OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN
MRS. FORDYCE awoke from her nap to discover Janet earnestly regarding
her from the depths of a big tufted arm-chair.
“Bless me, Cutie!” she ejaculated. “Have I been asleep?”
“You certainly have,” admitted Janet laughing. It was not often her
mother called her by the familiar, schoolgirl nickname. “And snoring,
too.”
“Janet!”
“Well, just a little snore,” hastily, noting her mother’s offended
expression. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, mumsie, dear, if I hadn’t
thought Marjorie was here with you. I am sorry my entrance awoke you.”
“I have no business to be sleeping at this hour.” Mrs. Fordyce shook
herself more fully awake and glanced at the clock. “Are you not
lunching with the Thayers today?”
“Not going there until Saturday,” shortly. “Thank goodness I’m having a
little rest today.”
“Are you tired, dear?”
“Somewhat,” reluctantly.
“Then perhaps you had better give up going to the dance tonight----?”
“Miss the Charity Ball? Well, I guess not. Why, mumsie, they say that’s
the greatest fun ever.”
“I was only thinking of your health; you and Marjorie have both gone
out rather strenuously this past week, and Marjorie is showing the
strain also.”
“Then let her stay at home,” calmly. “I’m quite capable of taking care
of myself; and, mumsie, people are laughing at me for being tied to
Marjorie’s apron-strings.”
“What people?”
“Oh, some of the girls,” vaguely. “When you come down to it, mumsie, it
is rather annoying to have to ask advice and instruction from a girl
only a few years older than I.”
Mrs. Fordyce looked troubled. “Has Marjorie been officious in any way?”
“N--no,” reflectively. “But going to Marjorie for advice and seeing
her presiding in your place isn’t agreeable to me. I miss you, mumsie,
dear.”
“My baby girl!” Mrs. Fordyce crossed the room and gave her daughter a
loving kiss and hug. “And I miss you; but, dearest, it is impossible
for me to take part in the gay world, and I made this arrangement with
Marjorie as the best way to further your interests and pleasure. Duncan
tells me she is extremely popular and....”
“Oh, Duncan!” Janet shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Duncan will
tell you anything to keep Marjorie here--he’s crazy about her.”
“What!” Mrs. Fordyce dropped back in her chair and gazed with
astonished eyes at Janet.
“Haven’t you noticed his infatuation?”
“Noticed it? Of course I haven’t,” with some sternness. “What
meddlesome Mattie has been hinting such a thing?”
“My two eyes,” tartly. “Hadn’t you better be using yours, mumsie?”
“That will do; I will not permit impertinence.”
“Well, if you will leave me under Marjorie’s influence....”
“I have yet to see one act or word on Marjorie Langdon’s part which you
might not copy with impunity,” declared Mrs. Fordyce with decision.
“And I have been thrown with her even more than you. No, it is someone
else who is responsible for your sudden--flippancy,” hesitating for a
word. A knock sounded on the boudoir door, and she called out: “Come
in. Well, Perkins, what it is?” as the butler appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Calhoun-Cooper wishes to see Miss Janet a moment,” he replied.
“Sit still, Janet,” directed Mrs. Fordyce, as her daughter made a
motion to rise. “Ask Miss Calhoun-Cooper to come up here, Perkins.”
“I thought you didn’t like Pauline?” said Janet in surprise, as the
butler retreated down the hall to the elevator.
“You have just convinced me that I am leaving you too much with others,
Janet,” dryly. “Hereafter I shall take pains to see more of your
friends. Good morning,” as Pauline entered the room. “You are very
good to come upstairs.”
“The idea of putting it that way, dear Mrs. Fordyce.” Pauline shook
hands effusively with her, and kissed Janet warmly. “Please don’t let
me disturb you; I only stopped to ask if Janet would care to go with me
to see Kellar, the magician, on Friday afternoon.”
“Of course I will,” exclaimed Janet, heartily. “Thanks so much; I dote
on Kellar.”
“Then you have seen him before?”
“Yes, a number of years ago. He’s sure to have some new tricks by this
time; I had no idea he was coming to Washington.”
“Kellar is only giving this one matinée performance. Do you think your
brother would care to go?”
“I’m sure he would; I’ll ask him,” rising hurriedly.
“Duncan is out just now,” put in Mrs. Fordyce. “He telephoned he would
lunch at the club.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as he comes in,” promised Janet, dropping
down on the sofa beside Pauline.
“You are very good to invite my girl and boy,” said Mrs. Fordyce. “I
thank you for giving them so much pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” insisted Pauline, lending undue emphasis to the
hackneyed phrase. “I regret I was only able to get four seats together,
Janet, and therefore cannot ask Miss Langdon to accompany us. Captain
Nichols has already promised to make the fourth in our small party.”
“We have not seen much of Captain Nichols lately,” commented Mrs.
Fordyce.
“Nor we,” answered Pauline. “I met him just as I was leaving the
theater this morning, and asked him then and there, to my relief, for
it is almost impossible to get him on the telephone. He tells me his
quarters are not connected with the post ’phone, and he has to go to
the officers’ club to get and send messages.”
