Part 7 (1/2)
Then another interminable stretch of turmoil, this all the more terrifying because less violent.
”Oh, mother-I can't--” Anger, spent, had given way to broken sobbing.
”I understand how you feel, dear. But you'll--”
”I despise him!”
”I understand, dear. All girls get frightened and--”
”But it isn't that, mother. I don't love him. I can't go on. Won't you, this minute, tell him--tell everybody--?”
”Darling, don't you realize I can't?” Missy had never before heard old Mrs. Greenleaf's voice tremble.
”The invitation, and the trousseau, and the presents, and everything.
Think of the scandal, dear. We couldn't. Don't you see, dear, we can't back out, now?”
”O-o-oh.”
”I almost wish--but don't you see--?”
”Oh, I can't stand it another hour!”
”You're excited, dear,” soothingly. ”You'd better go rest a while. I'll have a good talk with Porter. And you go upstairs and lie down. The Carrolls' dinner--”
”Oh, dinners, luncheons, clothes. I--”
The despairing sound of Miss Princess's cry, and the throbbing realization that these were calamities she must not overhear, stung Missy to renewed reconnoitering. Tiptoeing over to the window, she fumbled at the fastening of the screen, swung it outward, and, contemplating a jump to the sward below, thrust one foot over the sill.
”h.e.l.lo, there! What are you up to?”
On the side porch, not twenty feet away, Mr. Hackett was regarding her with amazed and hostile eyes. Missy's heart thumped against her ribs.
Her consternation was not lessened when, tossing away his cigarette with a vindictive gesture, he added: ”Stay where you are!”
Missy slackened her hold and crouched back like a hunted criminal. And like a hunted criminal he condemned her, a moment later, to old Mrs.
Greenleaf.
”That kid from next door has been snooping in here. I caught her trying to sneak out.”
Missy faltered out her explanation.
”I know it wasn't your fault, dear,” said old Mrs. Greenleaf kindly.
”What was it you wanted?”
Her errand forgotten, Missy could only attempt a smile and dumbly extend the bouquet.
Old Mrs. Greenleaf took the flowers, then spoke over her shoulder: ”I think Helen wants you upstairs, Porter.” Missy had always thought she was like a Roman Matron; now it was upsetting to see the Roman Matron so upset.
”Miss Helen's got a terrible headache and is lying down,” said old Mrs.