MADAM LEROY “AT HOME”
If Mrs. Tyson did not offer a particularly warm welcome to her sister,
upon her return after so many years to the old home, Madam LeRoy spared
no pains to show her pleasure at the presence of her younger daughter.
Her attitude was reflected in the deference shown by the servants and
in the interest of a few callers, notified by Madam LeRoy of Mrs.
Sterling’s presence.
Perhaps Ann’s greatest interest, in spite of her claims at not being
“frivolous,” was in her mother’s pretty clothes, purchased, for the
most part, the previous spring, when she and Grandmother were away
together. But two or three gowns in the very latest style arrived for
Mrs. Sterling, who was both amused and pleased at Ann’s delight. “You
are the prettiest thing, Mother,” she said. “Why didn’t you give me
your eyes and hair and fairness? If Dad could only see you now.”
This was one evening when Ann was watching her mother’s being arrayed
for dinner. Two former school-mates of her mother’s, who had married
and lived in the neighborhood, were to be dinner guests. The husbands,
too, were coming and Mrs. Sterling had been expressing her regret that
her own husband was so far away. “Never mind, Ann; your father will be
here for our first real ‘family reunion’ since our marriage.”
“Yes, at Christmas time,” sighed Ann, “so far away!”
“It is a long time,” said her mother soberly. “If it were not for
Mother, nothing could induce me to be separated so long. But this year
I must try to do what Mother wants and be with her, here and in the
South.”
“Now, Mrs. Sterling, just a touch of rouge and you will be complete,”
said Adeline, giving a last pat to Mrs. Sterling’s hair, and looking
coaxingly down into Mrs. Sterling’s face.
“Not at this late day, Adeline,” smiled Mrs. Sterling. “I have gotten
along thus far without paint and I think that I can make my appearance
without it. The Indians wear it sometimes, out where I came from.”
“Just as you say, madam,” sighed Adeline, with regret. She saw nothing
amusing in being denied those final touches of “complexion,” as Ann
called it. But Mrs. Sterling’s face was so fine without it, that she
took some pride after all, in the results of her handiwork, and smiled
at the two, who went out into the hall and downstairs like two girls
together, arm in arm.
“Isn’t it funny,” said Ann, “that Ronald Bentley’s mother should turn
out to be one of your old chums?”
“Why ‘funny,’ Ann?”
“Oh, I don’t know, only that I should know him pretty well and not know
about how intimate you and she used to be.”
The Bentleys had arrived when Ann and her mother went into the long
and beautiful sun parlor, or glassed porch, which was a comparatively
recent addition to Madam LeRoy’s mansion. Prettily furnished, it was so
attractive that it was a favorite spot now for both family and guests.
“Elizabeth LeRoy!” exclaimed Mrs. Bentley, warmly embracing Ann’s
mother. “How glad I am to see you after all these years. I hope that I
was not the one to stop writing.”
“It was probably I, Grace,” said Mrs. Sterling, “for I was going about
and doing many things in those first years of my married life.”
Mrs. Bentley was a sprightly little woman of about Mrs. Sterling’s age,
too thin for beauty, but with an expressive, interesting face. From
her it was evident, Ronald inherited his heavy eyebrows and deep-set
grey eyes. Mr. Bentley was expansive and much at home with Mr. Tyson,
with whom he was associated in the business in which the larger part
of Madam LeRoy’s fortune consisted. Ronald had been included in the
invitation, for the sake of the young people, who betook themselves
to a corner of the porch where cozy seats and a small table looked
inviting. It was a warm, September evening and every one was pleased
when Munson the dignified, himself brought out iced lemonade and
delicate glasses.
This done, he hastened to the hall, for another car came rolling in to
bring the other guests, a Judge and Mrs. Hays. In them Ann was not so
much interested, though it may have been largely because they had no
young and fascinating son! Ann was not so much different from other
girls of her age, after all. She and Suzanne, Maurice and Ronald were
having a merry time of it, while the older folk renewed acquaintance.
“Say, Maury, if the girls go to Florida, as you suggested, we’ll take a
run down in the old boat, or the yacht, in the Christmas vacation.”
“Sure thing.”
“But Father is coming at Christmas time, Maury,” Ann objected. “I’d
love to go to Florida, but I haven’t the faintest notion that I can.”
“Ann,” said Suzanne, “if you and I don’t go with our respective parents
to the land of flowers, I’ll give you the biggest box of chocolates
that Maurice can find for me,----”
“And pay for,” added her brother, knowingly.
“Of course. What are brothers for?”
“Do you really think so?” dubiously queried Ann. “How could it be
managed, with school, and father’s coming, and all?”
