AFTER THE CURTAIN WAS LOWERED
Mrs. Baron had returned from her calling expedition earlier than she
had expected to. She had had a feeling that something might go wrong.
Prescience is really a wonderful thing.
Now as the poor lady stood within Thomason’s room she was quite
terrified. For the moment there had been a dreadful din. And now,
looking at Thomason, she caught the rebellious expression in his
round, innocent eyes. She saw that he had brass rings in his ears.
Unfortunately she did not associate the brass rings with the window
blinds. And his face was horribly streaked. His right leg was sticking
up in air quite inelegantly, and he was clawing at some other
unspeakable person in an effort to regain his equilibrium.
And then there was Bonnie May, with an insane light in her eyes. And
behind Bonnie May was a smirking creature who grinned maliciously at
Mrs. Baron, as if he and she shared some guilty secret in common.
Certainly she did not know the man.
Moreover, there stood Flora, looking unspeakably demure, with the man
Addis by her side. Addis was looking as if her arrival had provoked
him. His look seemed to say: “If you don’t like it, why don’t you run
along?”
Mrs. Baron did not stop to take in any of the others. At first she was
speechless, as the saying is, though she was trying to shape certain
comments which she meant to direct at Bonnie May.
She opened her mouth once and again quite helplessly. Then she found
her voice.
“You little--limb of Satan!” The words came with difficulty. In that
instant her features looked quite unlovely. Bonnie May might have told
her that elderly people ought never, under any circumstances, to become
violently angry. But Bonnie May was in no condition to utter elemental
truths.
“You awful little--wretch!” added Mrs. Baron. “No sooner do I turn my
back than you disgrace me! You open my door to--the whole street!”
Bonnie May was blinking rapidly. She was very pale. If you dreamed
that you were finding large sums of money, and some one threw a
bucket of cold water on you, and you woke up to find yourself in the
poorhouse--that perhaps fairly describes her mental state.
She had not been quite sorry that the bed collapsed. Some of the
secondary cells in her brain had been warning her, as she stood on the
“bridge,” that the third act could scarcely be made to come to a true
climax. She couldn’t be projected into the sea really. She would have
to step tamely down from the table and begin to talk in a commonplace
fashion.
Under favorable conditions the collapse of the bed would have been a
relief.
But now she stood looking at Mrs. Baron trying to reach her soul
through her angry eyes. She shrank so from being humiliated before her
friends--the old and the new. If Mrs. Baron, who had been so kind in
many unimportant ways and times, could only spare her now!
“If you will permit me, madam--” began Clifton.
“Who are these--gentlemen?” demanded Mrs. Baron, still wrathfully
regarding Bonnie May--Bonnie May and no other.
“They are my friends,” said Bonnie May. “They have known me always. And
really, you know, we weren’t doing anything wrong!”
Clifton had assisted her to the floor; and now, after an appealing step
in Mrs. Baron’s direction, and the swift conclusion that nothing she
could do would save the situation, she broke into tears and staggered
from the room.
“Bonnie May!” called Clifton, with overflowing solace in his tone. He
ran after Bonnie May. The other actor, casting brass rings and red
bandanna to the floor, followed.
“Emily Boone!” The voice was Mrs. Harrod’s. “I think you might blame
us, if it’s all so terrible. We encouraged her. We _enjoyed_ it.”
Mrs. Baron now turned toward the assembled group. She seemed dazed.
“I--I didn’t know you were here!” she said, her voice trembling weakly.
And then--“I don’t care! What would any woman do, coming home and
finding strangers and--and such a scene in her house?”
“We invited them in, mother,” confessed Baron weakly.
“Yes,” echoed Flora, “they were old companions of Bonnie May’s, and we
thought it would be nice to invite them in!”
“And I suppose you invited--_him_ in, too?” retaliated Mrs. Baron,
indicating Addis by a scornful, slight movement of her head.
The effect of this upon Flora was most distressing. Could her mother so
far forget herself as to reveal family differences in the presence of
Mrs. Harrod and the McKelvey girls? Her wounded eyes fairly begged for
mercy.
Addis promptly came to her relief.
“No, she didn’t, Mrs. Baron. I just dropped in.” His voice, by reason
of its bigness and calmness, had the effect of making every one in the
room feel how petty and needless had been the unpleasantness which Mrs.
Baron’s arrival had created. His hair seemed more bristling than ever
as he added: “If you will permit me, I’ll bid you good day.” He made a
rather stiff bow, which was meant to include every one in the room, and
turned to go.
But here Mrs. Harrod interfered again. “Peter!” she called.
The uttering of the unfamiliar given name created profound surprise in
certain minds.
“Peter!” she repeated. “I won’t have you go away like that. I want you
to know Mrs. Baron better than you seem to know her. She doesn’t mean
half she says. Emily, tell him I’m right!” She looked commandingly at
Mrs. Baron. It was evident that she had a nature which was not to be
subdued by trivial mishaps.
Mrs. Baron flinched. “Who is Peter?” she demanded feebly.
“If you don’t know, I advise you to cultivate your son’s friends. Do
you mean that you don’t know Peter Addis? Why, he’s been like a son of
mine. You ought to have known how fond I and the colonel are of him.
I’m surprised you’ve never met him at our house.”
“I never did,” said Mrs. Baron, swallowing with difficulty.
“Well, for goodness’ sake let’s go down-stairs--please excuse me for
suggesting, Emily, in your house--and behave ourselves. I suppose we’ve
all been at fault--all except that delightful child. I’m going to find
her and tell her so!”
