"What a cosy little place you have, ma'am!" And turning to Foster: "I
hope we can have just such a little place as this some day. It's great!"
"I'd know in a minute, ma'am, that you had arranged things," said
Foster, falling in readily with her husband's enthusiasm.
For an instant Mrs. Challoner shaded her eyes with her hand. The room,
she knew only too well, was the very last expression of poverty, yet
these two had shown a delicacy and kindness that she had supposed to be
far beyond them.
"But where's your manners, Foster?" suddenly demanded Stevens. "Surely
you might put your hands to fixing up that supper on the stove! Do now,
like a good girl ..."
"Indeed, she must not--and in that lovely gown, too--besides, there is
really nothing to do," Miriam Challoner quickly returned, for she could
not bear to have Foster see what was cooking there.
"Oh, I'll be very careful, besides, it will seem natural to be doing
things for you," persisted her former maid.
"Yes, take a look at the roast baking there in the oven, anyway," said
Stevens; and no sooner had his wife turned her steps toward the kitchen,
than he quickly leaned over to Mrs. Challoner, and thrusting something
in her hand, he said in an undertone:--
"She's treasurer, ma'am, and I have to account for every penny; but this
she knows nothing about. It's for you--please take it."
In an instant Mrs. Challoner was on her feet, and putting the money back
in his hand, she exclaimed:--
"Why, Stevens, I can't take this! Really, I have money ..."
For a moment Stevens's eyes wandered about the poorly furnished room,
betraying his thoughts to the contrary. This was not lost on Mrs.
Challoner, who immediately went on to explain:--
"Yes, Stevens, and I earn it, too." And she pointed to the typewriter
with a certain pride.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said her former butler contritely, returning
the money quickly to his pocket. "Only, don't let her know ..."
When Foster came back into the room, they were standing over the
typewriter, Mrs. Challoner explaining its mechanism.
"Oh, what a fine thing it is to have an education!" exclaimed the young
wife, looking sharply at her husband; but her penetrating glance was too
much for Stevens, and turning quickly on his heel, he proceeded to
rearrange the chairs.
"Hey, there!" suddenly called out Foster. "Why aren't you more of a
gentleman--where's your manners? Run along there, like a good fellow,
and put some water in the tea-kettle!" Stevens lost no time in obeying;
then drawing close to Mrs. Challoner, Foster whispered:--
"This is for you, ma'am, but don't let Stevens know, for he's as tight
as a drum-head."
"But," protested Mrs. Challoner, looking at the other in astonishment.
"Please, I saved it just for you," insisted Foster, with a look of
disappointment on her face.
"Really, Foster, I don't need it," declared Mrs. Challoner stoutly but
kindly. "I can't take it. Some day, perhaps, I may need money, and then
I'll send for you." And then quietly changing the subject: "How fresh
you look, Foster! And what a man you've married! There is no need to ask
if you are happy, for----"
"Well," said Stevens, approaching them, "we must be going now, for
Bernhardt will be waiting for us."
"It was good of you to see us, ma'am," said Foster, putting out her
hand, just as she had seen the ladies do in the old days at the big
Challoner house on the Avenue.
"So you married for love," said Miriam Challoner, as they started to go.
"Well, _he_ did," conceded Foster.
"_She_ did, ma'am," corrected Stevens; and presently they were sailing
down the street like a pair of lovers "walking out" on a Sunday
afternoon.
"One hundred dollars a month!" sighed Miriam, reseating herself at the
typewriter. "And they were going to give me twenty-five dollars--the
faithful dears!"
Once more engrossed in her work, she did not hear the door-bell, which
had been ringing persistently. At the end of a page she paused and bent
her head low over her work.
"... for love," she mused, half-aloud.
Meanwhile, her caller, determined to be admitted, had stolen softly into
the room, though it was not until she stood beside her that she
attracted Miriam's attention. For a moment Miriam glared hard at her;
she could not believe her own eyes; then, suddenly rising to her feet,
she cried half-joyfully, half-regretfully:--
"Why, it's Shirley Bloodgood! Oh, why did you come! You must not stay,
you must not see ..."
"Why did you hide from me?" quickly returned Shirley. "I have searched
for you for months, and it was only yesterday that I learned from
Stevens where you were, who, by the way, had orders not to reveal your
whereabouts. You might as well have moved a thousand miles away, as
everybody thinks you have."
Miriam sighed weakly.
"It takes money to move a thousand miles away," she protested feebly.
"You are like a needle in a hay stack over here," continued Shirley.
"But why did you come?" Miriam kept on protesting. "Why, Shirley ..."