And it came to pass, that behold! we broke bread, and ate, and for a few
soft, silly weeks, lived, in what I might call a fool's paradise. As any
paradise, however, is better than none at all, and too much purgatory is
apt to lose the mulligatawniness of its flavor, this little breathing
spell gave us a chance to recuperate, and, as the French put it, to
recoil, in order to leap better.
It was like this. A lady friend of a cousin of an aunt of our laundress,
knew somebody that was acquainted with a person, who had heard of a
Finnish maiden anxious for a position. It was a bit roundabout, but not
worse than the simple recipes in Alessandro Filippini's cook-book.
Moreover, a Finnish maiden--or any maiden--was less of a luxury and more
of a necessity than eggs _à la reine_. We therefore negotiated, with the
felicitous result that one bright morning Letitia received a
notification that the anxious Olga would wait upon her. We both of us
read up Finland in the encyclopædia, it being one of those obscure
European countries with which we were not familiar. Letitia thought it
belonged to Scandinavia; I mixed it up with Lapland. We were able to
settle the point to our mutual satisfaction before Olga arrived.
"I have a dreadful presentiment," observed Letitia, "that you will say
'I see her Finnish'! If you do, I could never endure her. I warn you,
Archie."
"As though I should perpetrate such a knock-kneed pun!" I exclaimed
indignantly. "Our experiences may have weakened me physically, but my
intellect is still unimpaired."
Olga arrived in the early morn whilst I was shaving. Letitia interviewed
her in the drawing-room, and I fondly hoped that my services would not
be needed. These cook-dialogues told upon my peace of mind, and I was
beginning to yearn for a chance to give myself, heart and soul, to my
affairs. I had finished shaving, and was admiring the velvety skin that
I had coaxed into prominence, when Letitia came bustling in, very
serious and important.
"Before I quite settle with Olga," she said, "I should so like you just
to take a look at her, Archie. Would you mind? At first sight I thought
her repulsive, but after looking at her fixedly, for a long time, I
discovered that she really had a kind face."
"I'll come in"--I sighed mournfully--"and investigate. Of course, dear,
good looks are not essential. She will not have to pose in the
drawing-room. In fact, we really are not obliged to look at her at all.
Personally, I think it would be soothing not to do so."
However, Letitia's views were not far-fetched. The Finnish lady was
repellent enough to gaze upon. She wore a cape and a loose, dingy
linsey-woolsey dress, and was so squat that her head looked like a knob,
to be taken on and off. In fact, the head seemed out of place and
unnecessary--almost as though she had borrowed somebody else's. She sat
by the window, with her hands folded upon her lap, and appeared to be
"taking solid comfort," as the saying is.
For one moment a strange idea--but no, I banished it immediately as
preposterous. Irrelevant though it may seem, perhaps this is the place
in which the reader might advantageously learn our ages. I have tried to
conceal them, hitherto, but youth--like murder--must out. I was
twenty-five; Letitia nineteen. These little details need not be
mentioned again. Their somewhat brusque interpolation at this late stage
seems necessary for a proper comprehension of what is to follow.
"You don't think she is too frightful?" whispered Letitia, as my eyes
were riveted upon the figureless figure. "Do, please, look at her face."
The face was rosy and amiable. It was not necessary to look very fixedly
at her to discover that. It was a vast improvement upon the acidulated
countenance of the late Miss Lyberg. I wondered if the strange idea that
I had banished so promptly could, by any chance, have occurred to
Letitia. I made a mental vow--a resolute inward swear--not to ask her.
"In this case, her face is her fortune," I said, taking Letitia aside;
"it is--quite a face. A smile, occasionally, will help us along,
Letitia. This girl certainly looks as though she didn't hate us, just at
present. It will be quite a treat not to be hated. I should engage her
if I were you, and trust to luck. It is a good sign that we are not
instantly attracted toward her. Perhaps it is a happy augury."
Olga Allallami--for such was her title--was thereupon secured. She
seemed pleased, even grateful, which impressed me as being so drolly
unusual, that I was almost suspicious. Cooks would make a cynic of the
Angel Gabriel,--though I have no intention of comparing myself to that
seraph.
