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.”