Part 8 (1/2)
”Why, I--unprotected widow that I am, Mr. Evans, am not the one to force myself even upon my cousin if--”
”Nor I, Penfield. It would be a pleasant enough change, heaven knows, from the boarding-house. But you can ask your mother, Penfield, if there ever was a prouder girl in all Whitewater than Emmy Brand. I--”
”But I tell you, ladies, the obligation is all on George's part. It's just as if you were polling votes for him. What is probably the oldest adage in the language, states that actions speak louder than words.
Give him his chance to spread broadcast to your s.e.x his protection, his support. That, ladies, is all I--we--ask.”
”But I--Genevieve--the housekeeping, Penfield. Genevieve isn't much on management when it comes to--” ”Housekeeping! Why, I have it from your fair cousin herself, Miss Emelene, that her idea of their new little home is the Open House.”
”Yes, but--as Emelene says, Mr. Evans, it's an imposition to--”
”Why do you think, Mrs. Smith, Martin Jaffry spends all his evenings up at Remingtons' since they're back from their honeymoon? Why, he was telling me only last night it's for the joy of seeing that new little niece of his lording it over her well-oiled little household, where a few extra dropping in makes not one whit of difference.”
At this remark, embedded like a diamond in a rock, a shade of faintest color swam across Mrs. Smith's face and she swung him her profile and twirled at her rings.
”And where Genevieve Remington's husband's interests are involved, ladies, need I go further in emphasizing your welcome into that little home?”
”Heaven knows it would be a change from the boarding-house, Alys. The lunches here are beginning to go right against me! That sago pudding today--and Gallup knowing how I hate starchy desserts!”
”For the sake of the cause, Miss Emelene, too!”
”Gallup would have to hold our rooms at half rate.”
”Of course, Mrs. Smith. I'll arrange all that.”
”I--I can't go over until evening, with three trunks to pack.”
”Just fine, Mrs. Smith. You'll be there just in time to greet George at dinner.”
Miss Emelene fell to stroking the cat, again curled like a sardelle in her lap.
”Kitti-kitti-kitti--, does muvver's ittsie Hanna want to go on visit to Tousin George in fine new ittie house? To fine Tousin Georgie what give ittsie Hanna big saucer milk evvy day? Big fine George what like ladies and lady kitties!”
”Emelene, it's out of the question to take Hanna. You know how George Remington hates cats! You remember at the Sunday School Bazaar when--”
A grimness descended like a mask over Miss Brand's features. Her mouth thinned.
”Very well, then. Without Hanna you can count me out, Penfield. If--”
”No, no! Why nonsense, Miss Emelene! George doesn't--”
”This cat has the feelings and sensibilities of a human being.”
”Why of course,” cried Penfield Evans, reaching for his hat. ”Just you bring Hanna right along, Miss Emelene. That's only a pet pose of George's when he wants to tease his relatives, Mrs. Smith. I remember from college--why I've seen George _kiss_ a cat!”
Miss Emelene huddled the object of controversy up in her chin, talking down into the warm gray fur.
”Was 'em tryin' to 'buse muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie? Muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie!”
They were in the front hall now, Mr. Evans tugging at the door.