoting the Head of the Firm, who called her ‘the Missus.’?”
“I thought that no one used hens, and that all you had to do was to buy a box full of eggs, called an incubator, and the lamp that goes with it did the rest,” said Pussy, wisely, for she sometimes read the advertisements in her brother’s sporting paper.
“An incubator,” said Marjory, blind to the looks of boredom on the faces of her friends, “puts all the responsibility upon us, and unnecessary responsibility is what we are planning to avoid, for this summer at least. So as we have three very broad-chested, comfortable hens, who are simply ‘creaking’ with a desire to set, as Juno the cook puts it, we are going to supply them with good food and a nest of eggs apiece, and let them take the responsibility.
“Do we care to raise poultry and things? We don’t know; who was it that said, ‘We know what we are but not what we may be’?”
“Juliet,” cried Pussy.
“No, Ophelia,” said Agatha; “you might know that in Marjory’s present state of mind she would only quote a mad woman!”
“Whichever it is, that is our present condition, for we may develop a liking for anything simple! So we shall try chickens and see, and that’s another thing that we’re going to do this summer,—try to find out what we really like to do. Billy says that the best beginning is to do nothing that we are sure we dislike.”
(“And lose all your friends in the process,” growled Agatha.)
“That sounds comfy, but meanwhile aren’t you going to fix up your house, and ask us all out there by nicely chosen twos or fours?” pleaded Pussy. “Surely all this stuff about no maids and the simple life that Agatha has been telling us isn’t true; you will have tables and chairs and beds, and not expect us to sleep on the matting, with our heads on blocks, like the Japs?”
“It won’t be quite as simple as that, though I don’t know exactly what Agatha has said; merely, as I told you before, we are going to try to avoid unnecessary responsibility in everything, and keep the time we gain for ourselves. Possibly, after all, that is what is really meant by the simple life.
“To have no maids wouldn’t be doing that. Juno is a treasure, and to have no cook would be putting an awful responsibility upon me; while if I had to get up and make early breakfast for Billy every morning, it would be putting upon him the responsibility of tiring me out. We’re not going to ask a human being to visit us, for then we should be responsible if they didn’t like our ways, but to any one who takes the initiative of inviting themselves, we shall be as nice as we know how. And mind you, Pussy, if guests come in pairs, and choose the full o’ the moon, we’ve a lovely comfortable bench that we bought of a pedler. It is set nearly on the edge of the woods, where it’s all ferny and sweet smelling, and quite out of sight of the house. If our guests, who invite themselves, choose to go there, of course we shan’t have to be responsible for what happens! Now I must run up and see mummy, for Billy’s coming for me in about five minutes, and I’ll give you a chance to quiz him all you wish.”
“Hopeless,” sighed Agatha, despondently, as the door closed; “but what can you expect when she was born eccentric?—and Billy always agrees with her in everything. He even wears a long mustache when all the other men of his class are smooth-shaven, simply because Marjory said she could recognize him in the street two blocks sooner than if he were without. There is one thing certain, I shall not go to Oaklands unless I have a proper invitation.”
“Perhaps,” Pussy began, and then choked and started again, “perhaps two of you would like to drive up town with me. I see the cab is here, and it’s more than a shower.”
No one else was ready to leave, however, and in going out, who should Pussy bump into but the bridegroom, who was coming up the steps arm in arm with another man, who at the sight of the now blushing Miss Pussy, raised his forgotten umbrella, took her to the cab, and then concluded that it would be only polite to shield her from the rain at the other end of the route.
Chapter II
Marjory and Billy Kent were seated at their breakfast table, which, indeed, was lunch and dinner table also, and was spread on the back porch. The fact that it was Saturday, and therefore “Massa’s day to home,” accounted for the way in which the pair were lingering over their meal, as well as for the chuckling good nature of June, short for Juno, who paused to gaze affectionately at “the chillun” every time she came near the little window that connected the kitchen with this outdoor dining room.