“Oh, school!” exclaimed Suzanne. “That could be fixed, and as far as
your father is concerned, I overheard Grandmother say to Mother that
she thought Uncle Sterling would go too. Perhaps you’d better not say
anything about it, Ann. Maybe they mean to surprise you. I didn’t think
of that.”
“I’ll be surprised still,” said Ann, “but I hope that it is so.
Florida, land of alligators and cypress swamps,----”
“You will love it, Miss Ann,” Ronald declared, as Ann hesitated. “Think
of more agreeable things than alligators,--blue skies, for instance,
and bluer waters and sitting on the deck of my yacht as we sit here,
going down the inland waterway.”
“Is your yacht strong enough to go out into the real ocean?”
“Yes, but when it is rough or stormy, you know, it takes a large vessel
to keep the passengers from feeling the swell and waves too much.”
“I see. I have never been out on the ocean.”
“Why, Ann!” Suzanne exclaimed. “Then I was on your mountains before you
have been on my adorable ocean.”
Ann nodded and smiled. “Do you like the sea the way I like my
mountains?”
“Indeed I do! But you must have the ocean this winter. We’ll go in
bathing and have more fun!”
“Count us in on that,” Maurice added. “We can do a good deal in two or
three weeks’ vacation, can’t we, Ronald?”
“Yes. Dad and Mother will take the yacht down when they go, perhaps,
and we can get there more quickly by train, then take the girls
yachting after we get there. We’ll get up a party. There are always a
lot of our friends going, you know.”
Maurice assented, though the Tysons had not gone to Florida for a long
time. Maurice, however, had enjoyed a recent trip with Ronald on such a
vacation.
“Do you dare come back before spring after you once go down?” asked Ann.
“Yes; we do,” replied Ronald. “My father goes back and forth, two or
three times during the season. He is careful, you know. But don’t you
remember how suddenly the temperature changes, even up here, warm one
minute, and cold as Greenland the next!”
“True,” said Ann, “like the Chinooks that we have, warm winds that melt
the snow off in a jiffy. Then comes a blizzard!”
“I’ve never been in your country, Miss Ann. Why didn’t I go with you
fellows this summer, Maury?” asked Ronald, with some regret.
“Beano said that he coaxed you to go along,” said Maurice.
“You forget that Ron doesn’t like Beano,” Suzanne reminded her brother.
“It wasn’t that so much,” protested Ronald, “but the boys had fixed
the car for sleeping and I thought that three would be one too many.”
“It wasn’t when I was along,” said Maurice. “I refused to go, too,
at first, for the same reason, but they had a tent and all the
appurtenances thereto; so I concluded to join them.”
“But you were with them such a short time. It didn’t appeal to me for
all summer, not with Beano, I will confess.”
“I can’t blame you,” said Ann, and Ronald looked at her with some
approval in his deep eyes. “He was kind and pleasant, but did not make
what you would call a hit, Maury, with our Western boys and girls.”
“Conceit is Beano’s middle name,” said Maurice, laughing.
* * * * *
The next affair at the LeRoy house for Mrs. Sterling’s benefit was a
reception, one of those “pink teas,” according to Maurice, who said
that he would carefully keep out of the way. It was a day-time “at
home,” so planned for the benefit of the older folks who might not
care to come to an evening gathering, and only the adult friends were
invited. Ann was in the room one morning when she heard her grandmother
and Mrs. Tyson discussing the list.
“You aren’t going to invite _her_, Mother, are you?” asked Mrs. Tyson,
pointing to a name. “She is the worst gossip in six towns!”
“That is the reason I am inviting her,” calmly said Grandmother, to
Ann’s great amusement. “She will talk anyhow, and is a great deal more
likely to be friendly if we invite her. She has a somewhat privileged
position, in spite of her terrible tongue.” Then Grandmother noticed
that Ann was listening, and turned smiling eyes upon her. “Let this
lady be a warning, Ann, not an example. And remember what the epistle
of James says about the tongue, ‘a restless evil’ and ‘full of deadly
poison!’”
“I can not see any necessity for inviting her, Mother,” repeated Mrs.
Tyson. “It only gives her a better opportunity to talk. She is no
friend of Elizabeth’s; why should we have her?”
“Why all this discussion, Sue? You well know that I have always
included her in any general gathering like this. She would be offended,
and then the vials of her wrath would descend indeed!”
“Do you want Suzanne and me to dress up and be around, or may we stay
away?”
“Do you not want to be with us, Ann?” asked Grandmother in surprise.
“Oh, yes, if we can do anything to help entertain.”
“You can. I want a pretty group of girls to serve the guests. Wear your
prettiest frock and do your mother honor.”
“I’ll do my best, Grandmother.”
