Margaret, on her way to Lennox that afternoon, wondered whether it might
not be possible for them to live elsewhere.
Born and bred in the sordid hell with a blue sky that New York was
before the war, latterly the sky itself had darkened. The world in which
she moved, distressed her. Its parure of gaiety shocked. Those who
peopled it were not sordid, they were not even blue. Europe agonised and
they dined and danced, displayed themselves at the opera, summarised the
war as dreadful, dismissed it, gossiped and laughed. It was that
attitude which distressed this girl who, had she been capable of wishing
ill to any one, might have wished them treated as were the elegantes of
Brussels.
Margaret had no such evil wish. But she did hope that when married, she
might reside elsewhere.
"There goes that Mrs. Tomlinson," said her mother. "Last night at the
Bazaar--what do you suppose? She asked me to dinner. She actually did!
The woman must be mad."
Margaret made no reply. Park Avenue was very bright. To her also for the
moment the scientific savagery of the Huns was remote. The brightness of
the April day was about her.
"I am in rags," continued Mrs. Austen, who was admirably dressed. "On
Monday I must really look in on Marguerite. She is an utter liar, but
then you feel so safe with her. Where is it that your young man lives?
Somebody said that lies whiten the teeth. It must be there, isn't it? Or
is it here? These places all look alike, none of them seems to have any
numbers and that makes it so convenient."
They had reached a chalk cliff, on the face of which were windows,
balconies and, at the base, two low steps. On the upper step, in large
black letters, was the cliff's name.
Through glasses, which she did not need, Mrs. Austen surveyed it. "The
Sandringham! Why not The Throne?"
Margaret went on and up. Mrs. Austen followed. At once they were in a
large, marble-flagged hall. Beyond, from a lift, a boy in green and
gilt, peered greedily. At the left was a door with a brass plate that
said: "Dr. Winship." Opposite was another door with another plate on
which was "Lennox."
That, also, Mrs. Austen surveyed. "I did not know your young man was an
earl, but perhaps he is merely a duke. Shall we send that boy or do we
ring? In bachelor quarters one hardly knows what to do--or what goes on
in them either," she immediately and suggestively added.
The door at the right had opened. Cassy was coming out. The flush was
still on her face and in her hand was the money. Mechanically she
thumbed it. She had looked down at the roll of bills and through them at
the butcher, the baker, the candlestickmaker. She looked up and saw
Margaret whose photograph she had seen a moment before. Instantly she
recognised her. Instantly she realised that it was for her the violets
and the sack of bonbons were waiting. As quickly she understood why the
teapot had shouted: "Be off!"
From Margaret she glanced at Mrs. Austen, who was well worth it. In and
about her eyes and mouth there was an expression of such lofty
aloofness, an air of such aristocratic disdain, that though she stood
without motion, movement, or gesture; though, too, there was no draught,
the skirt of her admirable frock seemed to lift and avert itself. It was
the triumph of civilised life. Yet that triumph she contrived to
heighten. Raising the glasses which she did not need, she levelled them
at Cassy.
Cassy, who had but glanced at her, arrested the glance and, for a
second, held it on her, but with an unconcern so obliterating that it
had the effect of blotting-paper. Mrs. Austen felt herself disappearing.
It was as though Cassy had looked at her and had seen nothing whatever.
And that to Mrs. Austen! The lady squirmed but she rallied, the more
readily perhaps since now Cassy had gone, and she said and pleasantly
enough: "What a charming vestal! Such an engaging manner! Seemed, too,
so at home! Let me see? It was she, was it not, who was singing last
night? Rather a coincidence, don't you think?"
Margaret made no reply. The incident, though long in the telling, had
barely outlasted a moment, and crossing the hall, she was approaching
Lennox' door.
Without haste, Mrs. Austen circumvented her. "Not to-day, my dear. As it
is, it is fortunate we came on foot. Otherwise, it would have been
awkward and that is always so distressing. Another day."
Quietly, easily she had got herself in front of Margaret who, without
shoving, could not reach the bell.
With candid eyes she looked at her mother. "You seem to be
suggesting----"
"Perish the thought!" Mrs. Austen sweetly and quickly cut in. "I would
not even suggest that one and two make three, for perhaps they don't.
No, my dear, I suggest nothing. I merely insist. To-day we must postpone
our little visit and to-night, when he comes, you can have it out with
him. A lover's quarrel! What more could you wish? But here now is the
lift-boy. We must dissemble. It's quite like a play.
"No," she interrupted herself to remark at the approaching, greedy and
enquiring youth, "I want nothing whatever except not to be engaged in
conversation."
"Whachyer mean?" asked the boy, who, however, promptly blighted by her
level stare, omitted to pursue it.
She turned again to Margaret. "We will find a taxi at the corner. These
first spring days are so enervating."