CHAPTER XXVIIIAFTER THE CURTAIN WAS LOWERED
Mrs. Baronhad returned from her calling expedition earlier than she had expected to. She had had a feeling that something might go wrong. Prescience is really a wonderful thing.
Now as the poor lady stood within Thomason’s room she was quite terrified. For the moment there had been a dreadful din. And now, looking at Thomason, she caught the rebellious expression in his round, innocent eyes. She saw that he had brass rings in his ears. Unfortunately she did not associate the brass rings with the window blinds. And his face was horribly streaked. His right leg was sticking up in air quite inelegantly, and he was clawing at some other unspeakable person in an effort to regain his equilibrium.
And then there was Bonnie May, with an insane light in her eyes. And behind Bonnie May was a smirking creature who grinned maliciously at Mrs. Baron, as if he and she shared some guilty secret in common. Certainly she did not know the man.
Moreover, there stood Flora, looking unspeakably demure, with the man Addis by her side. Addis was looking as if her arrival had provokedhim. His look seemed to say: “If you don’t like it, why don’t you run along?”
Mrs. Baron did not stop to take in any of the others. At first she was speechless, as the saying is, though she was trying to shape certain comments which she meant to direct at Bonnie May.
She opened her mouth once and again quite helplessly. Then she found her voice.
“You little—limb of Satan!” The words came with difficulty. In that instant her features looked quite unlovely. Bonnie May might have told her that elderly people ought never, under any circumstances, to become violently angry. But Bonnie May was in no condition to utter elemental truths.
“You awful little—wretch!” added Mrs. Baron. “No sooner do I turn my back than you disgrace me! You open my door to—the whole street!”
Bonnie May was blinking rapidly. She was very pale. If you dreamed that you were finding large sums of money, and some one threw a bucket of cold water on you, and you woke up to find yourself in the poorhouse—that perhaps fairly describes her mental state.
She had not been quite sorry that the bed collapsed. Some of the secondary cells in her brain had been warning her, as she stood on the “bridge,” that the third act could scarcely be made to come to a true climax. She couldn’t be projected into the sea really. She would have to step tamelydown from the table and begin to talk in a commonplace fashion.
Under favorable conditions the collapse of the bed would have been a relief.
But now she stood looking at Mrs. Baron trying to reach her soul through her angry eyes. She shrank so from being humiliated before her friends—the old and the new. If Mrs. Baron, who had been so kind in many unimportant ways and times, could only spare her now!
“If you will permit me, madam—” began Clifton.
“Who are these—gentlemen?” demanded Mrs. Baron, still wrathfully regarding Bonnie May—Bonnie May and no other.
“They are my friends,” said Bonnie May. “They have known me always. And really, you know, we weren’t doing anything wrong!”
Clifton had assisted her to the floor; and now, after an appealing step in Mrs. Baron’s direction, and the swift conclusion that nothing she could do would save the situation, she broke into tears and staggered from the room.
“Bonnie May!” called Clifton, with overflowing solace in his tone. He ran after Bonnie May. The other actor, casting brass rings and red bandanna to the floor, followed.
“Emily Boone!” The voice was Mrs. Harrod’s. “I think you might blame us, if it’s all so terrible. We encouraged her. Weenjoyedit.”
Mrs. Baron now turned toward the assembled group. She seemed dazed. “I—I didn’t know you were here!” she said, her voice trembling weakly. And then—“I don’t care! What would any woman do, coming home and finding strangers and—and such a scene in her house?”
“We invited them in, mother,” confessed Baron weakly.
“Yes,” echoed Flora, “they were old companions of Bonnie May’s, and we thought it would be nice to invite them in!”
“And I suppose you invited—himin, too?” retaliated Mrs. Baron, indicating Addis by a scornful, slight movement of her head.
The effect of this upon Flora was most distressing. Could her mother so far forget herself as to reveal family differences in the presence of Mrs. Harrod and the McKelvey girls? Her wounded eyes fairly begged for mercy.
Addis promptly came to her relief.
“No, she didn’t, Mrs. Baron. I just dropped in.” His voice, by reason of its bigness and calmness, had the effect of making every one in the room feel how petty and needless had been the unpleasantness which Mrs. Baron’s arrival had created. His hair seemed more bristling than ever as he added: “If you will permit me, I’ll bid you good day.” He made a rather stiff bow, which was meant to include every one in the room, and turned to go.
But here Mrs. Harrod interfered again. “Peter!” she called.
The uttering of the unfamiliar given name created profound surprise in certain minds.
“Peter!” she repeated. “I won’t have you go away like that. I want you to know Mrs. Baron better than you seem to know her. She doesn’t mean half she says. Emily, tell him I’m right!” She looked commandingly at Mrs. Baron. It was evident that she had a nature which was not to be subdued by trivial mishaps.
Mrs. Baron flinched. “Who is Peter?” she demanded feebly.
“If you don’t know, I advise you to cultivate your son’s friends. Do you mean that you don’t know Peter Addis? Why, he’s been like a son of mine. You ought to have known how fond I and the colonel are of him. I’m surprised you’ve never met him at our house.”
“I never did,” said Mrs. Baron, swallowing with difficulty.
“Well, for goodness’ sake let’s go down-stairs—please excuse me for suggesting, Emily, in your house—and behave ourselves. I suppose we’ve all been at fault—all except that delightful child. I’m going to find her and tell her so!”
