“What the hell does this mean?” I exclaimed, waving him aside. At that
instant Anita appeared from the little reception-room a few feet away.
“Oh--come in!” she said cordially. “I was expecting you. Burroughs, please
take Mr. Blacklock's hat.”
I followed her into the reception-room, thinking the butler had made some
sort of mistake.
“How did you come out?” she asked eagerly, facing me. “You look your
natural self--not tired or worried--so it must have been not so bad as you
feared.”
“If our friend Langdon hadn't slipped away, I might not look and feel so
comfortable,” said I. “His brother blundered, and there was no one to
checkmate my moves.” She seemed nearer to me, more in sympathy with me than
ever before.
“I can't tell you how glad I am!”
Her eyes were wide and bright, as from some great excitement, and her color
was high. Once my attention was on it, I knew instantly that only some
extraordinary upheaval in that household could have produced the fever that
was blazing in her. Never had I seen her in any such mood as this.
“What is it?” I asked. “What has happened?”
“If anything disagreeable should be said or done this evening here,” she
said, “I want you to promise me that you'll restrain yourself, and not say
or do any of those things that make me--that jar on me. You understand?”
“I am always myself,” replied I. “I can't be anybody else.”
“But you are--several different kinds of self,” she insisted. “And
please--this evening don't be _that_ kind. It's coming into your eyes
and chin now.”
I had lifted my head and looked round, probably much like the leader of a
horned herd at the scent of danger.
“Is this better?” said I, trying to look the thoughts I had no difficulty
in getting to the fore whenever my eyes were on her.
Her smile rewarded me. But it disappeared, gave place to a look of nervous
alarm, of terror even, at the rustling, or, rather, bustling, of skirts in
the hall--there was war in the very sound, and I felt it. Mrs. Ellersly
appeared, bearing her husband as a dejected trailer invisibly but firmly
coupled. She acknowledged my salutation with a stiff-necked nod, ignored my
extended hand. I saw that she wished to impress upon me that she was a very
grand lady indeed; but, while my ideas of what constitutes a lady were at
that time somewhat befogged by my snobbishness, she failed dismally. She
looked just what she was--a mean, bad-tempered woman, in a towering rage.
“You have forced me, Mr. Blacklock,” said she, and then I knew for just
what purpose that voice of hers was best adapted--“to say to you what I
should have preferred to write. Mr. Ellersly has had brought to his ears
matters in connection with your private life that make it imperative that
you discontinue your calls here.”
“My private life, ma'am?” I repeated. “I was not aware that I had a private
life.”
“Anita, leave us alone with Mr. Blacklock,” commanded her mother.
The girl hesitated, bent her head, and with a cowed look went slowly toward
the door. There she paused, and, with what seemed a great effort, lifted
her head and gazed at me. How I ever came rightly to interpret her look
I don't know, but I said: “Miss Ellersly, I've the right to insist that
you stay.” I saw she was going to obey me, and before Mrs. Ellersly could
repeat her order I said: “Now, madam, if any one accuses me of having done
anything that would cause you to exclude a man from your house, I am ready
for the liar and his lie.”
As I spoke I was searching the weak, bad old face of her husband for an
explanation. Their pretense of outraged morality I rejected at once--it was
absurd. Neither up town nor down, nor anywhere else, had I done anything
that any one could regard as a breach of the code of a man of the world.
Then, reasoned I, they must have found some one else to help them out of
their financial troubles--some one who, perhaps, has made this insult to me
the price, or part of the price, of his generosity. Who? Who hates me? In
instant answer, up before my mind flashed a picture of Tom Langdon and Sam
Ellersly arm in arm entering Lewis' office. Tom Langdon wishes to marry
her; and her parents wish it, too; he is the man she was confessing to me
about--these were my swift conclusions.
“We do not care to discuss the matter, sir,” Mrs. Ellersly was replying,
her tone indicating that it was not fit to discuss. And this was the woman
I had hardly been able to treat civilly, so nauseating were her fawnings
and flatterings!
“So!” I said, ignoring her and opening my batteries full upon the old man.
“You are taking orders from Mowbray Langdon now. Why?”
As I spoke, I was conscious that there had been some change in Anita. I
looked at her. With startled eyes and lips apart, she was advancing toward
me.
“Anita, leave the room!” cried Mrs. Ellersly harshly, panic under the
command in her tones.