MRS. MASTERSON TAKES TEA
It was the day after Christmas that Adriance was sent over to New York
with his motor-truck, for the first time since he had become that
massive vehicle's pilot. His destination was in Brooklyn, so that he had
the entire city to cross, and lights were commencing to twinkle here and
there through the gray of the short winter afternoon when he turned
homeward.
The experience had not been without a novel interest. Holiday traffic
crowded the streets; traffic officers, tired and chilled by a biting
east wind, were not patient. Adriance chose Fifth Avenue for his route
up-town with the naturalness of long custom, without reflecting upon the
greater freedom of travel he would have found on one of the dingy
streets usually followed by such vehicles as his. However, the
difficulties exhilarated him. Andy of the truck could not but wonder how
the policeman who roughly ordered him away from the entrance of the
Park might have phrased that request if he had known that the intruder
was Tony Adriance, "paper, you know!" Perhaps, because of this wonder,
his cheerful grin drew a sour smile from the officer.
"Don't you know you've not got a limousine there? You from the woods?"
came the not ill-natured sarcasm.
"Worse than that: from Jersey," Adriance shot back. "All right; I'm
sorry."
"Plain streets for yours; round the circle," was the direction, which
also implied a release.
"Thanks," Adriance called acknowledgment, as he obeyed.
The bulky figure beside the chauffeur stirred.
"You got a nerve," commented the man, his slow, heavy voice tinged with
admiration. "I seen guys pulled fer less, Andy."
Adriance laughed. He and his big assistant were very good friends, after
weeks of sharing the truck's seat. The chauffeur appeared a stripling by
comparison with the man lounging beside him, huge arms folded across
thick chest. "Mike," as he was known to his fellow-workers, was a
Russian peasant. His upbringing in a Hoboken slum had fixed his
patriotism and language, but had left his physique that of his
inheritance. His reddish-yellow head was set on a massive neck whose
base his open shirt showed to be covered with a red growth of hair
extending down over his chest. His large features and mild, slow-moving
eyes, his heavy, placid manner of speech were absurdly alien to the
colloquial language that he spoke. Adriance knew his helper had been an
employee of the factory for ten years, but he did not know that Mike was
always assigned to a new chauffeur until the stranger proved himself
trustworthy. Mike was dull, but he was stolidly honest. Valuable boxes
or packages were not reported "lost" from trucks under his care.
Adriance had no idea of the truth that "Russian Mike" actually had
determined the permanence of his position in his father's great mill.
"If I cannot go through the Park, I'll go back to the avenue," Adriance
declared, when the turning had been negotiated. "I want gayety, Michael;
boulevard gayety! Four o'clock on Fifth Avenue--shall a poor workingman
be deprived of the sight? It is true that we are too far uptown, but
the principle is the same. You agree with me?"
"It ain't nothin' to me," averred the magnificent guardian, shifting to
a new position with an indolent movement that swelled the muscles under
his flannel shirt until the fabric strained. His glance at his companion
was mildly indulgent.
"Of course not. But it will be, next time; that is, if you do not die of
pneumonia after taking this drive with your coat wide open. Appreciation
will grow on you. What do you think of that girl in gray, in the
limousine? Pretty? I used to go to school with her, Michael; dancing
school."
The Slavic brown eyes became humorous.
"Fact," Adriance met the incredulity. "And now she doesn't recognize me;
and neither of us cares."
The uplifted hand of another traffic officer halted the long lines of
vehicles. Three deep from the curb on either side, so that the street
was solidly filled, automobiles, carriages, green and yellow busses and
ornate delivery-cars stopped in a close, orderly mass. Adriance's truck
was next to the sidewalk, in obedience to the rule for slow-moving
vehicles. As his laughing voice answered Mike, his tone raised to carry
across the roar of sound about them, a woman who had emerged from one of
the shops stopped abruptly. Her glance quested along the rows, to rest
upon Adriance with eager attention. A moment later, the man started at
the sound of his own name, spoken beside him.
