But, Auntie Lucy, we couldnt get them if they arent made, could we? Gray tried his best.
Oh, tried his best! He forgot to ask for them, so he says he tried his best, to excuse his carelessness. If Anita had wanted them
The starting of the music drowned further flow of the ladys grievances.
II
A CLASH OF TONGUES
True to its reputation for calming the impulses of the turbulent spirit, the music soothed Miss Carringtons ruffled temper, and she waxed amiable and even gay. Enthroned on her favorite red velvet chair, resplendent in an elaborately decorated gown of sapphire blue satin, with her bright auburn locks piled high and topped by an enormous comb of carved tortoise-shell, she dominated the little group and gave orders that must be obeyed.
She wore, among other jewels, a magnificent rope of pearls. So remarkable were these, that the Count, who had never seen them before, ventured to refer to them.
Yes, agreed Miss Carrington, they are wonderful. Practically priceless, I assure you. It took my agent years to collect them.
And you grace an informal home evening with these regal gems?
Not usually, no. But you know, Count Charlier, pearls must be worn frequently to preserve their lustre. Laid away a long time, they grow dead and dull-looking.
You keep them here? Is it safe, think you?
I dont keep them here all the time. Indeed, I got these from the Safe Deposit only this morning. I shall return them there in a few days. While here, I shall wear them all I can to liven them up.
You brought a lot of your other jewels, didnt you, Aunt Lucy? said Pauline, casually; why did you? Are you going to a ball?
No: I wish to to look them over and plan to have some reset.
But are they safe? inquired the Count again; do you not fear thieves?
No, we never have such things as robbery in Merivale Park. It is a quiet, well-behaved neighborhood.
But you have a safe? went on the Count; you take at least that precaution?
Oh, yes, I have a safe in my boudoir. There is really no danger. Count Charlier, would you like to hear me sing? Find one of my records, Gray.
Miss Carringtons singing voice had been a fine one and was still fair. She sometimes amused herself by making records for her phonograph, and Gray Haviland managed the mechanical part of it.
Which one, Lady Lucy? he asked, as he rummaged in the record cabinet.
Any of those pretty love songs, and Miss Carrington glanced coyly at the Count.
Heres a fine one, and Haviland placed a disk in the machine.
Listen, he said, smiling; dont miss the introduction.
The needle touched the record, and Miss Lucys laugh rang out, so clear and true, it was difficult to believe it was a recorded laugh and not a sound from the lady herself. Then the recorded voice said: This song is one of Carrs favorites, Ill sing it for him. And then, with only a few seconds interval, Miss Carringtons voice sang, Believe me, if all those endearing young charms.
It was well sung, and a perfect record, so that the incident of the singer listening to her own voice was interesting in itself.
Capital! applauded the Count, as it was finished. It is indeed pleasant to preserve ones songs thus. May I not some time record my own amateur attempt?
Delighted to have you, Count, said Haviland, cordially. Come over some morning, and well do up a lot of records.
Since when have you been master here, Gray? said Miss Lucy, with fine scorn. I will give the invitations to my own house, if you please! Count Charlier, if you will come to-morrow afternoon I will instruct Mr. Haviland to make the records.
It was not so much the words as the manner of their utterance that was offensive, and Haviland set his lips in stifled anger. It was not at all unusual, this sort of rebuff, but he could not endure it as patiently as the two girls did. Haviland was a second cousin of Miss Carrington, and, while he lived with her in the capacity of a business secretary and general man of affairs, the post was a sinecure, for the services of her lawyer and of her social secretary left little for Haviland to do. His salary was a generous one and he was substantially remembered in her will, but he sometimes thought the annoying and irritating fleers he had to accept smilingly, were worth more than he was receiving. He was continually made to feel himself a dependent and an inferior.
These trials also fell to the lot of the two girls. Pauline, although her aunts heiress to the extent of half the fortune, the other half to go to an absent cousin, was by no means treated as an equal of Miss Carrington herself. It seemed to give the elder lady delight to domineer over her niece and in every possible way make her life uneasy and uncomfortable. As to the social secretary, Miss Frayne, she was scolded for everything she did, right or wrong.
Often had the three young people declared intentions of leaving Garden Steps, but so far none of them had made good the threat.