"These Finnish girls," explained Letitia (I had asked for no
explanation), "are brought up out of doors. They live a very active life
in their own country in the fields. They are lithe and agile. When they
come here, poor things, and undertake sedentary pursuits, the change is
bound to tell upon them. Their sinuous figures disappear; they grow
squat and stumpy; instead of the lissome, flexible girl, they develop
into the heavy, inactive matron. That's it, of course."
Letitia appeared to be pursuing her thoughts aloud--for her own benefit,
and perhaps for mine. It seemed to be a reasonable way of looking at
Miss Allallami. In any case, a beautiful cook was unnecessary. Nor did
it seem possible to find one. All the beautiful cooks were on the
stage--in the chorus, where the remuneration was larger, if less
certain, and the life more glittering, if less healthy. The beautiful
cooks were all singing "tra la la" in comic opera, and were not worrying
themselves about "refined Christian homes" in upper New York.
Miss Allallami came to her kitchen with dazzling punctuality next day,
and almost before we knew it, the riot of our life was quelled, and an
almost ominous tranquillity settled upon us. For once, we seemed to have
done the right thing, in the right way, at the right time. Our Olga
proved to be most affable. She spoke English fairly well and delighted
to understand us. Her cooking, while not precisely Lucullian, was the
best we had known, so far. She thoroughly understood the art of boiling
water, and upon that ground-work built up a satisfactory culinary knack.
She was prompt and willing; she was desirous of pleasing.
In a neat white apron, she looked far less objectionable. In fact,
within a few days after her arrival, we neither of us noticed her
physical uncomeliness. Either we grew accustomed to it, or we had
magnified it in the first instance. Letitia, always enthusiastically
inclined, declared that she thought Olga perfectly sweet, which seemed a
bit exaggerated to my less exuberant moods. Yet I was bound to admit
that she had a nice face, a comfortable way of looking at one, and a
comforting manner. There was no suggestion of anarchy in anything that
she did. She never went out. The height of her enjoyment appeared to be
reached when she sat down. She loved to sit down. When her day's work
was done, she sat and sewed, which seemed so respectable! Our other
handmaidens--so Letitia told me--never sewed. They pinned things on. As
long as they could get pins they paid no attention to needles.
"She makes such cute, needlework-y things!" said Letitia gushingly, one
day, "dear little dresses and caps. I fancy, Archie, that she must be
working for a store. It really does seem, dear, as though we had a
treasure, at last. And just to think how doubtful we were about her. You
were right; it was a good sign that we were not instantly attracted."
Miss Allallami fitted into the household scheme admirably. She was
always ready to efface herself, and in fact seemed to prefer it.
Gradually, Letitia and I grew quite light-hearted. We began to go about
and see people. We called, and emerged from our husk, so to speak. Meals
were always ready for us, and the hot dishes were not cold nor the cold
dishes hot. System was introduced into our midst, and Olga--well, I
would have doubled her wages gladly.
Several weeks passed, and the bolt had not fallen from the blue. We went
to Tarrytown, and visited Aunt Julia, who rejoiced with us in our find.
The old lady was elated at our happiness, but knew that things would
right themselves eventually. She said something about a long lane that
had no turning. I fancied that I had heard it before. When we returned,
Letitia plunged into the classics once again, and good old Ovid was
trotted out, refreshed after his vacation. I set to work, and added
chapters to my _Lives of Great Men_. At the office, I labored with
renewed vigor, and Tamworth asserted that I must have taken a new lease
of life. He was very complimentary, was Tamworth, and it was the
invitation I tendered him to dine with us--which he promptly
accepted--that ousted me from the sweet security in which I seemed to
have been lulled.
He came to dinner--and a very good dinner we had. It was neatly served
by Olga, who, with her face all smiles, appeared almost to coax us to
eat. I laughingly asked Tamworth if he recalled a former dinner with us,
for at present I felt far superior to that uncanny day. Yes, he
remembered it, and was quite amused. I noticed, that he watched Olga
very closely--with almost embarrassing attention, but I ascribed this to
his interest in her truly respectable dinner, a dinner, by-the-by, that
had no premonitory menu cards. We had grown out of that sort of thing,
and out of others. Letitia no longer appeared _décolleté_, although I
still wore evening clothes.
After dinner, when Letitia had left us to our cigars, Tamworth struck a
match, and, pausing before he lighted his weed, looked at me with a
puzzled manner.