“What keeps him so busy?” Janet examined Pauline’s jewel-studded gold
mesh bag with open admiration.
“When I taxed him with not calling, he said his official duties had
kept him tied to Fort Myer. That excuse covers his not visiting
us”--with an affected laugh, “but of course, there’s another reason for
his not calling here....”
“And pray, what is that?” demanded Mrs. Fordyce, eyeing her daughter’s
flushed countenance intently.
“A lover’s quarrel with--Marjorie Langdon.” Pauline pronounced the name
with much impressiveness. If she heard Janet’s sudden, sharply drawn
breath, she gave no sign.
“Captain Nichols and Marjorie!” exclaimed Mrs. Fordyce in bewilderment.
“You surprise me. I never knew he was attentive to _her_.”
“I suppose his relationship covers his attentions to the casual
observer,” went on Pauline thoughtfully. “How nearly related are they?”
“I believe he is Marjorie’s second cousin,” answered Janet in a voice
she strove to make indifferent.
“So there’s no bar to their marriage; except I believe, Miss Langdon
does not fancy love in a cottage.”
“You do Marjorie an injustice,” announced Mrs. Fordyce quietly. “If her
affections were really engaged, I don’t think she would hesitate to
make any sacrifice.”
“I hope your good opinion of her is justified.” Pauline flushed at the
rebuke, which Mrs. Fordyce’s manner more than her words, conveyed.
“Miss Langdon has gained a reputation for mercenary selfishness.”
“Poverty is apt to teach one the value of money,” replied Mrs. Fordyce.
“Still, that is different from being staring and stark mad; and I for
one shall give Marjorie the benefit of the doubt. Every cent of money
she has, she lavishes on her aunt, Madame Yvonett; that does not look
to me like ‘mercenary selfishness.’”
“Miss Langdon is fortunate to have you for a friend,” Pauline rose.
“And I am afraid she needs them, poor girl; people are not always
prepossessed in her favor.” Her voice expressed deep commiseration,
and Mrs. Fordyce felt inclined to box her ears. Accustomed to being
accorded every deference by her family, and protected by her seclusion
from contact with the free and easy manner of the younger generation
to their elders, she deeply resented Pauline’s flouting address
and flippant style. Pauline, busy adjusting her furs, missed the
disapproving look cast in her direction, and turning to Janet, asked:
“Will I see you at the ball tonight?”
“Yes, we expect to go.” Some of the enthusiasm of the morning had gone
from the fresh young voice, and again Mrs. Fordyce covertly studied her
daughter. What had come over Janet?
“Your box is next ours,” continued Pauline, lingering near the sofa.
“Mrs. Walbridge is on our other side. Mother always insists on finding
out who our neighbors will be before purchasing tickets for charitable
entertainments.”
“As a health precaution?” inquired Mrs. Fordyce. “Or is it a question
of social prestige?”
“Both,” acknowledged Pauline quickly. “So many things are catching
these days, we don’t like to come in contact with--dirt.” And her
meaning smile deepened as she saw Mrs. Fordyce flinch; she had scored
at last. “We all have our idiosyncrasies, dear Mrs. Fordyce; good-bye.
Don’t trouble to come downstairs with me, Janet, I can find my way out
alone.”
“Of course I’m coming with you.” Janet followed her friend out of the
room, leaving her mother sitting in her chair in a brown study. She was
aroused almost immediately by Janet’s re-entrance.
“What an odious creature!” she shivered. “Upon my word, Janet, what’s
the world coming to? Are there no ladies any more?”
“Now don’t be old-fashioned,” Janet threw herself down pettishly on
the sofa. “Can you give me some money, mumsie?”
“What has become of your father’s Christmas check?”
“Spent,” laconically. “I can’t help it, mumsie; money just evaporates
in this old town. I just want to buy a--a--new bracelet,” glancing down
deprecatingly at her bare wrist.
“You have a careless hand, Janet,” said her mother reprovingly.
“However, I cannot have you want for anything. Will a check for fifty
dollars do?”
“Oh, yes; thank you, darling,” beaming gratefully upon her mother. “But
instead of a check, could you give me----” she stopped as some one
rapped on the door. In response to Mrs. Fordyce’s bidding, Marjorie
stepped into the room.
“Am I late?” she asked, laying a bundle of papers on the table beside
Mrs. Fordyce.
“Twenty-five minutes ahead of luncheon,” answered Janet shortly.
“What have you here, Marjorie?” Mrs. Fordyce put her hand on the papers.
“Receipted bills,” Marjorie drew up her chair and sorted the papers
carefully.
“The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker,” quoted Mrs.
Fordyce, busily inspecting Marjorie. She saw her through new eyes, the
eyes of a mother judging a possible daughter-in-law. Suddenly, she
pressed her fingers against her eyes; the lids were wet with tears.
“If I were you, I would stop dealing with Jackson,” announced Marjorie,
finding the particular bill she was searching for. “He calmly sent
in an unitemized account, calling for seventy-five dollars, and when
I insisted on going over his books, we found he had overcharged you
eighteen dollars. I gave him the check Mr. Fordyce had made out for the
larger sum on condition that he refund me the eighteen dollars. Here it
is,” tumbling the money out on the table.
