Part 23 (1/2)

s.h.i.+rley could not see his face, but she heard his subdued exclamation as he gazed at the scene within. She knew what it was. The luncheon had reached the salad course. Jane was arranging plates picturesque with an enticing combination of ingredients, parti-coloured, crisp and cool. Her fair arms were bared to the elbow, her cheeks were flushed. At her right hand Mary was ready with a.s.sistance, her eyes respectfully studying the arrangement--not of the salad, but of her young mistress's hair, which was certainly worth studying for its effective simplicity.

The maid could never hope to match that daintiness of arrangement with her own ash-coloured locks, but she meant to try.

Murray turned about at last. ”Well, by Jove!” he exploded, softly.

”How does this come about?”

s.h.i.+rley noiselessly closed the door and explained in a whisper.

Murray's eyes grew eloquent as he listened. ”The little trump!” was his comment. ”I wish I could stay till she's finished. I suppose it would n't do to call her out now?”

”Mercy, no! You might upset her. So far I don't think the least thing has gone wrong.”

”What possessed mother to put the thing through, anyhow? Jane ought to be in there with the others.”

”It was something about entertaining Mrs. Arlo Stevenson. Mother felt it must be done, though the heavens fell. They nearly did fall, till Jane came under and held them up. As for Jane's being at the table--she did n't want to be there. And Olive would n't be, without her, so there's nothing noticeable. They 're all women of mother 's age--on some special board of charities, or something like that, that makes them congenial.”

”Its making them congenial does n't necessarily follow, unfortunately.

So Olive stayed out, did she? That's one count for Olive. Why is n't she helping Jane, though?”

”Jane would n't have either of us in the kitchen. Olive did the flowers, and Norah and I the table. I got in an English fas.h.i.+on or two that will either drive mother to distraction or fill her with pride. I forgot to tell her,” and s.h.i.+rley began to laugh. She led Murray away to safer regions, but he looked at his watch and said he must be off.

”Wasn't it worth coming up for?” she demanded.

”No question of that. Much obliged for letting me know. I 'll settle with Jane later. Take her out for a drive, or something, to cool her off, will you? Good bye!” And Murray vanished, smiling to himself.

”That ought to make her pretty solid with mother,” he reflected, as he raced to his car.

But when the last guest had rustled away, Mrs. Townsend was in no condition to fall upon Jane's neck and overwhelm her with thanks.

Instead she had to be carried to her room by Phelps, the coachman--summoned in haste from the stable--and put to bed by her daughters. Her physician arrived in short order, and his edict, when he had telephoned for a nurse, was stern.

”When you society women stop putting yourselves through a grind that no strong man could stand up under, you will get a grip upon your nerves,”

said he. ”Mrs. Townsend was at the end of her forces two months ago, and I told her so. She has simply been keeping up on will--with the inevitable result. The moment she is fit to travel she must get off to the quietest place on my list--and stay there. Home would be a better place for her, if she would obey the rules; but she won 't, so that settles it. And you, Miss Olive”--he turned abruptly to the elder daughter of the house--”would do well to go with her. It's evident you 've been travelling along the same road.”

”O Doctor Warrener, how absurd you are! I 'm perfectly well. And I 've half a dozen invitations to lovely places. They 'll do me far more good than going to some invalid resort and taking baths.”

He shook his head. ”You're all alike,” said he. ”I may talk till I 'm dumb--you 'll pay the price. And when you 've paid it, you 'll remember.”

”There are two,” said Olive, indicating Jane and s.h.i.+rley, ”who will never have nervous prostration on account of overdoing society.”

Doctor Warrener surveyed them, and the grimness of his face relaxed.

”I'll acquit them on their faces,” said he. ”Tell your husband, Mrs.

Murray, to shut you up in a bandbox--or, better, take you off West to that place where he got back his health--before he lets you drift into the swirl. As for s.h.i.+rley,”--he laid his hand upon her shoulder--”if I'm any reader of destiny--and I ought to be--she 's going to swing that tennis racquet for several years yet before she gives up and settles down.”

All this had happened before Mr. Townsend and Murray came home. Mrs.

Townsend's breakdowns after fatigue in fulfilling her engagements, and the summoning of the doctor, had become too frequent occurrences to imply the sending for her husband. The orders away, for rest and recuperation, were also, within the last few years, of semi-annual recurrence.

”It simply means,” said Murray, pacing with Jane up and down the long flower-bordered walk between the house and the tennis-court, ”it simply means six weeks or two months for you to try your hand at being mistress of the establishment. And judging by what I saw that hand do to-day----”

Jane looked quickly up at him.