"I'm surprised at you, Fairfax," he said. "Of course she is a good cook.
There is no doubt about that. But do you think it quite nice,
or--advisable?"
"What--what do you mean?"
"Well," he said nervously, "it seems a pity that the woman shouldn't
stay at home with her husband, or--if she is a widow, with her people."
"My dear Tamworth," I remarked laughing, "you are a humorist. Why, she
has never even told us that she is married. I'm quite sure she isn't."
"Oh, I hope she is," he cried, "I hope for Mrs. Fairfax's sake that she
is. Say, old man, you certainly don't want this sort of thing. I am sure
it is very charitable of you--and all that. It is very sweet and womanly
of Mrs. Fairfax. But the other people in the house must talk."
At first I thought the man had gone stark, staring mad. He had taken
very little wine at dinner, so it couldn't possibly be that. I looked at
him in amazement.
"You don't mean to tell me," he went on, "that you're blind?"
Then he said some things, in a low tone, that I--I really can't write.
They were horrible. They sent the blood rushing to my face. They
impelled me back to the day we engaged Olga, when a strange idea had
occurred to me, that I had banished instantly. So thoroughly had I
banished it, that it had never occurred again, and came to me now as a
sheer and odious novelty. Tamworth could have no object in making these
suggestions to me. He was undoubtedly in earnest. Yet it seemed so
ridiculous and so lacking in--er--etiquette. Olga was such a pleasant,
good-natured person. Still, I was bound to admit that even pleasant,
good-natured persons--
I rose, and began to walk up and down, mentally cursing my guest. In
return for bread, he had made me uncomfortable. It was quite a ticklish
position in which I found myself. The question must be discussed with
Letitia, and--Quixotic, or some other "otic," though it may sound--the
notion of such a discussion was most distasteful to me. Aunt Julia would
have called me an idiot; perhaps I _was_ an idiot; still, because a
pretty girl happens to be a man's wife, it does seem distressing that he
should moot topics with her, that, if she were somebody else's wife,
would remain unmooted.
Tamworth said no more on the subject; he evidently considered that he
had done his duty, and had no further mission to fulfil. When we joined
Letitia in the drawing-room, Tamworth and my wife monopolized the
conversation. I could not take part in it; I felt too oppressed by the
sudden apparition of the serpent that had appeared in our Eden. Letitia
tried to include me in the small-talk, but she did not succeed. I sat,
plunged in thought, dreading to think of Tamworth's departure, when I
felt that I should be forced to disconcert Letitia. And she had been so
happy for a few weeks, poor girl! Possibly, Tamworth was what they call
an "alarmist." I could guarantee him no more dinners in my house.
At last he went, and we were alone. I made up my mind, while he was
putting on his bonnet and shawl outside, that I would defer my
discussion with Letitia until the morning. It would come better at the
boiled-egg moment, when we were quite calm and dispassionate. Moreover,
I could brood over it all night, and wisdom might come to me in that
way.
"How quiet you were, Archie," said Letitia, "and what a time you and Mr.
Tamworth were over your cigars! What _were_ you talking about?"
I made a bold stroke. "Tamworth," I replied in solemn, funereal tones,
"was talking about Olga."
"The dinner certainly was excellent," said Letitia proudly, "and I'm
glad we invited him. So he talked about Olga? I noticed, Archie, that he
was staring at her, in really a rude way, while we were dining. I
couldn't help thinking that perhaps Mr. Tamworth is a--flirt!"
What a tonic a laugh is! Letitia's little suggestion appealed to me as
so inordinately funny--despite my absence of a sense of humor--that I
fell back in my chair, convulsed. I laughed until the tears rolled down
my cheeks. I had not made so merry since the visit of Miss Priscilla
Perfoozle. I couldn't help picturing Tamworth's face, on learning that
my wife had suggested the idea of his flirting with the winsome Miss
Allallami. It did me good. I felt better immediately. The sinister
aspect of things seemed less alarming.
"I don't see the joke," said Letitia. "If you are amused because you
look upon Olga as too plain to be flirted with--well, all I can say is
that every eye formeth its own beauty. Mr. Tamworth is seemingly very
sedate, but still waters run deep. Really, Archie,"--as I continued to
shake,--"I think you are very rude. Nothing annoys me more than to be
laughed at."