When the meal was once put upon the table, there was no need of further service, for a revolving stand in the centre of the table brought everything conveniently to hand. But still that did not prevent old June from peeping.
As yet the rolling ground that surrounded the house on three sides was billowy with long grass, and showed little sign of cultivation; on either side of the steps was a wide bed of heliotrope, and another of mignonette, and a soldierly line of sweet peas and other garden annuals broke the stiffness of the path leading to the little barn that housed horse, cow, buggy, and hay under one roof.
“What are you thinking of, Marjory Daw?” asked Billy, looking up from his newspaper at the face that was looking contentedly into space. Yes, Billy Kent read the newspaper at the breakfast table, as he always had done in his bachelor days. His wife would not dream of taking the responsibility of upsetting the habit; in fact, she had grown to like it, especially as he often read bits of interesting news that might otherwise have escaped her.
“I was thinking of three things together,” answered Marjory, smiling, “waiting-maids, chickens, and cats.”
“Do you want a waitress?” said Billy, quickly. “I was thinking at this very moment how jolly it is to be alone with ourselves, and perfect freedom of speech between us. Somehow the desire for it is always developed by eating!”
“No, I do not wish one. I was thinking the same thing when you spoke. What is handing a few dishes through to June compared with having even one’s unspoken thoughts read through your back, while as for fussing and dusting up the living-room, I love it, for it gives one a chance to get acquainted with one’s things, and see if they stand the test of being either useful or beautiful. We need not use the dining room before September, and by that time we shall have decided what not to put in it.”
“But how about the chickens and cats?”
“I’ve made up my mind that I don’t care for them any more than waitresses. You see, Billy, I’ve decided already that we only want to grow things that are pleasant when they develop. Morning-glory seeds grow into those lovely flowers that have transformed the clothes-poles yonder (yes, they try to reach out and appropriate the clothes-line, but I give them a warning pinch now and then); and tomato and lettuce seeds turn into delicious salads; but the adorable fuzzy chicks turn to broilers that have to have their heads cut off, and a cat turns into so many kittens that they must be drowned. So we won’t have either of them after this summer. A cow will stand the test, for she will not only look well out there in the grass, but milk is such a peaceful, placid thing, it makes me sleepy even to think of the sizzing it makes in the pail when Peter milks.
“By the way, I’ve had a letter from Pussy Taylor; she will be in town the last of the month for a few days between seashore and mountains, and as she says she wants to come here, I’m dreadfully sure she will.”
“Why the word ‘dreadfully’? Isn’t she a very good friend of yours?”
“Yes, Billy; but somehow this summer is so perfect that I’m afraid it isn’t real, and that somebody will come and wake me up.”
“It’s real enough, sweetheart, and will continue to be if we don’t expand without knowing it and suddenly wake up and find that we have dropped the oars and are being towed beyond our depth. Your father had a talk with me about this country matter last week; he thinks that I am making a mistake in living out of town, that I ought to be seen at the clubs and dine people in winter; he is afraid that when in the future it comes to the matter of a third partner, the Head of the Firm will think that I spend too much time on the road for a junior, and jump over me for an outsider; yet I know that I’ve never had so much time for sleep and law reading these ten years. By the way, have you thought of a name for the place? I’ll have you some paper stamped.”
“Yes, I’ve a name; it is ‘As We Like It Inn,’ and I want it put on a little swinging sign to hang by the front gate, and then the people who come to stay with us will not be misled.”
“Talking of guests, there is one in particular that I want you to invite in some perfectly informal way, and then make a special point of treating precisely as if she were one of ourselves,” said Billy, with a very conscious look, bringing out each word with such undue precision that his wife stopped arranging the flowers in the bowl before her and fixed her eyes suspiciously on his face.
“Who is it, Billy? Some one that either I probably never have thought of, or else object to, or you would never hold on to your words so.”