"How do you do, Tony. And aren't you--rather out of place?"
Momentarily dumb, he looked down into the large, cool eyes of Lucille
Masterson. She did not smile, but faced his regard with a composure that
made his embarrassment a fault. Against the white fur of her stole was
fastened a knot of pink-and-white sweet peas; beside them her face
showed as softly tinted, and artificially posed, as the flowers. Beside
the wheel of the huge truck, she appeared smaller and more fragile than
Adriance remembered her. Without the slightest cause he felt himself a
culprit surprised by her. He had all the sensations of a deserter
confronted with the heartlessly abandoned.
"Aren't you going to speak to me?" she queried, when he remained
voiceless. "I have missed you, Tony."
He hastily aroused himself.
"Of course! I mean--you are very kind. I--we have been out of town."
Feeling the utter idiocy into which he was stumbling, he checked
himself. The current of traffic was flowing on once more, leaving his
machine stranded against the curb; made fast, as it were, by the
white-gloved hand Mrs. Masterson had laid upon the wheel.
Without heeding his incoherence, she looked at a tiny watch on her
wrist, half-hidden by her wide, furred sleeve. With her movement a drift
of fragrance was set afloat on the thick, city air.
"I want you to take me to tea," she announced, with her accustomed
imperativeness. "I have things to say to you. Let your man take your car
home."
In spite of his exasperation, Adriance laughed. He was aware of the
staring admiration which held the big man beside him intent upon the
beautiful woman; he had heard the greedy intake of breath with which the
other absorbed the perfume shaken from her daintiness, and could guess
the effect of _Essence Enivrante_ upon untutored nostrils. But for all
that, he could not imagine Russian Mike obeying the order proposed.
"You see, he isn't my man," he excused himself from compliance. "Thank
you very much, but it is not possible."
"Then let him wait for you. Really, Tony, I think you owe me a little
courtesy."
Adriance flushed before the rebuke. He never had seen Lucille Masterson
since that rough farewell of their final quarrel. He had left her, to
marry another woman inside of the next thirty-six hours. He always had
been at his weakest with Mrs. Masterson; he slipped now into his old
mistake of temporizing.
"I am not dressed for a tea-room," he deprecated. "Otherwise, I should
be delighted."
Her eyes glinted. Grasping the slight concession, she leaned toward
Adriance's assistant with her brilliant, arrogant smile.
"You will watch the car for Mr. Adriance, just a few moments, will you
not?" she appealed. "I have something of importance to say to him. I
should be much obliged."
The white-gloved hand slipped forward and left a bank note in the hairy
fist. Dazed, Mike vaguely jerked his cap in salute, still staring at the
woman. Neither money nor beauty might have lured him to an actual breach
of duty, but this was the last trip of the day and the truck was empty.
It could not matter if the return were delayed half an hour; a belated
ferryboat might lose so much time. Moreover, he was not only willing,
but anxious, to do Andy a favor, and the bill in his clutch assured a
glorious Saturday night.
"Sure," he mumbled, with a grin of shyness like a colossal child's.
"Come, Tony," directed Mrs. Masterson.
Because he saw nothing else to do, Tony reluctantly swung himself down
to the pavement beside her.
"I can only stay for a word," he essayed revolt. "It is hardly worth
while to go anywhere. We should have to go find some place where these
clothes would pass and where no one knew us."
"On the contrary! We must go where you are so well-known that your dress
does not matter," she contradicted him. "The Elizabeth Tea-room is just
here, and we used to go there often."
He could think of no objection to the proposal. Presently he found
himself following his captor into the pretty, yellow-and-white tea-room.
As the Elizabeth affected an English atmosphere and had not adopted the
_the dansant_, the place was not overfull. The quaintly-gowned waitress
greeted them with a murmur of recognition and led the way to a table
without a glance at the chauffeur's attire. Mrs. Masterson ordered
something; an order which Adriance seconded without having heard it. He
was recovering his poise, and marvelling at himself for coming here no
less than at Lucille for bringing him. What could they have to say to
each other, now? The scented warmth of the room brought to his
realization the cold in which he had left Mike to wait, and he was
nipped by remorse.
