Part 4 (1/2)

Mrs. Middleton was the key to the enigma, though Elsie's mind wasn't sufficiently alert to grasp the fact at the moment. She stood beside her tall, immaculate husband, a short, rather stout, flabby-looking woman with a sallow face wherein keener eyes than Elsie's might have detected traces of former prettiness, and frowsy, ginger-colored hair that had been curled on an iron. She wore a dingy pink tea-gown bordered with swan's-down, cut rather low and revealing a yellow, scrawny neck. A large cameo brooch took the place of a missing frog, and a pin in the hem disclosed missing st.i.tches. Her hands were covered with rings, her feet thrust into shapeless knitted boots.

She smiled, cried, ”Elsie!” in a weak, sentimental manner, and opened her arms wide as if expecting the girl to fly into them.

Elsie, who had risen, advanced stiffly and reached out her hand in gingerly fas.h.i.+on. But Mrs. Middleton gathered her, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, into a warm embrace, holding her close against the dingy pink flannel.

Elsie could not struggle against it, as she was moved to do; she could not burst into tears at the indignity; she could not rush out of the house and back to the train, as she longed to do, with the sense of outrage goading her. She was forced to sit down weakly with the others.

Mrs. Middleton gazed at her fondly.

”Dear child! Little orphan stranger!” she cried. ”How I have longed for this hour! Indeed, I so longed for it that at the last moment my strength failed me, and when the train whistled I had to drop on my bed in exhaustion. But enough of that. Welcome to our home and hearts!”

Murmuring some chill, indistinct monosyllable, Elsie glanced dumbly at Mr. Middleton, who was looking at his wife as tenderly as if she had been all that Elsie had expected her to be. Were they both mad?

”Jack, dear, you have never asked Elsie to take off her things--your own niece!” exclaimed Mrs. Middleton reproachfully. And she turned to Elsie with her sentimental smile.

”These men, my dear!” she said, and coming to her side begged the girl to let her have her wraps.

Elsie wanted to cry out that she wasn't going to stay, that she was no kin of theirs, and was going away on the next train. But she couldn't utter a word. She removed her hat and jacket dumbly, wondering which dusty surface they would occupy. As Mr. Middleton carried them into the hall, she could only guess.

On his return, he noticed the kitchen-ap.r.o.n, picked it up and held it a moment irresolutely. Then opening a door in the wainscot near the fireplace he flung it in. Before the door went to, Elsie had a glimpse of worse disorder--of the sort that is supposed to pertain to a junk-shop.

”That's Katy's ap.r.o.n,” remarked Mrs. Middleton plaintively. ”Do you know, Jack, I feel sure she sits in here when there's no one around.

Now that book on the table by the window must be hers.”

”It's no harm for her to sit here when the room is not in use,”

returned Mr. Middleton kindly, ”but when she goes, I wish she would take her things along.” And he picked up the novel and was about to consign it to the same dump when his wife held out her hand for it.

”What mus.h.!.+” she cried as she fingered the greasy pages, while Elsie flinched inwardly. And un.o.bservant as the girl naturally was, she could not help noticing that Mrs. Middleton retained the book.

”Don't think, dear Elsie, that we're unkind to our poor but worthy Kate,” the latter remarked, sitting down next to Elsie and taking the girl's limp hand in hers. ”As a matter of fact, she has a sitting-room of her own. This house, you know, is very old. It matches the other, newer buildings only because they were built to suit its style. The original owners, the Enderbys, for whom the town was renamed, had many servants and provided a parlor for them. Of course your uncle and I can afford to keep only one, but we gave her the parlor, hoping she would appreciate it. But it doesn't look out front, so she doesn't care for it and uses it as a sort of store-room.”

”I wonder if Elsie wouldn't like to go to her chamber now,” Mr.

Middleton suggested, remarking suddenly how tired the girl looked. He had thought her surprisingly fresh after the long journey, but apparently only excitement had kept her up.

Elsie looked at him gratefully. She was longing to be by herself in order to determine what she was to do.

”Yes, Jack, that's exactly what the poor dear wants; I've been trying to get a word in to ask her,” agreed Mrs. Middleton plaintively. Elsie rose.

”Where did you decide to put her, Milly? In the blue room?”

”Yes, dear, but I'm not perfectly sure whether Katy got it ready. Do you mind calling her?”

He fetched the handsome, slatternly maid servant, who drew up the lower corner of her ap.r.o.n crosswise to disguise its dirt, but openly and unashamed, and only to uncover a dress underneath that was quite as untidy.

”Katy, this is our niece, Miss Moss, who has come to live with us,”

Mrs. Middleton announced. ”Have you got the blue room ready for her?”

Katy bowed low to Elsie before she replied.