Part 11 (1/2)
”She talks about decency”--Balcome spoke confidentially--”and she brings a pup to rehearsal.”
”She brings a darling doggie to rehearsal,” translated Sue.
By now, Mrs. Balcome was serenity itself. ”A pup at rehearsal,” she observed, ”is more acceptable than one man I could name.”
”Aw,” began Balcome, reaching, as it were, for a suitable retort.
Sue put up imploring hands. Hattie had just entered, having changed from her wedding-dress. ”Now, wait! This line is busy,” she declared.
And to Hattie, ”Oh, my dear, why didn't you arrange for two ceremonies!”
”Do you mean bigamy?” inquired the girl, dryly, aware of the atmosphere of trouble.
”I mean one ceremony for father, and one for mother,” answered Sue.
Both belligerents advanced upon her. ”Now, Susan,” began Mrs. Balcome.
And ”Look-a here!” exclaimed Balcome.
The sad voice of Dora interrupted. From the vestibule she shook a mournful head in a warning. ”Someone is calling,” she whispered.
”It's Miss Crosby.”
Like two combatants who have fought a round, the Balcomes parted, retiring to opposite corners of the room. Dora, having satisfied herself that quiet reigned, went out.
Hattie stifled a yawn. ”What is Miss Crosby going to sing, Sue?” she asked indifferently.
”'O Perfect Love.'”
Balcome wheeled with a resounding flop of the hat. ”O Perfect What?”
he demanded.
”Love, Mr. Balcome,--L-O-V-E.”
”Ha-a-a!” cried Balcome. ”I haven't heard that word in years!”
Mrs. Balcome, stung again to action, swept forward to a renewed attack.
”He hasn't heard the word in years!” she scolded. And Balcome, scolding in concert with her, ”I don't think I'd recognize it if I saw it.”--”Through whose fault, I'd like to know?”--her voice topped her husband's.
”Please!” A changed Sue was speaking now, not playfully or facetiously, or even patiently: her face was grave, her eyes were angry. ”Mrs. Balcome, kindly take your place in the Close, to the left of the big door. Mr. Balcome, you will follow the choir.” She waved them out, and they went, both unaccountably meek. Those who knew Sue Milo seldom saw this phase of her personality. Sue, the yielding, the loving, the childlike, could, on occasions, shed all her softer qualities and become, of a sudden, justly vengeful, full of wrath, and unbending. Even her mother had, at rare intervals, seen this phenomenon, and felt respect for it.
Just now, having opened the pa.s.sage door for the choir, Mrs. Milo had scented something wrong, and was cautioning the boys in a whisper.
They came by twos across the room, curving their line a little to pa.s.s near to Sue, and looking toward her with troubled eyes. This indeed was a different Sue, in that strange dress, standing so tensely, with averted face.
When the last white gown was gone, Hattie laid her hand on Sue's arm.
”It's all right,” she said gently. ”Don't you care.”
Sue did not speak or move.
”Dear Sue,” pleaded the girl.