“It is Mrs. Coates; she has been down to luncheon two or three times lately, with the Head of the Firm, and she seems really interested in our affairs and wants to know you; says she had no chance to call in town, because we came here the very day of the wedding, so you see she has really followed your rule and has as good as asked to come.”
“Yes, I see,” said Marjory, straightening herself, and all the comfortable relaxation of mind and body at once leaving her attitude; “and I suppose she will come here from that palace called a cottage at Tuxedo, and find the rooms too small to breathe in.”
“If she does, keep her outside,” said cheerful, short-sighted Billy; “of course you will lunch out here, and then if talk fails, you can take the pony and drive her down to the Cortrights’ for a call; you know she is Martin’s cousin. Naturally she won’t stay overnight; she hates, she says, to sleep in strange places, and of course she couldn’t bring her maid here and we have none to offer her.”
“Me have Mrs. Coates out here? I wonder what Agatha would say;” and then Marjory realized that all such wonderments were things of the past, and hastened to add, “The best way will be for me to write and give Mrs. Coates the option of any day next week; then if it rains, the choice will be her own. But Billy, don’t you think I had best open the dining room? It’s hardly polite to ask her to lunch on this little round white wood table as we do, with the dogs lying on the steps.”
“Don’t make the mistake of doing anything different, Margie. Can’t you realize from even the little that you have been about for two years, that a glimpse of really contented people, living unobtrusive lives, is the greatest novelty you could offer her?”
In the modern garden of Eden, social judgment is the serpent, and social ambition the forbidden apple, and at this moment an unexpected whiff of wind brought the scent of this fruit to Marjory’s keen nostrils. Mrs. Coates wrote an immediate reply that she would come the following Friday, while Kent, the matter being settled, did not give it another thought, except to take it for granted that when the wife of the Head of the Firm once knew Marjory, she would be her friend for life.
When Billy returned home on Monday, he brought Marjory news that meant their first separation. The Head of the Firm wished him to go on a three or four days’ business mission of considerable importance, and Billy did not attempt to conceal his elation at the fact. Marjory also entered into the spirit of the occasion, and made no complaint about being left alone; but when twilight closed in on Tuesday, and there was no one to meet at the turn of the road, no one opposite at supper, and no glowing firefly that marked the location of Billy and his cigar among the piazza vines, it changed the aspect of things. That a first night of separation is inevitable, does not make it any the less of a shock to the young wife. Out of the gripping loneliness comes the wonder, “How did I live before, and what should I do if—?” a question which is usually and naturally drowned in tears.
Before the tears had more than started, however, Marjory jumped up with a very resolute expression on her face, went into the house, lit the lamp in the den, and finding her pad and pencil, seated herself in front of the lamp, elbows on table, and gazed at the paper with the same blank intensity that Agamemnon Peterkin’s face must have worn when he tried to write a book to make his family wise, but discovered that he had nothing to say.
But what Marjory failed to write down, she repeated to herself half aloud: “It is all very well for Billy to say, ‘Don’t make any difference for Mrs. Coates; I particularly want her to take us as we are, and I’m sure she also would prefer it;’ the question is, would she? Luncheon ‘just as we are’ for Friday would be the peas and beans left from Thursday’s dinner added to lettuce for a salad, bread and butter, raspberries, and iced tea.
“Mrs. Coates will arrive at ten-thirty, then we will drive around by the Cortrights’; by one she will be hungry, and I must at least add meat or chicken to the menu; which shall it be? I think I’ll consult June.”
So saying, Marjory, glad of an excuse to talk to some one, went to the kitchen porch, where sat that comfortable old aunty, rocking, fanning, and crooning hymns to herself, and there laid the case before her.
Ah, little imps that sometimes climb up aloft and grin at those who, mistaking you for cherubs, take your advice, why did it happen that the master of the house was called away at this particular juncture?