“It was so funny!” declared the elder Miss McKelvey, appealing
tremulously to Mrs. Baron, and patting her on the arm. She thought of
laughing, which was, she believed, the easiest thing to do in all sorts
of circumstances.
Mrs. Harrod’s brain was working energetically. She had been reading
various faces, and she realized that even yet Mrs. Baron had not spoken
to Addis. She drew conclusions. On the way down-stairs she kept Addis
close to her.
“Do you know, Peter,” she said, in large, cheerful tones, “I think it’s
downright shabby for you to neglect us as you have been of late. I miss
those old evenings so!--when you and the colonel used to come in from
hunting, and sit down and eat like two famished boys, and bring the
atmosphere of outdoors with you. Do you remember how the dogs used to
slip into the house, in spite of the colonel’s scolding, and put their
heads on your knees while you ate supper? Those were the occasions that
made a home worth having.”
Addis, entirely satisfied with the turn affairs were taking, responded
eagerly: “I certainly do remember. I’ve often wondered if the colonel
had Queenie yet. There was a dog for you!”
“Oh, no! Queenie’s been dead over a year. It’s Prince and Hector,
now--Queenie’s puppies. The colonel says they’re every bit as smart as
their mother was. I wish you’d come out soon. On a Sunday, if you’d
rather find us alone. We’ll sit out under the grape-arbor. You know
the grapes are just getting ripe. Those little vines have grown up
beautifully. The colonel always has his bottle of what-do-you-call-it
out there, and his pipe, and I send the servants away and prepare a
little lunch----”
They were in the sitting-room now, too eagerly engaged in their
conversation to think of sitting down, and Mrs. Baron was waiting
humbly to regain control of the situation.
Mrs. Harrod was not unmindful of her old friend’s discomfort; but she
had an idea she was engaged in giving a patient a dose of medicine, and
that she ought to be careful that none of it was spilled.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Mrs. Baron, now thoroughly dejected, “I’ll
look for Bonnie May. I think I ought to have a talk with her.”
She had heard every word that Mrs. Harrod had spoken to Mr. Addis. And
she had heard enough.
She went to Bonnie May’s room. She was too confused to realize that
Flora accompanied her. But as she stood staring miserably into the
empty room she heard Flora’s comforting voice.
“She’s probably down-stairs, mother, with--with her friends.”
Flora went to the stairway and called. There was no response. She
listened, anxiously turning her eyes toward her mother; but there was
no sound of voices on the floor below.
“They wouldn’t have remained in the house a minute,” declared Mrs.
Baron, who was now frankly remorseful.
“But Bonnie May--she may have gone back to talk to Mrs. Shepard,”
suggested Flora. They could hear Mrs. Harrod’s voice, pleasantly
masterful. She had introduced Addis to the McKelvey girls, now that
she happened to think of it, and they were slipping eager gusts of
laughter and disconnected phrases into the conversation.
Mrs. Baron and Flora went down-stairs and appealed to Mrs. Shepard.
Bonnie May had gone out, Mrs. Shepard said. She had come down-stairs
and telephoned something in great haste, and then she had induced
her two gentleman friends to go away. An automobile had come quite
promptly, and she had gone away in it.
Mrs. Baron turned away from her daughter and rested her hand against
the wall at the foot of the staircase. Her attitude spelled repentance
and fear.
She went up into the child’s room, and Flora followed close enough to
hear a low, tremulous cry of despair.
“I wouldn’t, mother!” soothed Flora, whose eager voice brought Mrs.
Harrod and the others.
Mrs. Baron was standing beside a little worktable and a chair that
were Bonnie May’s. Her face was quivering. “I’m a disagreeable old
creature,” she declared. “I don’t deserve to have any happiness.”
One hand fumbled with a handkerchief, which she lifted to her eyes.
From the other, slowly relaxing, a handful of roses and ridiculous
little silk butterflies fluttered slowly to the floor.
“I want you all to leave me--please!” she begged. “I’m not fit to
be seen.” She put forth a hand to Mrs. Harrod. “Do come back again
soon,” she begged. “And you, too,” she added, extending her hand to
the McKelvey girls. And then, as she dabbed her discolored eyes, she
concluded with--“And you, too!” She glanced aside, but her hand went
out to Addis.
Then she disappeared into her own room, and softly closed the door.
Flora’s eyes were shining as she escorted the party down-stairs. “She’s
only gone to visit friends,” she declared. “She’ll be back.”
The McKelvey girls burst from the front door ahead of the others. They
were cheerful creatures who were not to be depressed long by the scenes
they had just witnessed.
Flora, standing in the hall to let the others pass, heard them
shrieking joyously: “Oh, what a lovely new car you’ve got, Mrs.
Harrod,” and then she heard Mrs. Harrod explaining, as she emerged into
the sunlight: “A birthday present from the colonel.”
They had all passed out now except Addis, and when Flora opened the
door a little wider for him he stood still an instant and looked out.
The others were out there inspecting Mrs. Harrod’s new car.
Then he took Flora’s hand in his and closed the door firmly and
securely.
It was fully a minute before the door was opened again, and Addis
descended the steps alone.
Mrs. Harrod and the McKelvey girls forgot the new machine immediately.
They were all looking at Peter Addis. And they were all thinking
precisely the same thing, namely, that they had never in all their
lives seen a man who looked more extraordinarily handsome and happy.