Part 7 (2/2)
”Well, what does this very businesslike aspect imply?” Mrs. Carr-Boldt asked her secretary.
”It means that I can't play cards, and you oughtn't,” Margaret said, laughing.
”Oh--? Why not?”
”Because you've lots of things to do, and I've got to finish these notes, and I have to sit with Harriet while she does her German--”
”Where's Fraulein?”
”Fraulein's going to drive Vic over to the Partridges' for luncheon, and I promised Swann I'd talk to him about favors and things for tomorrow night.”
”Well--busy Lizzie! And what have I to do?”
Margaret reached for a well-filled date-book.
”You were to decide about those alterations, the porch and dining room, you know,” said she. ”There are some architect's sketches around here; the man's going to be here early in the morning. You said you'd drive to the yacht club, to see about the stage for the children's play; you were to stop on the way back and see old Mrs. McNab a moment. You wanted to write Mrs. Polk a note to catch the 'Kaiserin Augusta', and luncheon's early because of the Kellogg bridge.” She shut the book. ”And call Mr. Carr-Boldt at the club at one,” she added.
”All that, now fancy!” said her employer, admiringly.
She had swept some scattered magazines from a small table, and was now seated there, negligently shuffling a pack of cards in her fine white hands.
”Ring, will you, Peggy?” said she.
”And the boat races are to-day, and you dine at Oaks-in-the-Field,”
Margaret supplemented inflexibly.
”Yes? Well, come and beat the seven of clubs,” said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, spreading the deck for the draw.
”Fraulein,” she said sweetly, a moment later, when a maid had summoned that worthy and earnest governess, ”tell Miss Harriet that Mother doesn't want her to do her German to-day, it's too warm. Tell her that she's to go with you and Miss Victoria for a drive. Thank you. And, Fraulein, will you telephone old Mrs. McNab, and say that Mrs. Carr Boldt is lying down with a severe headache, and she won't be able to come in this morning? Thank you. And, Fraulein, telephone the yacht club, will you? And tell Mr. Mathews that Mrs. Carr-Boldt is indisposed and he'll have to come back this afternoon. I'll talk to him before the children's races. And--one thing more! Will you tell Swann Miss Paget will see him about to-morrow's dinner when she comes back from the yacht club to-day? And tell him to send us something cool to drink now. Thank you so much. No, shut it. Thank you. Have a nice drive!”
They all drew up their chairs to the table.
”You and I, Rose,” said Mrs. Watson. ”I'm so glad you suggested this, Hattie. I am dying to play.”
”It really rests me more than anything else,” said Mrs. Carr-Boldt.
”Two spades.”
CHAPTER VI
Archerton, a blur of flying trees and houses, bright in the late sunlight, Pottsville, with children wading and shouting, under the bridge, Hunt's Crossing, then the next would be Weston--and home.
Margaret, beginning to gather wraps and small possessions together, sighed. She sighed partly because her head ached, partly because the hot trip had mussed her usual fresh trimness, largely because she was going home.
This was August; her last trip home had been between Christmas and the New Year. She had sent a box from Germany at Easter, ties for the boys, silk scarves for Rebecca, books for Dad; and she had written Mother for her birthday in June, and enclosed an exquisite bit of lace in the letter; but although Victoria's illness had brought her to America nearly three months ago, it had somehow been impossible, she wrote them, to come home until now. Margaret had paid a great deal for the lace, as a sort of salve for her conscience,--not that Mother would ever wear it!
Here was Weston. Weston looking its very ugliest in the level pitiless rays of the afternoon sun. The town, like most of its inhabitants, was wilted and grimed after the burden and heat of the long summer day.
Margaret carried her heavy suit-case slowly up Main Street. Shop windows were spotted and dusty, and shopkeepers, standing idle in their doorways, looked spotted and dusty too. A cloud of flies fought and surged about the closely guarded door of the butcher shop; a delivery cart was at the curb, the discouraged horse switching an ineffectual tail.
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