Part 18 (1/2)

For a full minute it did not occur to Felicia that the woman was addressing her. And when she knew, she rose slowly, even carefully, so as not to upset the chess-men.

”For two dollars a day--and lunch--” she answered clearly. She hadn't the remotest idea of being impertinent. She was merely literal. The only thing that saved her from Mrs. Alden's mounting wrath was the old man's voice chuckling from his pillows.

”And--” he looked triumphantly at his angry niece-in-law's snapping eyes, ”she had to steal the lunch, by the Jumping Jehosophat, she had to steal her lunch! Why don't you feed people, Clara--why don't you?”

”She had a good lunch, I'm sure I instructed the cook to give her a lunch--”

With the annoying cunning of the old he contradicted her. He dearly loved a row with the mistress of the household.

”Cold lamb--” he cackled, ”I heard you say cold lamb--”

”Very well, Uncle Peter,” said Mrs. Alden tapping her pointed patent leather toe impatiently, ”we won't argue. I'll pay the woman and she can go.”

Uncle Peter's head dropped pitifully, his bravado ceased abruptly, he became a whining child.

”Don't go, Miss Whadda-you-call-it--I want to finish the game. She can pay you but don't go. It's my house, isn't it?” he fretfully interrogated the nurse, ”I guess it's my house yet even if I am half dead. I'm not all dead yet, not by a long shot--”

The nurse stooped over him professionally but he waved her away.

”Sit down, can't you?” he demanded of Felicia, ”it's your move.”

Felicia sat down, two spots of color burning in her pale cheeks. She extended her hand over the knight again, bowing imperiously to the angry woman. Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes--outside the echoes of the indignant woman's strident voice came across the hallway. She was venting her ill humor on the children noisily returning from their pageant, on the cook, whose frowsy head appeared at the stair landing for dinner orders, on the patient nurse who pattered about on errands.

”--what we're coming to--the trouble is I can't say my soul's my own-- sewing women! Playing chess instead of sewing! The last one couldn't sew and this one won't--” She reprimanded a grocer over the telephone, she sent a child snivelling to her bedroom. But the invalid, his eyes intent on the chess board, paid no heed. He moved cautiously, craftily, he had set his heart on winning. And he was too shrewd for Felicia to dare to pretend to let him win.

The minutes seemed like ages but at length, just as the angry voice was subsiding, the old man straightened victoriously on his pillows.

”Check!” he called buoyantly, ”Check!”

Felicia arose.

”You play adroitly,” she encouraged him. ”And I'm really ra-ther glad I stole your luncheon for here comes your supper. I know you'll be hungry for your supper--”

She was outside the door, as quiet as a shadow, fastening Louisa's old bonnet under her chin, b.u.t.toning the old coat about her; even before Mrs. Alden was at her side she had Bab.i.+.c.he under her arm.

”Here's your money,” said the woman stiffly.

Felicia shook her head.

”You might as well take it, even if you didn't work full time. Of course, I won't want you to come again.”

”No?” Felicia asked with a curious upward inflection.

In the exasperated silence the invalid's voice quavered out to them.

”Miss Whadda-you-call-it!--Call that woman back here, Miss Grant!” She stepped to his door. ”I wish you'd come around sometimes,” he asked her pleadingly, ”I do admire a good game of chess--and it's my house, I tell you, this is my house, even Clara can't say this isn't my house!”

”I'll come sometimes,” she promised, ”indeed I will--” she stepped back to her abashed employer. ”--you aren't making him happy,” she murmured pa.s.sionately, ”sick people and old people ought to be happy--”

and walked straight down the stairs and out through the ornate gates leaving a discomfited woman behind her.