Ann was being constantly surprised at her grandmother’s energy, not
knowing that it had been her natural way before the illness which had
made her withdraw for some time, both because of her own weakness at
first, and later because of her daughter’s insistence. It was so much
easier to yield to Sue than to oppose her. Sue always had insisted
on her own way, but it had never taken the form of interfering so
much with her mother’s plans and life, she thought; at least she
_had_ thought so until the revelation came of her engineering the
misunderstanding between Elizabeth and herself. Well, well,--that was
past.
The second week of Ann’s stay with her mother was closing when this
reception took place. Ann and Suzanne were full of their plans for
returning to school and the group of girls, including Madeline, had
much to discuss. The rooms were prettily decorated with flowers. Ann’s
mother looked distinguished in a filmy summer gown and shared the
entertaining with her mother and sister. A host of handsomely gowned
ladies came in shining limousines with attentive chauffeurs. There was
the usual buzz of conversation.
The girls did not make their appearance until time to serve, in the
beautiful room devoted to that purpose. There the table was a shining
center of costly linen, bright silver and cut glass, which glittered
under the artificial lights. A mass of crimson roses gave fragrance.
“Is this Madam LeRoy’s grand-daughter from the West?” impressively
inquired a large, rather strong-featured woman, expensively and
expansively gowned, whose hands flashed with diamonds, as she accepted
the plate of ice-cream which Ann offered. “No; no coffee, thank you.
Unfortunately, it keeps me awake, no matter when I drink it. Sit down,
won’t you, a minute, to get acquainted?”
There was no one on either side of this guest, for it was now late in
the afternoon and most of the guests had been served. A few ladies,
in twos and threes were scattered about the room. Mrs. Bentley, who
was pouring coffee, had little to do and was chatting with one of the
guests, who stood by the table to talk to her.
Glancing around to see if she were needed anywhere, Ann sank her silken
slimness upon the chair next to the friendly lady.
“Yes, Mrs. Lewis,” said Ann, who had caught the name from Madeline when
she had offered coffee. “I shall be glad to sit down a minute. Almost
every one is served, I think.”
“I could scarcely find time to come,” returned Mrs. Lewis. “There were
so many friends to visit; and I only now consented to come. I came with
my daughter, who has been served.”
“Aha,” thought Ann, gravely listening and clasping her hands loosely in
front of her. “She is not fond of food, but yet----.”
“They tell me that you are quite an expert in Western ways, riding,
hunting, racing, breaking broncos and all. Ever had any encounters with
the Indians?”
“Our Indians are all very peaceful, Mrs. Lewis. I ride a little, catch
a few trout occasionally and can hit a mark when I shoot, but I never
race and I would not know how to break horses or broncos.”
“Why I understood that your horse won a race at a fair.”
Now who had told her that? Ann felt decidedly annoyed. “He did,” she
calmly replied, “but he was entered and ridden without our knowledge by
a young man who worked for my father.”
“Of all things! How things can get twisted in the gossip one hears!
But I suppose that it is true about the large fortune left you by the
Indian whose life you saved?”
“Scarcely that, Mrs. Lewis, but I happened to be the one to tie up
a wounded Indian and he sent me a rather valuable gift. He is still
living. See, the stones in this little ring, and this odd bracelet,
that I scarcely ever wear.” Ann was wearing the snake bracelet, which
had been beautifully polished and worked over by a jeweler recently.
“Curious, indeed,” said Mrs. Lewis, bending over to examine the
bracelet. “It must have been young Bates who told me about the Indian’s
leaving you a fortune; but perhaps I misunderstood him. I thought that
it would make you quite independent; but I suppose that now you will
have a share in your grandmother’s estate.” Mrs. Lewis took no warning
from the surprised look with which Ann openly regarded her. What sort
of a woman was this? And how did she know about Grandmother’s affairs?
A volley of questions followed, all delivered in that easy, smooth,
glowing way of which Mrs. Lewis was capable. Ann replied as best she
could, poor, sincere Ann, who did not know how to get out of it.
“How does your mother like coming back to us after her long neglect
of her mother and friends?” So ran on this human radio, thinking with
her tongue, as Ann afterward told her mother. But frank Ann must have
inherited some of her mother’s and grandmother’s nature, for she
immediately froze, and after a second’s pause, turned lifted brows upon
the inquirer, repeating, “‘Neglect?’ That is scarcely the word, is it?”
“Your aunt certainly felt it; for she has remarked to more than one
friend how much she regretted that Elizabeth saw fit to break away
from the close family circle. But she is looking very lovely and your
grandmother seems delighted to have her back.”
