RECOGNITION
“PLEASE tell Mrs. Ogden, Rose, that I will join her at once.”
“Very well, Miss Ogden,” and the trim maid departed.
Ethel Ogden, conscious that she had made a hurried toilet, and feeling
but half awake, paused before her cheval glass and took a final look at
her costume and hair, patting a stray curl into place, then left her
bedroom in search of her cousin. She had a dim impression that to be
late for breakfast would rank with one of the crimes of the Decalogue
in the eyes of Walter Ogden.
The climate in Washington that winter had proved too severe for Ethel’s
father, and by the advice of his physician he had gone in December to
winter with friends in Atlanta. Mrs. Ogden, torn between anxiety for
her husband and her desire to be with Ethel, had thankfully accepted
their cousins’ invitation to have Ethel spend the winter with them.
Walter Ogden had been a frequent visitor to the National Capital for a
dozen years or more, and in times gone by, before he had made his not
inconsiderable fortune, Commodore Ogden had assisted him financially
on several occasions. Both Walter Ogden and his wife had urged Ethel
to visit them in their western home, but she had never been able to
accept. Their last invitation had solved many difficulties for it
enabled her to remain in Washington and continue her work.
Commodore Ogden, who had retired before the age limit from the United
States Navy on account of old wounds, had found, some years before, his
modest savings swept away in unfortunate speculation, and outstanding
debts had further crippled his resources. Ethel, to the horror of her
mother, whose old-fashioned ideas did not include a tolerant view
of the modern woman, had found her _metier_ in teaching English to
foreigners residing in Washington, and with the salary received from
her pupils dressed herself and contributed to the household expenses.
During the forty-eight hours she had been with her cousins, Mr. and
Mrs. Walter Ogden, she had seen little of them, owing to her own
business and social engagements, and had not had time to properly
adjust herself to the household routine. The house was a large one,
and reaching an intersecting corridor in the wide wall, Ethel paused
in indecision. Had she turned to her right or to her left when leaving
Mrs. Ogden’s pretty bedroom the night before? Debating the point in her
own mind, however, did not settle the question, and Ethel, finding a
bedroom door ajar on her right, laid her hand on the knob.
“Caught entering ‘Blue Beard’s chamber,’” said a soft languid voice
just back of her, and wheeling about Ethel confronted her cousin. “Fie!
Fie! Ethel.”
“I plead guilty only to searching for you.” Ethel’s gay laugh was
infectious. “Tell me, is ‘Blue Beard’s chamber’ where Cousin Walter
abides?”
“Mercy, no.” Mrs. Ogden tucked her hand inside Ethel’s. “‘Blue Beard’s
Chamber’ is the _raison d’être_ of our being here. On account of it
Walter was offered the house at a ridiculously low rental--one hundred
and fifty dollars a month.”
“One hundred and fifty for this!” Ethel’s voice was raised in a
crescendo of astonishment, and her eyes swept the well proportioned
hallway and the vista of spacious rooms opening from it, and the
handsome stairway down which they were passing. “Is there a ‘harnt,’ as
the darkies say, in ‘Blue Beard’s Chamber,’ or is the house considered
unlucky that the owners give it away?”
“Neither--a much less romantic reason. The owner, what is his name?
Never mind, Walter attends to all that”--with placid disregard of
details. “The owner is a _divorcé_ who, owing to some technicality of
the decree, must keep his legal residence in Washington; so he leases
this house for a song, with the proviso that he is permitted to keep a
bedroom containing his personal belongings and occupy it occasionally.”
“But, Cousin Jane, how unpleasant!” ejaculated Ethel. “Suppose he
elects to spend the winter with you?”
“Well, at that, my dear, we’d be saving money.” Mrs. Ogden straightened
a rug on the handsome hardwood floor. “It’s a wonderful house for the
money, and you know nothing pleases Walter so much as to save.”
Mrs. Ogden’s frank discussion of family traits and failings was apt to
prove disconcerting and Ethel colored with embarrassment.
“I think it is perfectly dear of you to take me in this winter,” she
began, but Mrs. Ogden cut her short.
“Don’t look at it in that light, my dear,” she said with kindly intent.
“Both Walter and I are devoted to you, and I am looking forward to your
companionship this winter. Walter is so immersed in business, and he
never will assist me in my social duties.”
“Late again, Jane,” announced a querulous voice as they entered the
dining room, and Walter Ogden looked up from behind the folds of a
morning paper. “I hope, Ethel, you will teach Jane punctuality.”
“I’m more apt to prove a culprit in that regard than a teacher,”
declared Ethel. “I’m seldom on time in the early morning.”
“Too many late hours,” grumbled Ogden, rising heavily to pull out a
chair for his wife.
“Did you enjoy the dance last night, Ethel?” asked Mrs. Ogden, rattling
the coffee cups with unnecessary vigor in the hope of diverting Ethel’s
attention from Ogden’s early breakfast grumpiness.
“Very much!” Ethel took a large helping of cereal offered her by the
attentive butler. “But it was a later affair than I anticipated, and on
the way home Jim Patterson’s car had a blow-out.”