“Missus Coates am sure one ob de quality, honey,” said June, unfolding and setting in place her silver-bowed spectacles, even though it was dark, and instantly being seized with a flow of language. “If she’s real quality, I don’t allow it’s showin’ right ’spect and dignification to Marsa Rod’s Bosses’s Missus to feed her with cole vittles on the back stoop like she was hounds, even if you-all do like the airyation and simplification ob it your two selves.
“Lor’, Miss Margy, do dress out de house a bit, and fetch out dem weddin’ gifts dat outshun all de glories ob Solomon and was hid away so quick dat folks hadn’t got through blinkin’ at ’em. Spread Missus Coates a banquet ter bulge her eyes, and old June’ll do some tall cookin’. Den sweep down dem stairs to fetch her in with a long-trailed skirt out behind and a real lace hankerchief stuck in front just soppin’ with perfummery. I tell you, Miss Margie, when Marsa Rod’s pa and ma down Baltimore way done entertained the governor and his lady—”
But at this introduction to a recitation of Juno’s that was warranted to last an hour in its most abridged form, Marjory interrupted her with, “I’ll think it over and decide to-morrow; at least you shall make your stuffed peppers and Creole chicken,” and then she fled to her own room and locked the door.
Sleeping was an empty ceremony that night; instead, Marjory devised plans for Mrs. Coates’s entertainment. By morning, all the pleasure and originality of their daily life had apparently vanished, and Marjory had resolved to leave her own coign of vantage and meet Mrs. Coates more than halfway.
In the first place, she went to town and secured a trunk full of silver from the safety vault, and then spent two nights in a fever of anxiety, because for safe-keeping she had put the trunk under her bed. She unpacked draperies from the attic chests, crowded all the ornaments into the three rooms she expected to use, the dining room, living-room, and den, before it occurred to her that if she was to have a luncheon of many courses in the dining room she must also have a waitress, or preferably two, to match the splendid silver service.
Where were waitresses to be found? After spending a hot and weary morning scouring the neighbourhood, she finally discovered that the niece of a near-by German truck farmer had “waited,” and the eldest daughter of the family who worked on the adjoining place would like “to learn”; so, telling them to come early the next morning to be instructed, she repaired to Bridgeton for white aprons and caps, as she found that both girls owned decent black gowns.
It must be confessed that the dining room had a very high-bred and elegant air when the round table was spread with a lace-edged cloth, its load of silver, cut glass, and candelabra with delicate green candles to match the fern decorations. (Then, of course, it was necessary to draw in the blinds, both to keep out the glare and give the candles a chance.)
The German girl’s name was Gertie, and her American assistant, apparently without good and sufficient reason, was called Sapphira. The latter slipped into her costume with comparative ease, but poor Gertie was innocent of corsets, and the apron bands and strings vanished entirely at the waist line, causing the staying of the apron in position to appear a feat of legerdemain.
This would not do, so Marjory rummaged out a pair of old stays of her own, into which she coaxed the abundant but soft flesh of Gertie, who looked on in dumb astonishment, only saying at the end, “Ver ist, where has gone me?”
“Inside, I suppose,” answered Marjory, laughing; “for I’m sure none of it has come off.”
On seeing the preparations for artificial light, Sapphira asked confidingly: “Say, Ma’am, you must freckle awful easy. I wouldn’t have thought it here indoors, though; Ma does, something awful, so I’ve knit her wash cotton gloves to wear when she hangs out the clothes.”
When the two girls seemed to understand their duties, Marjory wisely desisted, and left her instructions to sink in, her parting word being that neither one was to speak unless she addressed her. Marjory had thought of borrowing the Lathams’ motor to go to the train; she could not force herself to that length, however, and compromised by sending Peter with the buggy instead of going herself, while she put on one of her trousseau gowns of mull and lace instead of the youthful duck skirt and linen blouse of every day, which, though it added several inches to her height, added ten years to her age.
When Mrs. Coates stepped from the buggy and came up the three steps, Marjory’s feelings were mingled of relief and disappointment, for the lady wore a plain skirt and coat of tan linen, and a very simple hat of brown straw; so that the poor little hostess, in her trailing skirts and high-wired collar, felt overdressed to the verge of rudeness.
