Down on the street there was a harsh grinding of brakes and an excited
cry, as Hal Marksley’s car stopped so abruptly as to precipitate Eileen
from her seat. Theodora darted to the window, cupped her hands around
her mouth, and shouted:
“Come on up. Mrs. Ascott’s got three fans for you to choose from.”
A moment later, two pairs of feet were heard ascending the stairs. A
swift sense of impending disaster sent Theo’s glance from the face
of her hostess to that of her brother. She wondered how she ought to
have worded her invitation so that Hal could not have assumed it to
include him. A young man of fine breeding would not need to be told
that she was not asking him to Mrs. Ascott’s attic, when Mrs. Ascott
had never invited him to her reception room. He just didn’t know how to
discriminate. Lately Eileen didn’t seem to discriminate, either. She
should have told Hal not to come. He would be terribly embarrassed,
meeting Lary. But of course neither of them knew Lary was there.
If young Marksley knew he was not welcome in the sultry store room of
Vine cottage, he gave no token. Eileen’s breathless condition, when she
reached the top of the steep stair, gave him a momentary conversational
advantage.
“I’m going over to my sister’s to dinner, this evening, and the kid and
I were wondering how we’d put in the time till the rest of the folks
arrive.”
“You don’t mean you’re going to _eat_ again--just coming from Ina’s
graduation party!” Theodora gasped. “What did she serve?”
“Oh, the usual sumptuous Stevens spread. What did she have, Eileen? All
I can remember is that Kitten said she borrowed the microtome from the
lab. to cut the sandwiches. I believe there was an olive apiece, by
actual count.”
“Don’t you remember, Hal? The feast began with frappéd essence of rose
fragrance, served in cocktail glasses, with hearts of doughnuts. Then
there was a salad of last year’s ambitions and next year’s hopes. And
something to drink that had a reminiscent flavour of coffee. But her
china was lovely. She borrowed most of it from Mrs. Marksley. That’s
how Hal came to be invited with the preps. Gee, when I ask a bunch of
hungry kids to my house, I _feed_ ’em. But then, I know how to cook.
And I don’t have to be so desperately dainty, for fear of blundering in
the menu.”
“You might have waited for some one else to say that,” Larimore rebuked.
“Huh! it’s a poor dog that can’t wag its own tail. Besides, I can’t
remember when you or any of my family made me duck to keep from being
pelted with praise. That poor boy is almost starved. He pretended he
didn’t like olives, so that I could have two. And he was about to
smuggle another sandwich when Mrs. Stevens told what they charge for a
beef tongue, and how it shrinks in cooking.”
“Yes,” the youth roared, “when you go to Ina’s for a meal, your
oesophagus rings a bell every time you swallow. Her mother makes
you feel as if you were eating the grocery bill. We eat like pigs at
our house--all but sister, and she’s sure no recommendation for the
æsthetic diet. She’d be a stunner, with a little more meat on her
bones.”
Eileen flushed and changed the subject. A few minutes later, Hal
lounged across the room to where Lary and Theo sat silently side by
side. He began, in a tone that sought to be intimate:
“I say, old man, it was a rotten shame about those plans. I was just as
sorry as could be. But my mother--”
“One doesn’t speak of such things,” Larimore said curtly.
Judith saved the situation by the timely intervention of the fan--a
woman’s device that evoked from Lary gratitude, from Theo worship.
An exclamation of delight, a moment’s perplexed comparison, a hasty
choice, and Eileen and her uncouth cavalier were gone.