Vanity was the key-note of Lucy Carringtons nature, and, knowing this, they could, if they chose, keep her fairly sweet-tempered by inordinate flattery often administered. This proceeding hurt their self-respect, jarred their tempers, and galled their very souls, but it was that or dismissal, and thus far they had stayed. Matters were nearing a crisis, however, and Havilands patience was so sorely strained that he was secretly looking for another position. Anita Frayne, whose pretty blonde doll-face belied a very fiery disposition, was on the verge of a serious break with her employer, and Pauline Stuart continually assured herself that she could not go on this way.
Pauline was the orphaned daughter of Lucys sister, and had lived with her aunt for many years. Carrington Loria, the son of another sister, was engaged in antiquarian research in Egypt, where he had been since his graduation as an engineer. He, too, was an orphan and had lived with Lucy in his younger days, and he and Pauline were equal heirs to their aunts wealth.
The father of the three Carrington sisters, having become angered at his two daughters who married against his wishes, had left his entire fortune to Lucy, his only remaining child. Thus her niece and nephew were her only direct heirs, and, save for some comparatively small bequests, the Carrington estate would eventually be theirs.
Pauline well knew that if she left her aunts roof it meant complete disinheritance, for Lucy Carrington was proud of her beautiful niece, and, too, was fond of her in her own way. But the ungovernable temper of the lady made her home an almost unbearable abiding-place.
Since childhood years Carrington Loria had lived there only during his college vacations; but had been back occasionally for short visits from his now permanent Egyptian occupation. He had always come laden with gifts of Oriental products, and the rooms at Garden Steps showed many rare specimens of cunning handiwork and rich fabrics and embroideries.
To break the awkward pause that followed Miss Carringtons rude speech to Gray Haviland, Pauline picked up an antique scarab from a side table and drew the Counts attention to its inscription.
He expressed a polite interest, but cast furtive glances at his hostess, as if afraid of a further outbreak.
Nor were his fears unjustified. Miss Carrington administered a scathing reproach to Pauline for intruding herself upon the Counts attention, and bade her put aside the scarab and hold her tongue.
Dont speak to me like that, Aunt Lucy; I am not a child! And Pauline, unable to control herself longer, faced her angry aunt with an air of righteous wrath.
Dont speak to me like that, Aunt Lucy; I am not a child! And Pauline, unable to control herself longer, faced her angry aunt with an air of righteous wrath.
Ill speak to you as I choose, miss! It is for you to mend your tone in addressing me! If you dont, you may have cause to regret it. Count Charlier came here to see me, and I refuse to countenance your clumsy attempts to engage his interest in your silly babble!
But I insist stammered the greatly embarrassed Count, allow me, madame, let me say, I call on you all all
Nothing of the sort! declared Miss Lucy; you came, Count, to play bridge with us. Our opponents behaved so rudely and played so badly it was impossible for us to continue the game. Nor can we enjoy music in this inharmonious atmosphere. Let us stroll in the conservatory, you and I.
She rose, trailing her heavy silks and flashing her sparkling jewels, and the Count, a little hesitatingly, followed her. They crossed the great hall, and, going through a reception room and the delightful sun-parlor, came to the warm, heavily-scented conservatory.
Poor old Charlier! said Haviland, as the pair disappeared; hes in for it now! Do you suppose the palms and orchids will bring him up to the scratch? Nita, Ill bet you a box of gloves against a box of simple little cigarettes that he doesnt propose to the lady to-night?
Done! cried Miss Frayne, who was sparkling again, now that the dread presence was removed. I doubt he can help himself. She has him at her mercy. And hes too good-mannered to disappoint her wish.
Hell propose, said Pauline, with an air of conviction. Hes a typical fortune-hunter, that man. Indeed, I am not sure hes a Count at all. Do you know, Mr. Illsley?
I know almost nothing of the man, save that hes a guest of the Frothinghams. Thats not entirely in his favor, I think.
Right you are! agreed Haviland. Those people are, well, theyre to be queried. But I say, Polly, if the two do hit it off, its grinding poverty for us, eh?
It may be a blessed relief, Gray. Shell give us something, of course, and send us away from here. I, for one, shouldnt be sorry to go. She is getting too impossible!
She is! put in Anita; every day she pounds us worse! Id like to kill her!
The fierce words and would-be menacing glance of the little blonde beauty were about as convincing as a kitten declaring himself a war lord, and even the stately Pauline smiled at the picture.
