Part 24 (1/2)

”Rot!” interrupted Balcome, impatiently. ”She's got relatives right here in the house.” He shuffled his feet and swung his hat.

”I have not!”

Balcome puffed his cheeks with astonishment and anger, and appealed to Wallace. ”Didn't she say so?” he demanded. ”And that child called her Aunt Clare.”

”A--child,” repeated Sue, slowly. ”A--child?”

”My--my brother's little girl.”

”A-a-a-ah!” taunted Balcome. ”And ten minutes ago, it was her sister's little girl.” He laughed.

”My sister-in-_law_!”--she fairly screamed at him. ”Oh, I wish you'd go--all of you! How dare you shove your way in here! Haven't I suffered enough? And you hunt me down! And torture me! Torture me!”

Wildly, she made as if to drive them out, pus.h.i.+ng Sue from her; gasping and sobbing.

”Wallace!--Mr. Balcome!” Backing out of Clare's reach, Sue took the two men with her.

”Go!--Go!--Go!” It was hysteria, or a very fair imitation of it.

Then of a sudden, while her arms were yet upraised, she looked past the three who were retreating and through the door now opening at their back. Another trio was in the hall--Tottie, important and smiling; Mrs. Milo, elbowing her way ahead of the landlady to hear and see; and with her, Farvel, grave, concerned, wondering.

”More visitors!” hailed Tottie.

”Susan, I distinctly told you----”

Clare's look fastened on Farvel. She went back a few steps unsteadily, until the door to her own room stopped her. There she hung, as it were, pallid and open-mouthed.

And Farvel made no sound. He came past the others until he stood directly in front of the drooping, suffering creature against the panels. His look was the look of a man who sees a ghost.

Wallace, with quick foresight, had closed the hall door against Tottie.

But the others had no thought except for the meeting between Farvel and Clare. Mrs. Milo, quite within the embrasure of the bay-window, looked on like a person at an entertainment. Her glance, plainly one of delight, now darted from Farvel to Clare, from Clare to Sue.

With Balcome it was curiosity mixed with hope--the hope that here was what would completely absolve Wallace, who was waiting, all bent and shaken.

Sue stood with averted eyes, as if she felt she should not see. Her face was composed. There was something very like resignation in the straight hanging down of her arms, in the bowed att.i.tude of her figure.

Thus the six for a moment. Then Farvel crumpled and dropped to the settee. ”Laura!” he said, as if to himself; ”Laura!”

”Oh, it's all over! It's all over!” she quavered.

CHAPTER VII

On those rare occasions of stress when Mrs. Milo did not choose to feel that the unforeseen and unpleasant was aimed purposely at herself and her happiness, she could a.s.sume another att.i.tude. It was then her special boast that she was able invariably to summon the proper word that could smooth away embarra.s.sments, lessen strain, and in general relieve any situation: she knew how to be tactful; how to make peace: she had, she explained, that rare quality known as ”poise.”

Now with Clare Crosby swagging against the double door of Tottie's back-parlor, watching Farvel through despairing eyes, and admitting with trembling lips her own defeat; with Farvel seemingly overcome by being brought thus suddenly face to face with the soloist, Mrs. Milo experienced such complete satisfaction that she seized upon this opportunity as one well calculated to exhibit strikingly her judgment, balance, and sagacity; her good taste and pious gentleness.

”Ah, Mr. Farvel!” she cried, in that playfully teasing tone she was often pleased to affect. ”Aren't you glad you came?--Oh, I guessed your little secret! I guessed you were interested in Miss Crosby!”

At the sound of her own name, Clare took her eyes from Farvel and turned them upon Mrs. Milo--turned them slowly, as a sick person might--with effort, and an almost feeble lifting of the head. Her look once focused, she began, little by little, to straighten, to stand more firmly on her feet; she even reached to flatten the starched collar, which had upreared behind her slender throat.

Mrs. Milo went twittering on: ”Where you're concerned, trust us to be anxious, dear Mr. Farvel. That's how we came to guess. _Isn't_ it, my daughter?”