Part 20 (1/2)

They talked politics through dinner, and Mrs. Madison noted with a sigh that Betty's interest in the undesirable inst.i.tution was unabated. She admired Senator North, however, and felt pride in his appreciation of her brilliant daughter. She expressed her regret amiably at not being able to meet again Mrs. North, who would see none but old friends in these days, and Senator North a.s.sured her of his wife's agreeable remembrance of her brief acquaintance with Mrs. Madison.

”How wonderfully well people behave whose common secret would set their world by the ears,” thought Betty. ”Our worst enemies could detect nothing; and on what there is heaven knows a huge scandal could be built.”

After dinner she played to him for an hour, while the others, with the exception of Mrs. Madison, who went to sleep, became absorbed in whist.

But she did not see him for a moment alone, and Jack rowed him across the lake.

She went to her bed, but not to sleep. She hardly cared if she never slept again. Night in a measure gave him to her, and to sleep was to forget the wonder that he loved her.

It was shortly after midnight that she heard a faint but unmistakable creaking on the tin roof of the veranda. She sat up. Some one was about to pa.s.s her window. She sprang out of bed, crossed the room softly, and lifted the edge of the curtain. A figure was almost crawling past. It was a woman's figure; the stars gave enough light to define its outlines at close range. She had a shawl over her head, but her angular body was unmistakable. She was Miss Trumbull.

Betty dropped the curtain and stared into the darkness. ”Whom is she watching?” she thought. ”Whom is she watching?”

She went back to bed and listened intently. In half an hour she heard the same sound again.

”She is going back to her room,” thought Betty. ”What has she seen?”

The next morning she sent for Miss Trumbull to come to her room. She had no intention of asking her to sit down, but the woman did not wait to be invited. She took a chair and fanned herself with a palm leaf that she picked from the table.

”Lawsy, but it's hot,” she said. ”I had a long argument with Miss Walker yesterday about New York State bein' hotter 'n down South, and she wouldn't believe it. But I usually know what I'm talkin' about, and hotter it is. I near lost my temper, for I guess I know when it's hot--”

”What were you doing on the roof of the veranda last night?” asked Betty, abruptly.

Miss Trumbull turned the dark ugly red of her embarra.s.sed condition.

”I--” she stammered.

”I saw you. Whom were you watching?”

”I warn't watchin' anybody. I was takin' a walk. I couldn't sleep.”

”You know perfectly well that the roof of a veranda is not intended to be walked on. Your curiosity is insufferable. I suppose it has become professional. Or are you hoping for blackmail? If so, the hotel is the place for you.”

This time Miss Trumbull turned purple.

”I like money as well as anybody, I guess,” she stuttered; 'but I'd never sell a secret to get it. I ain't low down and despicable if I am poor.” ”Then you admit it is mere curiosity? I would rather you stole.”

”Well, I don't steal, thank heaven. And I don't see any harm in tryin'

to know what's goin' on in the world.”

”Read the newspapers and let your neighbours alone, at all events the people in this house. I have twice seen you reading over the addresses of the letters of the outgoing mail. Don't you ever do it again. You are a good housekeeper, but if I find you attending to anything but your own business, once more, you go on the moment. That is all I have to say.”

The woman left the room hurriedly. An hour or two later Betty met Harriet on the terrace.

”I am sorry to appear to be always admonis.h.i.+ng you,” she said, ”but I must ask you to have nothing more to do with Miss Trumbull.”

”I don't want to have anything more to do with her, honey. She has taken to arguing with me in that long self-satisfied drawl, and I have 'most got to hate her. I wouldn't mind so much if she was ever right, but she is a downright fool, and I reckon all fools are pretty much alike. And I have a horrible idea that she suspects something. I have seen her staring at my finger-nails two or three times. And I am 'most sure some one has gone through the little trunk I keep my letters in.

Of course the key is always in my purse, but she may have had one that fits, and the things are not like I left them, I am 'most sure.”