Part 41 (1/2)

Scattergood. Sally Warner was of the gus.h.i.+ng type of tall, rather desiccated femininity who always knows you so much better than you know her, who cultivates you every moment for a week and forgets you for months on end, who is hard up and worldly and therefore calculating, whose job is to amuse people and who will therefore sacrifice her best, perhaps not most useful, friend to an epigram, whose wit is barbed, who has a fine nose for trouble, and who is always in at the death. Mrs.

Scattergood was a small blond woman, high voiced, precise in manner, very positive in her statements which she delivered in a drawling tone, humourless, inquisitive about petty affairs, the sort of ”good woman”

with whom no fault can be found, but who drives men to crime. Mrs.

Morrell we know.

These three, after greeting their hostess gus.h.i.+ngly, circulated compactly, talking to each other in low voices. Nan knew they were watching her, and that they had come for the sole purpose of getting first-hand details of her fiasco for later recounting in drawing-rooms where, undoubtedly, even now awaited eager auditors. She came to a decision. The matter could not be worse. When, the three came to make their farewells, she detained them.

”No, I'm not going to let you go yet,” she told them, perhaps a little imperiously. ”I haven't had half a visit with you. Wait until this rabble clears out.”

She hesitated a moment over Mrs. Sherwood, but finally let her go without protest. When the last guest had departed she sank into a chair. As she was already on the verge of hysterics, she easily kept up an air of gayety.

”Girls, what an awful party!” she cried. ”I could tear my hair! It was a perfect nightmare.” Struggling to control her voice and keep back her tears, she added abruptly: ”Now tell me what it is all about.”

Mrs. Morrell and Sally Warner were plainly uneasy and at a loss how to meet this situation, but Mrs. Scattergood remained quite composed in her small, compact way.

”What's what all about, Nan, dear?” asked Sally Warner in her most vivacious manner. She keenly felt the dramatic situation and was already visualizing herself in the role of raconteuse.

”You know perfectly well. Why this funeral? Where are they all? Why did they stay away? I have a right to know.”

”I'm sure there's nothing _I_ can think of!” replied Sally artificially. ”The idea!”

But Mrs. Scattergood, with all the relish of performing a n.o.ble and disagreeable duty, broke in:

”You know, dear,” she said in her didactic, slow voice, ”as well as we do, what the world is. Of course _we_ understand, but people will talk!”

”In heaven's name what are you driving at? What are they talking about?” demanded Nan, as Mrs. Scattergood apparently came to a full stop.

A pause ensued while Sally and Mrs. Scattergood exchanged glances with Mrs. Morrell.

”Well,” at last said Sally, judicially, b.u.t.toning her glove, her head on one side, ”if I had a nice husband like yours, I wouldn't let him run around getting himself disliked for nothing.”

”You ought to use your influence with him before it is too late,” added Mrs. Morrell.

Nan looked helplessly from one to the other, too uncertain of her ground now to risk another step.

”So that's it,” she ventured at last. ”Some one has been telling lies about us!”

”Oh, dear no!” disclaimed Mrs. Scattergood, ”It is only that your friends cannot understand your taking sides against them. Naturally they feel hurt. Forgive me, dear--you know I say it with all affection--but don't you think it a mistake?”

Nan was thoroughly dazed and mystified, but afraid to press the matter further. She had a suspicion Mrs. Morrell was again responsible for her difficulties, but was too uncertain to urge them to stay for further elucidation. They arose. These were the days of hoop skirts, and the set of the outer skirt had to be carefully adjusted before going out.

As they posed in turn before the hall pier gla.s.s they chattered. ”How lovely the house looks.” ”You certainly have worked hard, and must be tired, poor dear!” ”Well, we'll see you to-morrow at Mrs. Terry's.

You're _not asked_? Surely there is some mistake! Well, those things always happen in a big affair, don't they?” ”See you soon.” ”Good-bye.”

”Good-bye.”

Outside the house they paused at the head of the steps.

”Well, what do you think of that?” said Sally. ”I really believe the poor thing doesn't know, I believe I'll just drop in for a minute at Mrs. Caldwell's. Sorry you're not going my way.”

After a fas.h.i.+on Nan felt relieved by this interview, for she thought she discerned only Mrs. Morrell's influence, and this, she knew, she could easily overcome. While she waited for Keith's return from whatever inaccessible fastnesses he always occupied during these big afternoon receptions, she reviewed the situation, her indignation mounting. Downstairs, Wing Sam and his temporary a.s.sistants were clearing things away. Usually Nan superintended this, but to-day she did not care. When Keith finally entered the room, she burst out on him with a rapid and angry account of the whole situation as she saw it; but to her surprise he did not rise to it. His weary, spiritless, uninterested: acceptance of it astonished her to the last degree. To him her entanglement with the Cora affair--for at once he saw the trend of it all--seemed the last straw. Not even his own home was sacred. His spirit was so bruised and wearied that he actually could not rise to an explanation. He seemed to realize an utter hopelessness of making her see his point of view. This was not so strange when it is considered that this point of view, however firmly settled, was still a new and unexplained fact with himself. He contented himself with saying: ”The Morrells had nothing whatever to do with it.” It was the only thing that occurred to him as worth saying; but it was unfortunate, for it left Nan's irritation without logical support. Naturally that irritation was promptly transferred to him.