The greetings being over, Mrs. Coates pleaded the heat of the cars and the warning of a headache as an excuse for staying under the shade rather than driving, and so they went to the side piazza, and began a conversation that was made up largely of words wherein quantity took the place of vital interest.
Mrs. Coates’s almost affectionate manner in greeting Marjory was gradually losing its spontaneity; her husband had said, when she proposed going to visit the Kents: “I want your judgment, my dear; I’m thinking of taking Kent into the firm. As a man he’s all right, and he’s full of praise for his wife and her inexpensive tastes; but I want you to judge his wife before making the partnership proposition, for the woman is usually the pacemaker of the pair, and if she’s the sort to try and splutter all over the surface of society with a flash like fat that’s jumped out of a frying-pan, it will not be good for either Kent or my business.”
So Mrs. Coates was observing, and she in her turn was beginning to be disappointed, for nothing could be more unlike her real self than Marjory was that morning.
“Luncheon is served,” called rather than announced Sapphira, with the air of a theatrical novice who has heretofore merely brought in a card on a tray and is given her first lines, which are, “The Prince has arrived,” and the break gave both women a feeling of relief.
Mrs. Coates turned and looked expectantly about the veranda, for Billy had dwelt so much about the charm of their meals out-of-doors; but as Marjory led the way into the shadowy dining room, where the two maids stood motionless, she blinked once or twice, until she had taken in all the surroundings, and then seated herself with a feeling somehow of having been the victim of a hoax.
The table and room were both correct and charming, but so much like the hundreds of others at which she had sat in houses both public and private for many years, that she could almost tell with her eyes closed the rotation of the dishes of the menu, from the little-neck clams to the green mint frappé. She had dared to think that there was a young woman who had stepped out of the flock of sheep, not only because they ran too fast, but because she preferred not to flock. Well, it was merely another shattered delusion; also knowing the Kents’ income to a penny, she frowned on two waiting-maids.
The luncheon progressed, likewise Mrs. Coates’s headache; she had long ago acquired the necessary trick of using her fork so as to appear to eat; but in reality she only took some salad, and secretly longed for iced tea in place of the claret, while the conversation fast relapsed into the discussion of the trivial events of the past winter, largely composed of the names of people familiar to Mrs. Coates and only slightly known to Marjory.
As the ice cream was in order, there came a sudden halt, while a noise blent of choking and pounding came from the pantry. Finally, Sapphira came in alone, bearing the cream dish upon the tray at a very tipsy angle.
“Where is Gertie?” Marjory asked imprudently.
Setting the dish before the wrong person instead of passing it, Sapphira, with arms akimbo, whispered with a hoarse fervour that gave the words megaphone power:—
“She sampled one of them stuffed peppers on the sly, and near swallowed it whole, but it wouldn’t go all down, and on account of those corsets of yours being so tight, she can’t retch it up neither, though I’ve slapped her back, and June’s going to cut the strings if you don’t mind, ’cause they’re all knotted.”
Horror surged over Marjory, the meanness and responsibility of deceit almost overwhelming her; she dared not catch Mrs. Coates’s eye, yet a sudden movement on that lady’s part made her look up, and she saw that her guest was deadly pale.
“Might we have a little more air?” Mrs. Coates asked quietly.
“Open all the blinds to the east,” said Marjory.
Sapphira did as she was told, but in her turn became transfixed at something she saw a field-length away. Suddenly she began to clasp her hands and sway to and fro, crying, “Oh, ma’am! Oh, Mrs. Kent, little Jimmy’s fell in the rain barrel, and I must go fish him out right off and spoil your party.”
Then, turning, she whisked off her apron, threw it on a chair, clutched at her cap, which had five wire hairpins to moor it, and crying, “I’ll fetch it back when I’ve dried Jimmy and get it free,” she clattered down the front steps and away.