“Oh, did Mr. Patterson bring you back?”
“Yes, and the Marshalls as well.” Ethel smiled demurely. Mrs. Ogden’s
interest in James Patterson, United States representative from
California, was transparent.
“I can’t think why you don’t marry Jim Patterson, Ethel; he’s asked you
often enough,” remarked Mrs. Ogden, taking in her cousin’s fresh young
beauty with an appraising glance. “And then you would be able to give
up your tiresome teaching.”
“But my teaching is not tiresome,” protested Ethel, flushing hotly.
“You try giving lessons in conversational English to some of the
diplomats and you will soon find how amusing it is.”
“I hope for the foreigner’s sake, Ethel, you don’t use old-fashioned
phrase books,” broke in Ogden. “I recall that some years ago the wife
of a diplomat brushed up her English, of which she spoke only a few
words, before attending a large luncheon, and during a pause in the
conversation, she remarked politely to her hostess: ‘I see the rat. The
rat is under the chair,’ and consternation prevailed until the hostess
and other guests grasped the situation.”
“My pupils have no opportunity to quote from primers,” laughed Ethel.
“I never use them. We talk, read, and compose, and I have them write
letters to me. Oh!” she paused and took a letter from her bag. “This
came last night from Maru Takasaki. I asked him to write me his
impressions of the Diplomatic Reception at the White House. Do listen,
he is my prize pupil,” and she read the note aloud.
MY DEAR MISS OGDEN:
I have honor to inform you a news which you have been so anxious to
hear.
Last evening we went duly to the White House where we were received by
Mr. President, assisted by the ladies of the Cabinet as usual.
All the rooms were lighted brilliantly, and the Marine musical band
made the scenery more vivid and attractive. The strange costumes of
the different countries, mixed with the plain dress of this country,
at once reflect the peculiarities of these nations.
Doubtless it was the grandest reception that has ever happened in this
city. But all these things are not the object of my information; the
only thing which I intend to inform you is that there was a punch,
to your astonishment, and thus to the satisfaction of all the hosts.
Indeed, the iced Californian claret was the only drinkable matter,
besides several kinds of cold meats and dessert.
I cannot keep this event in myself for so many days, seeing that you
have been so anxious to know. Details I will reserve till the Monday
evening when I shall meet you.
Yours sincerely,
MARU TAKASAKI.
“Maru Takasaki,” repeated Ogden. “Is he the new _attaché_ of the
Japanese Embassy?”
“Yes; and he is so pleased with his progress in English that he wishes
me to give lessons to his wife, who has just arrived from Japan. They
have taken a house two blocks from here and have just moved in.”
“I predict you will shortly have more pupils than you can handle,”
and Mrs. Ogden smiled at Ethel’s enthusiasm. “But you must not be so
busy that you cannot be nice to my cousin”--she stopped speaking as
the butler approached her husband and commenced whispering in his ear.
“What is it, Walter?”
“You say he’s _here_?” asked Ogden, paying no attention to his wife’s
question.
“Yes, sor,” and Charles, the butler, laid a visiting card in front of
Ogden. “At the door, sor.”
“Good Lord!” Ogden dropped his napkin and gazed blankly across at his
wife. “He’s come----”
“He--who? Not----” Eager welcome in her eyes.
“No one you know,” responded Ogden. “The owner of this house--Professor
Richard Norcross--has come to occupy ‘Blue Beard’s Chamber.’”
“Well!” Mrs. Ogden blinked in astonishment. “What a mercy I put on my
most becoming morning gown. Ask him in to breakfast, Walter,” and, as
her husband left the room, she added hastily, “Don’t desert me, Ethel.”
“I really ought to be at Mrs. Henderson’s in twenty minutes, Cousin
Jane,” expostulated Ethel, but she lingered a moment longer to fold her
napkin, and the next second Ogden had entered, followed by Professor
Norcross.
“It is very kind of you not to look upon my arrival as an intrusion,”
said the professor, after greeting Mrs. Ogden and Ethel. “I sent word
to my agent to notify you, Mrs. Ogden, that the law required that I
make a brief visit to Washington.”
“We shall try and make your stay pleasant,” answered Mrs. Ogden
cordially. She was agreeably impressed with the professor’s scholarly
appearance. “Charles, bring some hot coffee. Oh, don’t go, Ethel,” as
the latter moved toward the door.
“I really must, Cousin Jane, I’ll be back in time for luncheon,” and
nodding a smiling farewell to the men, Ethel whisked out of the dining
room.
Fifteen minutes later Ethel opened the front door of the house with
more than her accustomed impetuosity and ran into the arms of a
distinguished looking stranger.
“I beg your pardon,” gasped Ethel, straightening her hat which had
tilted at a rakish angle on encountering the stranger’s forehead. “The
butler will be here in an instant; oh, here he is now----” and Ethel
dashed down the steps.
“Do you wish to see Mr. Ogden?” inquired Charles, but his question
passed unheard, as Julian Barclay gazed after Ethel;--he had found the
girl of the miniature.