It was eight o’clock when Mrs. Russell came. Finding the door unlocked,
she walked in without permission, as one is surely privileged to do in
so mean a home. They were in the kitchen, with the water running in the
sink, and they didn’t hear her come down the hall, didn’t know that she
was standing in the door, watching them.
"Well, are you ready?" she demanded.
They both turned and regarded her with just the same look--a fine
indignation, a stern surprise--Mrs. Kennedy with both hands plunged in
the dish-pan, Angelica holding a dish which she was wiping. They
resented the intrusion, and they showed it.
"Yes, I’m ready," said Angelica slowly.
She stood regarding Mrs. Russell with a steady, level gaze, not devoid
of insolence, for she knew no other way to meet the careless
condescension of that lady.
Although she was young and lovely, and in spite of Mrs. Russell’s
slovenliness and egotism, Angelica felt her own inferiority. She hadn’t
what Mrs. Russell had--Mrs. Russell standing there in a dreadful green
tweed suit, with a mannish sort of felt hat on her wild red hair, with
her great flat feet and her mechanical smile. That manner, and above
all, that voice, clear, cool, soft! Quite unconsciously, Angelica had a
profound Latin admiration for _sangfroid_. She couldn’t be coolly
self-possessed; couldn’t be anything more or less than rude.
"Get your things on, then, won’t you please?" said Mrs. Russell.
Angelica was on the point of saying that she would first finish the task
in hand, but her mother pushed her gently away.
"Go along!" she said.
There was but one course open to a proud soul. It was essential to keep
Mrs. Russell waiting as long as possible, and that Angelica did. She
could hear voices from the parlour--her mother’s, subdued and
monotonous, and Mrs. Russell’s, light, gay, and sweet. While she dawdled
before the mirror there came a new voice, shouting reproachfully through
the open front door:
"Now then, Mrs. Russell! It’s late!"
Angelica looked out and saw in their little hall a chauffeur in livery.
Mrs. Russell was also looking out.
"Very well, Courtland," she said soothingly. "Come in and get the young
lady’s luggage. Where is it, please?"
"Here!" said Angelica, pointing to a little pasteboard suitcase, painted
to look like leather.
The chauffeur regarded it in silence for a minute; then he picked it up
disdainfully, swung it in the air to emphasize its lightness, and went
out.
"Don’t be all night!" he called back.
His effrontery was amazing to Mrs. Kennedy. She couldn’t help but feel
suspicious of a lady whose servants spoke to her so disrespectfully.
Mrs. Russell, instead of being angry, seemed alarmed.
"Make haste, please!" she said. "It’s late."
She beckoned to Angelica, who followed at her heels. They went out, and
the front door closed after them.
Mrs. Kennedy sank into the rocking-chair and put her head down on her
folded arms, on the table. She had an odd and horrible sensation, such
as a fast-walking man might feel at coming suddenly up against a high
wall. She was at the end--the end of something. She was like a tired,
mercilessly driven horse whose rider has jumped off. Those twenty years
of drudgery, the struggle to "keep up a home," the debts so painfully
met, the persecutions and indignities endured, all for that girl who had
gone off with only a smile over her shoulder! She groaned--a sound which
startled even herself. It was all so wasted, so utterly done with now!
Then like a whirlwind came Angelica back again, seized the little woman
in her arms, and strained her against her thin body.
"Mommer!" she cried with a sob. "Dear, dear darling old mommer! I had to
come--just to say good-by alone. Don’t be sad, deary mommer, please!
It’s only for a little while, you know!"
"No!" said her mother’s heart. "You will never come back. I have lost
you!"