Part 31 (1/2)

Again that day did I listen to a defence of this woman, and from a source whence I could little have expected it. Meditating upon the matter, I found myself staring at Mrs. Judson as she polished some gla.s.sware in the pantry. As always, the worthy woman made a pleasing picture in her neat print gown. From staring at her rather absently I caught myself reflecting that she was one of the few women whose hair is always perfectly coiffed. I mean to say, no matter what the press of her occupation, it never goes here and there.

From the hair, my meditative eye, still rather absently, I believe, descended her quite good figure to her boots. Thereupon, my gaze ceased to be absent. They were not boots. They were bronzed slippers with high heels and metal buckles and of a character so distinctive that I instantly knew they had once before been impressed upon my vision. Swiftly my mind identified them: they had been worn by the Klondike woman on the occasion of a dinner at the Grill, in conjunction with a gown to match and a bluish scarf--all combining to achieve an immense effect.

My a.s.sistant hummed at her task, unconscious of my scrutiny. I recall that I coughed slightly before disclosing to her that my attention had been attracted to her slippers. She took the reference lightly, affecting, as the s.e.x will, to belittle any prized possession in the face of masculine praise.

”I have seen them before,” I ventured.

”She gives me all of hers. I haven't had to buy shoes since baby was born. She gives me--lots of things--stockings and things. She likes me to have them.”

”I didn't know you knew her.”

”Years! I'm there once a week to give the house a good going over.

That j.a.p of hers is the limit. Dust till you can't rest. And when I clean he just grins.”

I mused upon this. The woman was already giving half her time to superintending two a.s.sistants in the preparation of the International Relish.

”Her work is too much in addition to your own,” I suggested.

”Me? Work too hard? Not in a thousand years. I do all right for you, don't I?”

It was true; she was anything but a slacker. I more nearly approached my real objection.

”A woman in your position,” I began, ”can't be too careful as to the a.s.sociations she forms----” I had meant to go on, but found it quite absurdly impossible. My a.s.sistant set down the gla.s.s she had and quite venomously brandished her towel at me.

”So that's it?” she began, and almost could get no farther for mere sputtering. I mean to say, I had long recognized that she possessed character, but never had I suspected that she would have so inadequate a control of her temper.

”So that's it?” she sputtered again, ”And I thought you were too decent to join in that talk about a woman just because she's young and wears pretty clothes and likes to go out. I'm astonished at you, I really am. I thought you were more of a man!” She broke off, scowling at me most furiously.

Feeling all at once rather a fool, I sought to conciliate her. ”I have joined in no talk,” I said. ”I merely suggested----” But she shut me off sharply.

”And let me tell you one thing: I can pick out my a.s.sociates in this town without any outside help. The idea! That girl is just as nice a person as ever walked the earth, and n.o.body ever said she wasn't except those frumpy old cats that hate her good looks because the men all like her.”

”Old cats!” I echoed, wis.h.i.+ng to rebuke this violence of epithet, but she would have none of me.

”Nasty old spite-cats,” she insisted with even more violence, and went on to an almost quite blasphemous absurdity. ”A prince in his palace wouldn't be any too good for her!”

”Tut, tut!” I said, greatly shocked.

”Tut nothing!” she retorted fiercely. ”A regular prince in his palace, that's what she deserves. There isn't a single man in this one-horse town that's good enough to pick up her glove. And she knows it, too.

She's carrying on with your silly Englishman now, but it's just to pay those old cats back in their own coin. She'll carry on with him--yes!

But marry? Good heavens and earth! Marriage is serious!” With this novel conclusion she seized another gla.s.s and began to wipe it viciously. She glared at me, seeming to believe that she had closed the interview. But I couldn't stop. In some curious way she had stirred me rather out of myself--but not about the Klondike woman nor about the Honourable George. I began most illogically, I admit, to rage inwardly about another matter.

”You have other a.s.sociates,” I exclaimed quite violently, ”those cattle-persons--I know quite all about it. That Hank and Buck--they come here on the chance of seeing you; they bring you boxes of candy, they bring you little presents. Twice they've escorted you home at night when you quite well knew I was only too glad to do it----” I felt my temper most curiously running away with me, ranting about things I hadn't meant to at all. I looked for another outburst from her, but to my amazement she flashed me a smile with a most enigmatic look back of it. She tossed her head, but resumed her wiping of the gla.s.s with a certain demureness. She spoke almost meekly:

”They're very old friends, and I'm sure they always act right. I don't see anything wrong in it, even if Buck Edwards has shown me a good deal of attention.”

But this very meekness of hers seemed to arouse all the violence in my nature.

”I won't have it!” I said. ”You have no right to receive presents from men. I tell you I won't have it! You've no right!”

”Haven't I?” she suddenly said in the most curious, cool little voice, her eyes falling before mine. ”Haven't I? I didn't know.”