"Never mind that, sit down; I want to talk to you." Joan obeyed
unwillingly.
"Now tell me about your life. Milly mentions you so seldom, I had no
idea she had such an interesting sister; tell me all about yourself; you
live with your friend Miss--Miss--Rodney, is that her name? Is she nice?
She looks terribly severe."
"Oh, no, I don't live with Miss Rodney; I live with my mother at
Seabourne."
"You live there all the year round? _Quelle horreur_! Why don't you come
to London?"
"Well, you see----" began Joan uncomfortably. But at this stage they were
interrupted. For some moments Rosie had been standing motionless in the
doorway, the clean handkerchief crushed in her hand. Her smouldering
eyes had taken in the situation at a glance, and it seemed to her
catastrophic. She stood now, paling and flushing by turns, biting her
under-lip. Her thin neck was extended and shot forward; the attitude
suggested an eagle about to attack. Harriet saw her there well enough,
but appeared to notice nothing unusual and continued to talk to Joan. In
fact her voice grew slightly louder and more intimate in tone. Rosie
drew a quick breath; it was noisy and Harriet looked up impatiently;
then her eyes fell to the crushed handkerchief.
"Give it to me, do!" she exclaimed.
Rosie took a step forward as if to obey, but instead she raised her arm
and hurled the crumpled linen ball straight at Harriet, then snatching
up her coat she fled from the room. Joan jumped up, Elizabeth looked
embarrassed and Milly laughed loudly; but Harriet only shrugged her
plump shoulders.
"_Nom d'un nom_!" she murmured softly. "Poor Rosie grows
insupportable!"
The situation was somewhat relieved by a knock on the door. "Can I come
in?" inquired a pleasant, deep voice.
Cassy Ryan looked from one to another of the group gathered near the
tea-table. Her soft brown eyes and over-red lips suggested her Jewish
origin. She was a tall girl and as yet only graciously ample.
She turned to Milly. "I've only come for a moment; I want you to try the
violin obbligato over with me to-morrow, Milly; I'm not sure of that
difficult passage."
She hummed the passage softly in her splendid contralto voice. "It won't
take you long; you don't mind, do you?"
"Rather not!" said Milly, introducing her to Joan and Elizabeth.
Cassy turned to Harriet. "What's the matter with Rosie?" she inquired.
"I met her on the stairs just now looking as mad as a hatter."
"Oh, she's only in one of her tantrums; she's furious with me at the
moment."
Cassy shook her head. "Poor kid, she's half daft at times, I think. You
oughtn't to tease her, Harriet."
"_Bon Dieu_!" exclaimed Harriet, flushing with temper. "I shall forbid
her to come here at all if she goes on making these scenes." She pressed
a hand to her throat. "It makes my throat ache; I don't believe I've a
_soupçon_ of voice left."
She stood up and deliberately tried an ascending scale, while the rest
sat silent. Up and up soared the pure, sexless voice, the voice of an
undreamt-of choir-boy or an angel; and then, just as the last height was
reached, it hazed, it faltered, it failed to attain.
"There you are!" screamed Harriet, forgetting in her agitation how
perfectly she could speak French. "What did I tell you? I knew it!
That's Rosie's fault, damn her! Damn her! She's probably upset my voice
for days to come, and I've got that rehearsal with Stanford to-morrow;
my God, it's too awful!"
She paused to try her voice once more, but with the same result.
"Where's my inhaler?" she demanded of the room in general.
Milly winked at Cassy as she went into Harriet's bedroom. "Here it is,
on your washstand," she called.
Harriet began feverishly to boil up the kettle; she appeared to have
completely forgotten Joan and Elizabeth; she spoke in whispers now,
addressing all her stifled remarks to Cassy. Milly brought in the
inhaler and a bottle of drops; they filled it from the kettle and
proceeded to count out the tincture. Harriet sat down heavily with her
knees apart; she gripped the ridiculous china bottle in both hands and,
applying her lips to the fat glass mouthpiece, proceeded to evoke a
series of bubbling, gurgling noises.
Milly drew her sister aside. "You two had better go," she whispered.
"Don't try to say good-bye to her; she's in one of her panics, she won't
notice your going."
Cassy smiled across at Elizabeth with a finger on her lips; her eyes
were full of amusement as she glanced in the direction of her friend.
Years afterwards when the names of Cassy Ryan and Harriet Nelson had
become famous, when these two old friends and fellow students would be
billed together on the huge sheets advertising oratorio or opera, Joan,
seeing an announcement of the performance in the papers, would have a
sudden vision of that little crowded sitting-room, with Harriet hunched
fatly in the wicker arm-chair, the rotund inhaler clasped to her bosom.