Part 32 (1/2)
”Pearl gray, with very narrow st.i.tching. I think that's better taste, don't you?”
”Sure,” agreed Quin. ”Flower in the b.u.t.tonhole, or anything like that?”
While this all-important detail was being decided, a clanging bell and the hiss of an engine announced the incoming train. Before the two waiting cavaliers could reach the gate, Eleanor Bartlett came through, laden with wraps and umbrellas.
”I like the way you meet us,” she called out. ”For mercy sake, help me.”
And she deposited her burden in Quin's outstretched arms. Then, as Mr.
Chester strode past them with flying coat-tails in quest of Miss Enid, she burst out laughing.
”Say, you are looking great,” said Quin, with devouring eyes, as he surveyed her over the top of his impedimenta.
”It's more than you are.” She scanned his face in dismay. ”Have you been sick?”
”No, indeed. Never felt better.”
”I know--it was nursing Ca.s.s that did it. Rose wrote me all about it. If you don't look better right away, I shall make you go straight to bed and I'll come feed you chicken soup.”
”My fever's rising this minute!” cried Quin, ”I believe I've got a chill.
Send for the ambulance!”
”Not till after the wedding. I'll have you know I am to be Aunt Enid's bridesmaid.”
”You've got nothing on me,” said Quin, ”I'm the best man!”
This struck them both as being so excruciatingly funny that they did not see the approaching cavalcade, with Madam walking slowly at its head, until Quin heard his name called.
”Oh, dear,” said Eleanor, ”there they come. And I've got a thousand questions to ask you and a million things to tell you.”
”Come here, young man, and see me walk!” was Madam's greeting. ”Do I look like a cripple? Leg off at the knee, crutches for life? Bah! We fooled them, didn't we?”
Quin made a tremendous fuss over the old lady. He also threw the aunties into pleased confusion by pretending that he was going to kiss them, and occasioned no end of laughter and good-natured banter by his incessant teasing of Mr. Chester. He was in that state of effervescence that demanded an immediate outlet.
Madam found him so amusing that she promptly detailed him as her special escort.
”Eleanor can look after the baggage,” she said, ”and Isobel can look after Eleanor. The turtle-doves can take a taxi.” And she closed her strong old fingers around Quin's wrist and pulled him forward.
He shot an appealing glance over his shoulder at Eleanor, who shook her head in exasperation; then he obediently conducted Madam to her carriage and scrambled in beside her.
”Now,” she said, when he had got a cus.h.i.+on at her back and a stool under her foot, ”tell me: where's Ranny--drunk as usual?”
”No, siree!” said Quin proudly. ”Sober as usual. He hasn't touched a drop since you went away.”
She looked at him incredulously.
”Are you lying?”
”I am not.”
Her hard, suspicious old face began to twitch and her eyelids reddened.