She ought to be killed, declared Haviland, and I say this dispassionately. I wouldnt do it, because killing is not in my line, but the eternal fitness of things requires her removal to another sphere of usefulness. She makes life a burden to three perfectly good people, and some several servants. Not one would mourn her, and
Oh, stop, Gray! cried Pauline; dont talk in that strain! Dont listen to him, Mr. Illsley. He often says such things, but he doesnt mean them. Mr. Haviland loves to talk at random, to make a sensational hearing.
Nothing of the sort, Polly. I do mean it. Lucy Carrington is a misery dispenser, and such are not wanted in this nice little old world.
But perhaps, Pauline looked thoughtful, the fault is in us. We dont like her, and so we see nothing good in what she does. Now, Carrington Loria adores her. She had a letter from him to-day
Yes, Loria adores her! interrupted Haviland, because he doesnt live with her! She sends him love-letters and money, and he doesnt know the everlasting torture of living under her roof, year in and year out! But he caught on a little the last time he was here. He said, well, in his quaint Oriental fashion, he said, Gee! shes the limit! thats what he said.
Well, she is, pouted Anita. I cant do a thing to suit her. To-day I wrote a letter over six times before she was satisfied. And every change she wanted made was so foolish she wanted it changed back again. She nearly drove me crazy!
But I have to put up with her morning, noon, and night, sighed Pauline. You have your hours off, Anita, but I never do. She even wakens me in the night to read to her, or to help her plan her new gowns.
It is awfully hard for you, began Mr. Illsley, and then all stopped short, for the object of their discussion returned to the room.
It was plain to be seen Miss Carrington was in a state of suppressed excitement. She giggled almost hysterically, and tapped the Count playfully on the arm with her fan, as she bade him say good-night and go.
The interested ones watching her could not learn whether the Count had declared himself or not. The presumption was negative, for, had he done so, surely Miss Carrington would have told the good news.
Charlier himself was distinctly non-committal. Debonair as always, he made his adieux, no more demonstrative to his hostess than to the others, and went away. Illsley followed, and the household dispersed. The clock struck midnight as the ladies went upstairs.
Following custom, they all three went to Miss Lucys boudoir. It was by way of reporting for to-morrows orders, and was a duty never neglected.
The exquisite apartment, from which opened the bedroom and bath, was softly lighted and fragrant with flowers.
How do you like Count Henri Charlier? Miss Carrington quickly demanded of her satellites.
Charming, said the voluble Anita. Just a typical French nobleman, isnt he? And how he adores our Lady Lucy!
The whole speech rang false, but the vanity of the lady addressed swallowed it as truest sincerity. Yes, she returned, he is infatuated, I have reason to think. But we shall see what we shall see! Curb your impatience, girls! You shall know all in due time.
Can I do anything for you, Auntie, to-night or to-morrow? asked Pauline, and, though she tried to speak with enthusiasm, her tone did sound perfunctory.
Not if you offer in that manner, and Miss Carrington looked at her niece coldly. One would think, Pauline, that it must be an irksome task to do the smallest favor for your aunt and benefactor! Do you feel no pleasure in doing what trifles you can for one who does everything for you?
I would feel a pleasure, Aunt Lucy, if you were kinder to me. But
Kinder! shrieked her aunt; kinder! Girl, have you taken leave of your senses? I give you a home, fine dresses, money, everything you can want, and you ask me to be kinder to you! Go! never let me see you again, after that speech!
Oh, auntie, dont! I didnt mean
You didnt mean to exasperate me beyond endurance? No, of course you meant to stop short of that! But you have done it. I mean this, Pauline: to-morrow you go elsewhere to live. No longer will I give a home to such a monster of ingratitude!
But, Miss Carrington and Anita Fraynes soft voice implored gently dont be hasty. Pauline didnt mean
What! and Lucy Carrington turned on her, you take her part? Then you go, too! I want no ingrates here. Leave me, both of you. This night is your last beneath this roof! You are two unworthy girls, to scorn and slight the hand that has fed and clothed you and given you luxury and comfort such as you will never see again! Go, Ive done with you! Send me Estelle. She, at least, has some small affection for me.
The two girls left the room. The scene was not without precedent. Before this they had been ordered to leave the house forever, but always forgiveness and reinstatement had followed. This time, however, the Lady Lucy had been rather more in earnest, and the girls looked at each other uncertainly as they turned toward their rooms.