It was a consequence of his education among people who never considered
that narrowness of convention which they designated as middle-class,
that Adriance had no sense of disloyalty either to Elsie or Fred
Masterson in being here. On the contrary, the knowledge of his marriage
would have enabled him to welcome frankly either of the two had they
chanced to enter and find him. It was as if his assured position
chaperoned the situation. But, truly masculine, since he no longer loved
Lucille Masterson he detested being with her. He resented the acute
discomfort he felt in her presence.
She was drawing off her gloves with a slowness that irritated him as an
affectation; he thought the artificial perfection of her hands hideous
as a waxwork. They were not really a good shape, nor small, but merely
blanched very white and manicured to a glistening illusion. And he saw
with disgust that she wore a ring he once had given her because she made
it plain to him that the costly gift was expected. He knew she had lied
to her husband as to the giver; "Tony" had been startled and
half-awakened from his hazy content by that discovery at the time. Now
he looked at the bulky pearl set around with diamonds and recalled the
modest garnets he had given Elsie.
"I am sorry, but I haven't long to stay," he said. "You spoke of
something important to discuss."
"Did I?"
"Certainly!"
She studied him with open curiosity.
"You want to go back to that wagon with the gorilla of a man?"
"Yes."
"Are you still very much married, Tony?" she questioned maliciously.
His eyes blazed, then chilled. Her lack of finesse had led her to a
final mistake.
"You forget that my wife is an unfashionable woman. I am still happily
married," he retorted.
"How--romantic!"
"Very."
"Still, two months, or is it three? Even Fred and I lasted that long.
You will not mind my saying that you are a bit fickle, Tony. What will
you do when you grow bored? Or do you believe that you never will? Elsie
must have resources that I never suspected. Does she tell you the story
of--Monsieur Raoul, was it?"
"She has others more pleasant. With Mrs. Adriance boredom is not
possible," he controlled his anger to state. But he felt himself clumsy
and inadequate.
The quaint little waitress was beside him, and proceeded to her duty of
service with exasperating slowness and precision. She was a pretty girl,
in a butter-cup-yellow frock and ruffled white cap and apron. Adriance
became conscious of his work-darkened hands, of a collar that showed a
day's accumulated dust, and other signs that differentiated him from the
usual idle and dainty patrons of this place.
"You _are_ a bit seedy," corroborated Mrs. Masterson, watching him with
furtive acuteness. She permitted herself an ironic smile. "Do you not
think it time you went home, and changed?"
He divined an innuendo, a _double entendre_ in the speech that he did
not comprehend, yet which enraged him. He wondered if she had brought
him here for the purpose of forcing this contrast between his present
life and his past, and so tainting him with discontent or even regret
of his marriage. If so, she had failed. He merely visited his
humiliation on her, and found her beauty spoiled by her spitefulness.
"I shall be home in an hour," he said. "And of course I am anxious to be
there, so you will forgive my reminding you of whatever we have to
discuss."
"Oh, of course." She paused until their attendant fluttered away through
a swinging door. "You are quite cured of me, aren't you, Tony? Don't
trouble about denying politely, please. But it is lucky no one really
knew about us--I suppose you have not told?"
"Mrs. Masterson!"
She hushed the protest, laughing across the spray of sweet-peas she had
lifted against her smooth red lips.
"Very well, very well! But promise you never will. Promise, Tony."
"It is not necessary," he replied stiffly. "But if you think it so, I
give you my word."
"Never to tell that I thought of marrying you, whatever may happen?"
"Yes."
She dropped the sweet-peas and sat in silence for a space, her gaze
dwelling on him. Neither of the two made any pretense of pouring the tea
cooling in the diminutive pots between them, or of tasting the miniature
sandwiches and cakes. Months later, Adriance was to learn something of
Lucille Masterson's thoughts during that interval. He himself thought of
Russian Mike waiting in the motor-truck, and that he would be so late
home that Elsie might be worried. He had wanted to stop at a shop to buy
a toy bull-dog collar for his Christmas puppy, but now that must be
postponed. He was amazed and infinitely angry at himself for yielding so
easily to Lucille's whim to bring him here.
