Four restrained and well-bred gossips lingered at table, after the other
boarders had strayed to porch and parlor, and toyed with their little
cups of coffee and their cigarettes.
“But I am—frankly—no end astonished,” confessed Miss Sylvia Stark,
baring her immaculate soul to the chosen few. “One shouldn’t have
illusions at—at thirty, I suppose, but I was so enchanted, Miss Bascom,
when I joined your little family, to find such good fellowship, such
obvious accord. It was quite Utopian—really!
“And now, so soon, to find these lovely young persons all fallen
out—eating with downcast eyes, darting black looks about the table
generally, and sighing like furnaces—as Shakespeare would say.”
“It’s too awfully bad!” murmured the hostess. “We have trials—yes,
trials, from time to time. But we _were_ such a happy family! Kitty is
the sweetest child. If I were—er—married, you know, and had a daughter,
I should want her to be like Kitty.
“And Douglas Raymond—oh, quite adorable! A little immature, a little
impractical and visionary, but such a good and wholesome lad. I suppose
it was inevitable that a discordant note should sound; the little idyll
could not be prolonged forever. Miss Perkins is charming, in her way,
but—oh, such a different type, you know.”
[Illustration: portrait of Mrs. Susan Tredmore]
“I had a feeling,” said Mrs. Tredmore, “when Miss Perkins came here,
about a month ago, that—oh, you know! a sort of intuition—that another
element had entered. Well, I sensed something inimical to our peace and
harmony.”
Dr. Hillary reflectively polished his glasses, half smiling to himself
over his musings.
“A little cosmos!” he murmured gently. “Wherever two or more persons are
gathered together there you have a little world, with all the elements
and factors of existence functioning in an area circumscribed.
Laboratory specimens, one might say, but displaying to the student and
observer all the phenomena of nature and the universe.”
“Fascinating!” breathed Miss Stark.
“The history of man is reënacted,” continued the professor. “Eternal
Eve, eternal Adam—and the eternal Lilith!”
“Lilith!” sighed Mrs. Tredmore contentedly. “Isn’t it strange that the
name flitted through my thoughts the first time that I met Miss Perkins
here? Oh, pray, don’t misinterpret my meaning!”
“I comprehend your meaning—perfectly, Mrs. Tredmore,” said Miss Stark.
“Miss Perkins is really quite a charming person—and intelligent, and
talented—an artist who has obviously enjoyed success of a sort; but—her
lovely eyes—a little hard? The beautiful mouth—a little sensuous? Her
quite too perfect hands—the long and tapering fingers of the artist—are
they not—er—”
“May we say, the least thought predatory?” ventured the professor.
“The word was on my lips!” exclaimed Miss Bascom with glowing
satisfaction. “And yet, I tell you, I’m quite fond of Miss Perkins. She
can be very sweet and winsome; there’s something very likable about the
girl.”
“Say, folks!” called Ralph Atwood from the parlor door, “don’t let me
bust up your committee meeting, but the Orpheus Gleemen are on the
air—or will be in a minute. It’s nothing for me to get excited about,
but Miss Bascom’s pretty keen about ’em.”
“Let us go in,” said the hostess. “We’ve had such a charming chat,
haven’t we? It’s these little intimate, congenial moments with really
understanding persons that make the life of the professional hostess
endurable, I can assure you.”
“And it is hostesses like you, dear Miss Bascom,” said Miss Stark, “that
free life in a boarding house from its traditional terrors. Wistaria
Lodge is more like a little club for intellectual persons!”
“That’s sweet and gracious of you, Miss Stark!” declared Miss Bascom.
Henry Caddock sat in a little haze of pipe smoke with the evening paper.
Kitty Granby occupied the window seat, running over the leaves of a book
and affecting an air of quiet abstraction. Most of the other regulars
were grouped about the front room, reading or chatting.
The loud-speaker suddenly took the floor.
“This is WXL, Port Cardinal. Again our home-town boys are greeting the
radio neighbors. The Orpheus Gleemen present as their first number of
the program the immortal Richard Wagner’s ‘Pilgrims’ Chorus,’ from that
beautiful masterpiece of operatic composition, ‘Tannhäuser.’ The
talented young artist, Miss Dora Perkins, will preside at the piano,
giving her usual aid and inspiration to her fellow artists.”
“Beautiful-but-dumb Dora’s getting a boost!” chuckled Ralph Atwood,
grinning at Kitty Granby. “She’s been googly-goo-ing the announcer, and
she can do that little thing, believe me!”
“Has any one got the new number of this magazine?” inquired Kitty,
ostentatiously lifting a periodical from the reading table. “I’m reading
a continued story in it.”
“Oh, listen to the music, kid!” chuckled Ralph cruelly. “It might be
fair, in spite of the weather.”
“I think they sing quite admirably,” observed Miss Stark, at the end of
the number. “And Miss Perkins’s accompaniment was really strong and
quite authoritative, I should say.”
“Dora packs a punch!” declared Ralph. “And when she puts her heart into
it, get ready to duck!”
“Hm—such quaint and original expressions!” murmured Miss Stark.
“Mr. Atwood keeps us abreast of the times, with respect to the
vernacular,” said Dr. Hillary with quiet sarcasm.
The first tenor of the Gleemen sang an operatic aria, and then joined
the second bass in a dramatic duet from another music drama.
“How about our star boarder, Miss Bascom?” Ralph inquired. “He’s taking
a back seat tonight. A whole hour’s program without a solo from the boy
wonder! That’s a wallop at Wistaria Lodge, and I’ll write to the manager
of WXL about it.”