“It was so funny!” declared the elder Miss McKelvey, appealing tremulously to Mrs. Baron, and patting her on the arm. She thought of laughing, which was, she believed, the easiest thing to do in all sorts of circumstances.
Mrs. Harrod’s brain was working energetically. She had been reading various faces, and she realized that even yet Mrs. Baron had not spoken to Addis. She drew conclusions. On the way down-stairs she kept Addis close to her.
“Do you know, Peter,” she said, in large, cheerful tones, “I think it’s downright shabby for you to neglect us as you have been of late. I miss those old evenings so!—when you and the colonel used to come in from hunting, and sit down and eat like two famished boys, and bring the atmosphere of outdoors with you. Do you remember how the dogs used to slip into the house, in spite of the colonel’s scolding, and put their heads on your knees while you ate supper? Those were the occasions that made a home worth having.”
Addis, entirely satisfied with the turn affairs were taking, responded eagerly: “I certainly do remember. I’ve often wondered if the colonel had Queenie yet. There was a dog for you!”
“Oh, no! Queenie’s been dead over a year. It’s Prince and Hector, now—Queenie’s puppies. The colonel says they’re every bit as smart as their mother was. I wish you’d come out soon. On a Sunday, if you’d rather find us alone. We’ll sit out under the grape-arbor. You know the grapes are just getting ripe. Those little vines have grown up beautifully. The colonel always has his bottle of what-do-you-call-it out there, and his pipe, and I send the servants away and prepare a little lunch——”
They were in the sitting-room now, too eagerly engaged in their conversation to think of sitting down, and Mrs. Baron was waiting humbly to regain control of the situation.
Mrs. Harrod was not unmindful of her old friend’s discomfort; but she had an idea she was engaged in giving a patient a dose of medicine, and that she ought to be careful that none of it was spilled.
“If you’ll excuse me,” said Mrs. Baron, now thoroughly dejected, “I’ll look for Bonnie May. I think I ought to have a talk with her.”
She had heard every word that Mrs. Harrod had spoken to Mr. Addis. And she had heard enough.
She went to Bonnie May’s room. She was too confused to realize that Flora accompanied her. But as she stood staring miserably into the empty room she heard Flora’s comforting voice.
“She’s probably down-stairs, mother, with—with her friends.”
Flora went to the stairway and called. There was no response. She listened, anxiously turning her eyes toward her mother; but there was no sound of voices on the floor below.
“They wouldn’t have remained in the house a minute,” declared Mrs. Baron, who was now frankly remorseful.
“But Bonnie May—she may have gone back to talk to Mrs. Shepard,” suggested Flora. They could hear Mrs. Harrod’s voice, pleasantly masterful. She had introduced Addis to the McKelveygirls, now that she happened to think of it, and they were slipping eager gusts of laughter and disconnected phrases into the conversation.
Mrs. Baron and Flora went down-stairs and appealed to Mrs. Shepard.
Bonnie May had gone out, Mrs. Shepard said. She had come down-stairs and telephoned something in great haste, and then she had induced her two gentleman friends to go away. An automobile had come quite promptly, and she had gone away in it.
Mrs. Baron turned away from her daughter and rested her hand against the wall at the foot of the staircase. Her attitude spelled repentance and fear.
She went up into the child’s room, and Flora followed close enough to hear a low, tremulous cry of despair.
“I wouldn’t, mother!” soothed Flora, whose eager voice brought Mrs. Harrod and the others.
Mrs. Baron was standing beside a little worktable and a chair that were Bonnie May’s. Her face was quivering. “I’m a disagreeable old creature,” she declared. “I don’t deserve to have any happiness.”
One hand fumbled with a handkerchief, which she lifted to her eyes. From the other, slowly relaxing, a handful of roses and ridiculous little silk butterflies fluttered slowly to the floor.
“I want you all to leave me—please!” she begged. “I’m not fit to be seen.” She put forth ahand to Mrs. Harrod. “Do come back again soon,” she begged. “And you, too,” she added, extending her hand to the McKelvey girls. And then, as she dabbed her discolored eyes, she concluded with—“And you, too!” She glanced aside, but her hand went out to Addis.
Then she disappeared into her own room, and softly closed the door.
Flora’s eyes were shining as she escorted the party down-stairs. “She’s only gone to visit friends,” she declared. “She’ll be back.”
The McKelvey girls burst from the front door ahead of the others. They were cheerful creatures who were not to be depressed long by the scenes they had just witnessed.
Flora, standing in the hall to let the others pass, heard them shrieking joyously: “Oh, what a lovely new car you’ve got, Mrs. Harrod,” and then she heard Mrs. Harrod explaining, as she emerged into the sunlight: “A birthday present from the colonel.”
They had all passed out now except Addis, and when Flora opened the door a little wider for him he stood still an instant and looked out. The others were out there inspecting Mrs. Harrod’s new car.
Then he took Flora’s hand in his and closed the door firmly and securely.
It was fully a minute before the door was opened again, and Addis descended the steps alone.
Mrs. Harrod and the McKelvey girls forgot the new machine immediately. They were all lookingat Peter Addis. And they were all thinking precisely the same thing, namely, that they had never in all their lives seen a man who looked more extraordinarily handsome and happy.