Ann’s ire was mounting, but how could she say anything discourteous
to one so much older, and a guest, however she might be transgressing
the laws of courtesy. But Ann had little opportunity to say anything,
in fact, without interrupting, and an amusing thought came to Ann
which almost made her laugh out,--if she could only turn the dial or
press the button to shut off this disagreeable broadcasting of family
affairs! But the “loud speaker” kept on.
“Madeline is a pretty girl, though rather wild, they say. It seems that
she was engaged to Maurice before he went to college, but that she
broke off the engagement when she heard that he is not Mrs. Tyson’s
son.”
Ann had been thinking of an excuse to break away, but just as Mrs.
Lewis started this last remark, one of the girls brought her a plate
of ice-cream and heaped it with a variety of the cakes. They looked
good and Ann began to dip her shining spoon into the frozen ice, giving
attention to the words which Mrs. Lewis repeated for her benefit, as
soon as the young lady was out of hearing. She could scarcely refrain
from giving Mrs. Lewis another look of amazement, but kept her face
calm and broke off a piece of pink frosting. “You must be mistaken,
Mrs. Lewis,” she said. Ann knew that if Madeline had ever had the
opportunity to be engaged to Maurice it would scarcely be she who broke
it off, and what in the world was that last suggestion?
“I forgot that being a stranger here, you scarcely would have heard the
gossip about Maurice. I should probably not have mentioned it,--but
of course, if it is true, he would have no share in your grandmother’s
money, and I do not think that the facts should be concealed. Some
other girls may fall in love with him,----”
“For Grandmother’s money, do you mean?” Ann did manage to get in this
comment.
Mrs. Lewis laughed. “Well, you know how the girls are nowadays. It
takes plenty of money to keep them.”
“I see, but Mrs. Lewis,----” Ann had no chance!
“At the home of one of our Boston friends a lady was visiting who
had been in Paris at the time when Sue LeRoy married Mr. Tyson. She
said that there was a rumor after the marriage that Mr. Tyson was a
young widower with an infant son, and that your aunt was so angry when
she found it out, that rather than have it known,--yes, thank you,
Madeline, those are delicious little cakes.”
“Your mother wants you, Ann,--excuse her, please, Mrs. Lewis. Bring
along your cream, Ann; I’ll put it somewhere for you.” Suzanne, with an
expression of amused horror, which Ann had caught across the room, had
hastily come to the rescue.
Mrs. Lewis, who was just about to ask Ann if the gossip were known in
the family, saw her victim depart with real regret.
“I knew how you must have been suffering, Ann,” laughed Suzanne, as
the two girls walked away. “Come out in the back hall and finish your
cream. Your mother does want you, but there isn’t any hurry.”
“I--I never saw, I mean, heard, such a person! She must have been the
one that your mother didn’t want Grandmother to invite because she was
such a gossip.”
“Grandmother didn’t want to offend her, I guess.”
“That is what she said.”
“What did she get out of you, Ann?”
“Mercy, I don’t know. I felt like a mouse, being played with by the
cat.”
“Cat is what she is, Ann. What she doesn’t know, she makes up.”
“She certainly has imagination!”
Mrs. Lewis had succeeded in annoying Ann thoroughly. Values in the
neighborhood went down for Ann immediately. “I’m glad I don’t have
to live around here,” she thought, for at present, under the spell
of an insincere member of the community, she had no thought for the
true friends. The suggestion about Maurice was too absurd! Had not her
mother just told her to the contrary? However, she wished that since
Mrs. Lewis had told her that much, she had had opportunity to finish,
if for nothing more than for Ann to tell her that it was not so.
Several of the girls came out and stood around Ann, some of them, like
her, finishing their own little lunch. “I oughtn’t to have eaten a bit
of ice-cream,” said one of them, a pretty brunette of about Ann’s age.
“Your mother wants me to sing pretty soon and I never can sing so well
if I have eaten it.”
“Take a cup of hot coffee, Lou, to warm up your throat,” Suzanne
suggested.
“That would be the other extreme.”
“You are to play her accompaniment, Ann,” announced Suzanne. “That is
what your mother wanted you for.”
“I hope that it is an easy one,” said Ann, putting the last bit of soft
frosting in her mouth.
“It is,” Louise assured her.
When Ann went into the drawing room, she found her mother surrounded
by a group of old and new friends. There was a comparatively small
number of the company left, which fact consoled Ann, rather dreading
to play before them. But she loved her grandmother’s big grand piano
and touched it with affectionate fingers as she played the prelude to
the song. In spite of the ice-cream, Louise Stanton sang well, her
voice girlish, but fresh and sweet. Afterward, Mrs. Sterling proudly
introduced Ann to her friends, who looked with kindly eyes upon
Elizabeth LeRoy Sterling’s daughter. There were “lovely” people here,
after all, and Mrs. Lewis had not remained upon the scene.