The sight of Cassy issuing from Lennox' rooms had surprised her, as the
unexpected will surprise. But in saying that she was going in, it was
not at all for explanations. Explanations are for strangers. Love
understands--or should understand, and Margaret divined that Cassy had
come on some errand from her father, of whose waylaying and rescue
Lennox had long since told her.
"Will you please move a little?" she added.
Mrs. Austen, after routing the boy, had lowered her glasses. She raised
them again. "Look there!"
At the entrance were two women with a child between them. On the stair
was a man. The door marked "Dr. Winship" had opened. The wide hall was
suddenly full of people.
Mrs. Austen lowered her lorgnette. "Don't make a scene, my dear. At
least, don't make one over my dead body."
Resistance was easy, but to what end? Margaret felt that she could
persist, insist, ring and go in, but now only to be accompanied by her
mother's mocking and stilted sneers. The consciousness of that
subtracted the brightness from the day, the pleasure from the visit.
Then, too, that evening he would come. Then they would be alone.
She turned. A moment more and both were in the street, where Mrs. Austen
forgot about the taxi. Other matters occupied the good woman and
occupied her very agreeably. She had been playing a game, and a rare
game it is, with destiny. The stakes were extravagant, but her cards
were poor. Then abruptly, in one of the prodigious shuffles that fate
contrives, a hand, issuing from nowhere, had dealt her a flush. She
purred at it, at the avenue, at the world, at her daughter.
"I am so glad we are not going anywhere to-night." A car flew by, a
gloved hand waved and the purr continued. "Wasn't that Sarah Amsterdam?
By the way, what did the medium tell you? Anything about a dark man
crossing your path? If not, it was very careless of her. But what was I
talking about? Oh, yes, I am so glad we are to be at home. You can have
a nice, quiet evening with your young man. Only, do you know, I wouldn't
say anything about that little vestal. He might not like it. Men are so
queer. They hate to be misunderstood and to be understood makes them
furious. No, I wouldn't mention it. But now isn't he as full of
surprises as a grab-bag? I thought him a model of the most perfect
propriety, and that only shows how wrong it is to judge by appearances.
Model young men always remind me of floor-walkers. Who was that that
just bowed? Dear me, so it was, and he looked so down in the mouth he
might have been a dentist. On Monday I really must go to my dentist. He
does hurt terribly and that is so reassuring. You feel that you are
getting your money's worth. Don't your teeth need attending to? Ah, here
we are at last! God bless our home!"
Entering the hall, she looked at a little room to the right in which the
manager awed prospecting tenants. Usually it was empty. It was empty
then. Mrs. Austen looked, passed on and, preceding Margaret, entered a
lift that floated them to the home on which she had asked a blessing.