The psychological moment had apparently arrived. There was no need to
wait for the breakfast hour. After having laughed myself strong, I felt
primed for the unpleasant task. Poor little ingenuous Letitia! I dubbed
myself a mean, sneaking sort of a Satan!
"Letitia," I began, "I have something to say to you."
This sounded suspiciously like Mr. William Collier, at Weber and
Fields', and I realized it as soon as I had spoken. It was a bad
beginning. Letitia anticipated a jest, for she followed up my remark
with "Don't tell me that you are--going--away--from--here?"
"My dear," I said lugubriously, "Arthur Tamworth says that Olga must be
married."
Letitia looked surprised and a bit scornful. "And yet they say that
women are gossips, and that men are superior!" she observed
sententiously. "If that isn't a confession of utter weakness! Two men,
after dinner, with cigars and _liqueurs_, can find nothing better to
talk about than the love affairs of the cook! It is my turn to laugh
now. Excuse me."
I gladly allowed her to laugh, as I thought it would do her good. It had
been so beneficial to me that I should have felt selfish if I had
checked her mirth. However, Letitia was not as convulsively entertained
as I had been.
"Now, dear," I said, when she had finished, "I want you to listen to me.
I--I--really do hate to tell you. I--I--can scarcely bring myself to it.
But--but--Tamworth insists--"
I withdrew to the back of her chair, where I could not see her face. In
low tones, I imparted the gist of Arthur Tamworth's suspicions. It was
most distressing; it was painful.
"The wretch!" cried Letitia, springing to her feet. "To think that we
have harbored such a man in our house! Really, Archie, your friends are
beneath contempt. Although I am your wife, I don't feel myself called
upon to associate with such creatures. How dare you tell me the subject
of your indelicate smoking-room orgies? I have always heard that men
were disgraceful after dinner. Aunt Julia told me so. She said that
coffee after dinner was a signal for all respectable women to withdraw.
I did not believe her. Now I do. And to think that my own
husband--you--Archie!"
Letitia turned upon me with cheeks aflame. Her indignation was cyclonic.
Suddenly, as she gazed upon my helplessness--for she was a girl of
moods--her fury seemed to disperse itself. Gradually a reflective look
appeared in her eyes. She grew singularly calm. Presently, as I said
nothing, she simply stood still, and looked at me, musingly.
"You can easily ask her," I said weakly and huskily, "if--if--she is
married."
"Ask her?" cried Letitia, aghast. "Not for the world would I do so. How
terribly angry with myself I should feel, if she were married, and how
horribly angry with her if she were not! Don't you see that it is
impossible? It is too awful to contemplate. Perhaps--perhaps--_you_
wouldn't mind asking her."
"Letitia!" I exclaimed, shocked.
"Oh," Letitia gurgled, in tears. "It is quite too wicked to think about!
Why--why--did we have that horrid man up to dinner? Poor Olga! She is a
good, kind woman. Yesterday, when I had a splitting headache, she bathed
my forehead with _eau de cologne_. Aunt Julia herself couldn't have been
kinder. I can't believe--"
"But, my girl," I said sympathetically, "if she has a husband, she has
surely committed no crime. What Tamworth suggests is--er--pardonable,
under those circumstances. We merely want to know. Don't you see--"
"Oh, I see," she cried pettishly, "of course I see. Seeing does not help
me at all. You want me to catechize the woman because you are afraid to
do so. Men are such cowards. Perhaps she will sue me for libel, if I ask
her such questions. I shouldn't complain. I deserve to be sued for
libel. I feel like suing myself. And--and--you are quite safe, because
you can always say that it isn't the thing for you to interfere in such
matters."
"We really ought to have guessed--"
"_You_ really ought to have guessed," she declared unreasonably. "You
are six years older than I am. You are a man of the world.
Anyway"--triumphantly--"it may not be true. And if I ever find that it
isn't, I'll go right down to Mr. Tamworth and tell him what I think of
him, in his own office, before all his clerks and typewriters--and
yours. He must be a horrible ninny. Really, I wouldn't dare to have such
a man around if--if--"
There was nothing more to be said. Letitia was in a mood that made
argument uncomfortable, and the topic was not refreshing. I felt
relieved that we had threshed the matter out, but a trifle uneasy as to
future developments. These weeks had been very pleasant--the only
unperturbed period we had spent in our home. Could it be that our brief
happiness was for ever over?