Some women would have made a remark about the depravity of servants in general, or said the girl had gone mad; others would have shed tears; Marjory glanced at Mrs. Coates, and detecting a slight twitch at the corners of her lips, burst into a peal of laughter, not hysterical giggling, but genuine, unfeigned merriment, and at the outburst she was herself once more.
Then in a few words Marjory confessed, ending with, “I’m sure I never should have done such a thing if Billy had been at home and June had not accused me of not treating you with dignification; but ah, how disgusted with me Billy will be.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to tell him?” said the elder woman. “Yes, I see by your face that for you it is, at least sometime.”
“You are ill; please come up and lie down and let me bring you a cup of tea,” said Marjory, a few minutes later, as she noticed the shadows under Mrs. Coates’s eyes, “and I’ll shut up this tell-tale room and put it in order to-morrow.”
“I’m afraid if I do that I shall miss my train, for if I once give in, these headaches always last until sunset.”
“Then please miss your train, and stay all night. Please let me telephone home for you,” said Marjory, with a ring of sincerity in her voice; “my little spare room isn’t a sham, and I can smooth headachy foreheads beautifully, mummy used to say. If your head is better at sunset, you can come to ‘just as we are’ tea on the porch, and Billy will be home by then.” Then Marjory’s voice dropped to a sort of purr in unconscious hypnotism. “A cool, thin wrapper—a cup of tea—and cologne on your head? Yes? You will?”
Soon Mrs. Coates found herself relaxing under Marjory’s soft touch, being gently undressed, and discomfort vanishing, while cool hands unloosed her hair that had never been smoothed by a daughter, or touched by unpaid help since she was a child.
“Oh, Billy, she came, she has a headache, she’s actually asleep up in the spare room, and she’s going to stay all night; aren’t you pleased?” was Marjory’s greeting, as she clung to his neck, and swiftly passed her hands over his face as though she could not trust the evidence of her eyes alone that he was all there.
“But, Billy, if I ever have quality company again, don’t go away. It’s—I’m so silly, I mean nervous, you know.” Then she felt a desire for time; and inwardly prayed that no ill chance should lead him into that dining room just yet.
“Pleased? I should say I am, but it’s no more than I expected;” and in this he was perfectly in earnest.
Then Marjory ran off, dragging him after her, for fresh sweet peas and bluets to decorate the little white wood supper-table on the porch, where in due time the wife of the Head of the Firm joined them, refreshed, and her headache gone, while she delighted June by the justice she did to her iced coffee and fried chicken, “Maryland style,” as the bills of fare word it.
Marjory chancing to step indoors to light the lamp, Billy drew his chair confidentially toward the lady of quality, for Billy was one of the rare men who could always be confidential without giving offence.
“Don’t you see I didn’t exaggerate, Mrs. Coates, when I said that Marjory and this sort of simple living were made for each other?”
“No, you didn’t exaggerate,” she replied, a little reminiscent smile fluttering about her mouth. “You really underrated your wife, for you did not tell me that she has a delicious sense of humour, a very good quality for the wife of a lawyer who is about to become the junior member of a prominent firm, and a quality of saving grace to be copied by the lawyer himself.”
“Mrs. Coates, honestly, do you mean?—oh, there, I’m too cheeky to think it; come out, Marjory Daw, and listen to this;” and Billy rushed to open the screen door and fairly pulled his wife back to her chair, upon the arm of which he perched.
“Would you like I should wash up all that load of dishes, Mis’is Kent? I thought, as I lit out so sudden, I’d come back and offer,” said a voice from the darkness, and Sapphira stumbled up the steps.
“All what dishes, and who is this?” asked Billy.
“It’s part of a little joke that I’ve asked your wife to keep quite between ourselves for the present,” said the wife of the Head of the Firm, tucking Marjory’s hand into her arm; “and if the Junior Partner is willing to protect us, I feel quite like walking down to see Cousin Martin Cortright and Lavinia.”