It took a good deal of explaining, however, to make Ted understand. He
was still tightly bound, though very angrily conscious when they found
him and his language when Oliver removed the improvised gag was at first
of such an army variety that Oliver wondered doubtfully if he hadn't
better replace it until he got Ted alone. Also Oliver was forced to
curse himself rather admiringly for the large number of unnecessary
knots he had used, when he started to unravel his captive.
When they finally got him completely untangled Ted's first remarks were
hardly those of gratitude. He declared sulkily that his head felt as if
it were going to split open, that he must have a bump on the back of it
as big as a squash and that it wasn't Oliver's fault if he hadn't caught
pneumonia out on that fire-escape--the air, believe him, was _cold_!
Mrs. Severance, however, and as usual, rose to the occasion and produced
a bottle of witch-hazel from the bathroom with which she insisted on
bathing the bump till Ted remarked disgruntledly that he smelt like
a hospital. Oliver watched the domestic scene with frantic laughter
tearing at his vitals--this was so entirely different and unromantic an
end to the evening from that from which Oliver had set out to rescue Ted
like a spectacled Mr. Grundy and which Ted in his gust of madness had so
bitterly and grandiosely planned.
Then they moved back into the living-room and the story was related
consecutively, by Oliver with fanciful adornments, by Mrs. Severance
with a chill self-satisfaction that Oliver noticed with pleasure was
like touching icicles to Ted. Ted gave his version--which only amounted
to waking up on the fire-escape, trying to shout and succeeding
merely in getting mouthfuls of towels--Oliver preened himself a little
there--and lying there stoically and getting more and more furious until
he was rescued. And while he told it he kept looking everywhere in the
room but at Rose. And then Oliver remembered Mr. Piper and looked at his
watch--11.04. He rose and gazed at Mrs. Severance.
“Well,” he said, and then caught her eye. It was chilly, doubtless, and
even by Oliver's unconventional standards he could not think of her as
anything but a highly dangerous and disreputable woman--but that eye
was alive with an irony and humor that seemed to him for a moment more
perfect than those in any person he had ever seen. “_Must_ you go?” she
said sweetly. “It's been _such_ an interesting party--so _original_,”
she hesitated. “Isn't that the word? Of course,” she shrugged, “I can
see that you're simply dying to get away and yet you can hardly complain
that I haven't been an entertaining hostess, can you?”
“Hardly,” said Oliver meekly, and Ted said nothing--he merely looked
down as if his eyes were augers and his only concern in life was
screwing them into the floor.
“_Must_ you go?” she repeated with merciless mocking. “When it _has_
been fun--and I don't suppose we'll ever see each other again in all
our lives? For I can hardly come out to Melgrove now, can I, Oliver? And
after you've had a quiet brotherly talk with her, I suppose I'll even
have to give up lunching with Louise. And as for Ted--poor Ted--poor Mr.
Billett with all his decorations of the Roller Towel, First Class--Mr.
Billett must be a child that has been far too well burnt this evening,
not, in any imaginable future to dread the fire?”
Both flushed, Ted deeper perhaps than Oliver, but neither answered.
There really did not seem to be anything for them to say. She moved
gently toward the door--the ideal hostess. And as she moved she talked
and every word she said was a light little feathered barb that fell on
them softly as snowflakes and stuck like tar.
“I hope you won't mind if I send you wedding presents--both of you--oh,
of course I'll be quite anonymous but it will be such a pleasure--if
you'll both of you only marry nice homey girls!” Ted started at this as
if he had been walking barefoot and had stepped on a wasp and she caught
him instantly.
“Dear, dear, so Mr. Billett has serious intentions also--and I thought a
little while ago that I was really in Mr. Billett's confidence--it
only shows how little one can tell. As for Oliver, he of course
is blighted--at present--but I'm sure that that will not last very
long--one always finds most adequate consolation sooner or later though
possibly not in the way in which one originally supposed.” She sighed
elfinly as Oliver muttered under his breath.
“What was that, Oliver? Oh, no, I am not at all the sort of person that
writes anonymous letters to one's wife--or family--or sister,” a spaced
little pause between each noun. “And besides it wouldn't be much use
in me, would it? for of course you young gentlemen will tell the young
ladies you marry _everything_ about yourselves--all honorable young
people do. And then too,” she spread out her hands, “to be frank. We've
all been so beautifully frank about ourselves tonight--that's one thing
I _have_ liked so much about the evening--well, it would hardly be worth
my while to take lessons in blackmailing from Elizabeth if the only
subjects on which I could apply them were two impecunious young men.
And, oh, I realize most perfectly--and please don't misunderstand
me!--that we're all of us thieves together so to speak and only getting
along on each other's sufferance. But then, if one of us ever starts
telling, even a little, he or she can hardly do so in any way that
will redound to anything but his or her discredit and social
obliteration--how nicely I've put that!--so I don't think any of us will
be very anxious to tell.
“_Good_-by, Mr. Billett--and when you do marry, please send me an
invitation--oh I shan't come, I've been far too well brought-up--but I
must send--appreciations--and so must have the address. We have had a
pleasant acquaintanceship together, haven't we?--perhaps a little more
pleasant on my side than on yours--but even so it's _so_ nice to think
that nothing has ever happened that either of us could really regret.
“Just remember that the only person I could incriminate you to would be
Mr. Piper, and not even there very much, due to Sargent's melodramatic
appearance in the middle of dinner. But I shan't even there--it would
mean incriminating myself a little too much too, don't you know? and
even if the apartment here does get a trifle lonely one evening and
another, I have got to be extraordinarily fond of it and I couldn't have
nearly as nice a one--or as competent an Elizabeth--on what they pay me
on 'Mode.' So I'll keep it, I think, if you don't mind.
“But that may make you a little more comfortable when you think things
over--and I'm sure we all deserve to be very comfortable indeed for
quite a long while after the very trying time we've just been through.
“_Good_-by, and I assure you that even if I shall never be able to think
of you in the future except as all wrapped up in the middle of
those absurd towels, I shall think of you quite kindly though rather
ridiculously nevertheless. And now if you will just run away a minute
and wait down in that car of Sargent's that Oliver--borrowed--so
effectively--because I must have one motherly word with Oliver alone
before we part forever! Thank you so _much_! _Good_-by!”