“You won’t be popular with the cook, Marjorie, if you have interfered
with her rake-off,” snapped Janet. “What’s a few dollars to father?”
“Janet!” Mrs. Fordyce spoke in a tone that Marjorie had never heard
before, and her daughter on but one other occasion. “You forget
yourself strangely this morning; apologize at once to Marjorie for your
unnecessary remark.”
“I meant no offense to Marjorie,” protested Janet. “I merely intended
to say it was silly of her to interfere after things have been bought
and paid for.”
“Your explanation strikes me as being worse than the offense,” Mrs.
Fordyce was thoroughly aroused, and not heeding Marjorie’s attempt to
restore peace, added, “I am grateful to Marjorie for saving me from
a swindler; apparently you think because the amount is small that I
should submit to being robbed. Let me tell you, Janet, that no one is
so rich that he can stand being fleeced, and any woman who knowingly
permits graft in her kitchen is worse than a fool. Never let me hear
you again advocate condoning knavery.”
Janet bowed before the storm. “I won’t, mother,” meekly. “Indeed,
Marjorie, I did not mean to insult you in any way.”
“I am sure you didn’t,” answered Marjorie, more puzzled than hurt by
Janet’s peculiar manner; they had been from their first meeting sworn
allies and good comrades. “Please think no more about it, dear.”
“What dirty money!” Mrs. Fordyce withdrew her hand from the table
hastily. “Do take it away.”
“With pleasure,” laughed Janet, recovering somewhat her usually sunny
disposition, and she was about to gather up the soiled bank notes when
her mother stopped her.
“No, you must not touch them,” she declared, and Marjorie opened her
eyes at her vehemence. “I will have Calderon send them to the Treasury
to be redeemed.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” said Perkins from behind the half-open door.
“Captain Nichols is at the telephone and wishes to speak to----”
“Me, Perkins?” and Janet sprang to her feet.
“No, Miss Janet, he asked for Miss Langdon.”
“Won’t you take the message for me, Janet?” inquired Marjorie, laying a
paper-weight over the receipted bills.
“No, certainly not,” and Janet disappeared from the room.
“Pay no attention to her whims,” advised Mrs. Fordyce kindly. “I’ll go
over the accounts with you later; don’t keep Captain Nichols waiting.”
Marjorie found Tom exceedingly curt on the telephone, and she hung up
the receiver a few seconds later, wondering what under the sun induced
everyone to become so ill-tempered all of a sudden. As she walked
through the dining-room after leaving the pantry, where she had gone to
answer the telephone in preference to disturbing Mr. Calderon Fordyce
in his library, she encountered Janet pouring out a glass of ice water.
“What did your cousin want?” she asked.
“He said he would be unable to dine here tonight....”
“Does he think we run a hotel,” Janet was pale with anger, “that he
breaks our invitations at will? How dare he treat us so cavalierly!”
“Stop!” Marjorie’s authoritative voice, though low-pitched, brought the
furious girl to her senses. “Captain Nichols intends no disrespect to
your family or to you; in fact, he highly appreciates your kindness and
hospitality.”
“Then why doesn’t he come here?”
“He told me to tell you that he had received an invitation to dine at
the White House, and therefore had to cancel his engagement here, to
his great regret. He will join us later at the Charity Ball.”
“I see,” Janet’s face altered. “I understand now, please say
nothing....”
“Certainly not,” and Marjorie, seeing that Janet obviously desired to
be alone, made her way thoughtfully to her room.
Once there she lost no time in getting out her calling costume
preparatory to a hurried toilet after luncheon. On reaching up for her
hat which she kept on the top shelf in her closet, she knocked down a
cherished florist’s box and out tumbled a withered bunch of violets.
With an exclamation of annoyance, she stooped to pick up the petals
and dried leaves, and her fingers closed over cold metal. Considerably
startled, Marjorie retreated to the window and examined what she held
in her hand. It was a beautiful emerald and diamond bracelet which was
carefully secured about the short stems of the bouquet.
Marjorie gazed at it in complete bewilderment; then going over to the
closet, she picked up the box and its cover. It bore the florist’s name
from whom Duncan had sent her a corsage bouquet some days before; but
certainly when she wore the violets and afterward put them away for
safe keeping no bracelet had encircled the stems.
More and more startled Marjorie returned to the window, and inspected
the bracelet with minute care. The unique design seemed oddly familiar.
With great difficulty she finally deciphered the initials on the
inside: “S. P.”--“J. C. C.”--“Jan. 14, 1844.”
“‘S. P.--J. C. C.’” she repeated thoughtfully. “J. C. C.--where have I
heard--Heavens! J. Calhoun-Cooper--of course, I’ve seen Pauline wear
the bracelet. How did it get here?” She looked at the beautiful bauble
with increasing horror, as her ever-present fear supplied an answer to
her question.
“God help Janet if Pauline ever finds out who took her bracelet,” she
groaned. “She will meet no mercy there.”