At breakfast, next morning, serenity reasserted itself. We were almost
inclined to dismiss all thoughts of the previous evening's discomfiture.
It all seemed so groundless. We ate our boiled eggs quite placidly. Miss
Allallami brought in the coffee and smiled reassuringly at us. Letitia
blushed guiltily as she saw her, and I felt quite unworthy and ashamed.
"I do like her face so much," said Letitia quietly, as I looked over the
papers. "I don't know when I have liked it so well. Not for the world
would I vex her. I am trying, Archie, to put myself in her place."
"My dear!"
"I feel like a sister toward her," continued Letitia. "I have rarely
been so attached to anybody. I'll tell you what we'll do, Archie--if you
agree to it. You know that Aunt Julia has invited us to stay with her
over Sunday at Tarrytown. We'll just let things go on as they are for
the present. And on Thursday, when we go to Tarrytown, I'll submit the
case to Aunt Julia. If she thinks I ought to speak to Olga--I agree to
do so. Whatever she advises shall be done. That is fair, isn't it? Tell
me, dear, that you are satisfied."
I was satisfied--eminently so. Postponing evils is always a gratifying
occupation, and the few remaining days of pleasant domesticity that this
arrangement left us seemed delightful. We would eat, drink and be merry,
while we could. We would avoid the dreadful subject until Thursday.
The fool's paradise bewitched us as surely as before. Tamworth faded
into the distance and the old order reëstablished itself. We enjoyed
ourselves in our happy little home. When Thursday came, Letitia took
quite an affectionate farewell of Miss Allallami, and off we went to
Tarrytown. Had I not reminded Letitia of her agreement, I veritably
believe that she would have forgotten it. It seemed a pity to reopen the
wound, but I felt that it was cruel to be kind.
Aunt Julia was very much perturbed, and I am bound to say, most
disagreeable. She was indignant at Letitia's qualms, and she told me
that I was not only weak but unmanly. She insinuated that we were both
candidates for the nursery and unfitted to cope with the problems of
married life. She seemed to have no doubts as to the truth of Tamworth's
abominable innuendo, and, to cap it all, she opined that it was a good
thing we had at least one friend who seemed to be sensible and
dignified. Letitia was almost in tears. I felt that I positively hated
Aunt Julia.
There is no use prolonging the story. The bolt from the blue fell. The
blue had seemed so emphatically blue, and the bolt had been so
invisible! It made matters worse.
"I shall have to speak to Olga," said poor Letitia, in the train on the
way home; "I see that there is no other course to pursue. It seems ten
thousand pities to nip the poor girl's affection for us. I dare say she
is at the window, awaiting our arrival. And I must greet her with an
odious catechism."
There was nobody at the window, however. The blinds in the drawing-room
were down, and the aspect of the house was _morne_--which is the best
adjective, though French, that I can think of. We rang the bell, and,
after a pause, the door was opened, and we went up stairs. At the door
of our apartment, instead of Miss Allallami, we encountered a strange
woman in a white apron. For a moment we stood, direly perplexed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax?" asked the strange woman, with a pleasant smile.
It was extraordinary. To be asked at one's own door if one were oneself!
We entered without replying. Letitia kept well in the background. I
imagined that we should find our apartment looted. Perhaps the strange
woman was--looting!
The drawing-room was untouched. Everything was in its proper place, not
an ornament missing; not a gewgaw disturbed. The woman was still
smiling.
"I congratulate you, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax," she said with a Finnish
intonation. "You will be glad, I know. It occurred yesterday, and it was
too late to telegraph. Olga--"
"What about Olga?" cried Letitia.
"Go on," I commanded imperiously.
The strange woman simpered, and looked down. "Olga," she murmured, "Olga
has twins--two of the sweetest little babies, a boy and a girl. One she
is going to call Archie, and the other Letitia. Oh, she is as well as
can be expected. She--"
I looked round quickly, the extent of the calamity breaking in on my
dense brain. I turned to Letitia. She had fainted--on the tiger-head.