Unconsciously he looked toward her with open impatience in his glance.
She responded at once, with a shrug.
"Go, by all means. Pray go, Tony. Am I keeping you? I am not the kind of
woman who mourns, you know. Just remember that our episode is not only
closed, but locked, when we meet again. Good-bye."
"And the important communication that I was to hear?"
"I have forgotten what I wanted to say. Good-bye, Tony."
Puzzled and angry, he rose, leaving on the table twice the amount of the
check, at which he had not looked. Mrs. Masterson nodded an
acknowledgment of his grim salute. Her eyes had a look of triumph, and
as the girl in yellow ushered him out, Adriance saw the other turn with
appetite to the sandwiches and tea.
The east wind had grown stronger and its current was thick with whirling
particles of snow. Darkness had come with the storm, turning dusk into
night. Adriance shivered and buttoned his cheap fur coat as he hurried
across the wet, shining pavement. Mike aroused himself with a grunt when
the chauffeur swung up into the seat beside him.
"Swell dame, Andy!" he commented, staring with heavy curiosity at the
man pushing throttle and spark. "I guess maybe you're a swell, too, like
a movie show I seen once?"
Adriance stepped down again, to go forward and crank the motor. He began
to glimpse the possible complications if Mike recounted this adventure
among his mates. He wondered, also, if Lucille had noticed the name on
the truck. Altogether, he was in a vicious enough mood to lie, and he
did so.
"No," he asserted flatly, when he had regained his seat. "Don't be an
idiot, Mike. I--used to be employed by that lady."
"Drive her automobile?"
"Yes."
The explanation was accepted as satisfactory. An intimate acquaintance
with the etiquette of intercourse between mistress and chauffeur was not
one of the examiner's accomplishments. But the incident appealed to Mike
as romantic, and for him romance flowed from one source only.
"She looks like one of them actresses from the movies," he averred,
folding his huge arms comfortably across his breast. "I guess she is,
maybe? I seen queens like her, there."
"It is a good way to see them, if they are like her," observed Adriance
ruefully. He laughed in spite of vexation. "Better stick to the movie
girls, Michael; it's safer! Now stop talking to me; if this brute of a
truck swerves an inch in this slush, some pretty car is going to feel as
if an elephant had stepped on it."
But the ill luck of that day was over. They made a fast trip up-town and
just caught a ferry-boat on the point of leaving.
After all, they were not to be noticeably late. And since there would be
no need of explanation, it occurred to Adriance that he might not
recount to Elsie the tale of his discomfiture. He was keenly ashamed of
the poor role Lucille Masterson had made him play. She had whistled him
to heel, and he had come with the meekness of the well-trained. She had
amused herself with him as long as she chose, then dismissed him,
humiliated and helpless. He did not want Elsie to picture her husband in
that situation, nor to find him still unable to say no to Mrs.
Masterson.
By the time he had walked up the long hill through a beating snow-storm,
he was thoroughly chilled and self-disgusted, desirous only of shelter
and peace. Both met him, when he pushed open the door of his house and
stepped into the warm, bright room. When the door closed behind him, he
definitely shut outside the image of Lucille Masterson.
With a little rush Elsie came to meet him, lifting her warm and rosy
face for his kiss. The puppy scrambled across the floor, uttering
staccato yelps of salute.
"I've named our house," the girl announced gleefully. "You know, we have
named everything else. Don't you like Alaric Cottage?"
"I like the inside of it to-night, all right. But why Alaric?"
"Because it is so early-Gothic, of course. You must appreciate our front
porch, Anthony. Oh, you _are_ wet and cold! Hurry and change your
things--I have them all laid out--and I will feed you, sir."
So the matter passed for that time, and was forgotten.