What Will People Say? A Novel
large dinners he hovered about in the offing correcting and directing
with a marvelous tact and an infallible memory for the encyclopedic lore
of nice service. For a guest to be recognized by his watery old eyes and
named by his thin lips was in itself a distinction.
To-day he was blissfully happy. The young upstart servants had flocked
to the wedding, and he was called to the helm. When Persis saw him at
the door her heart melted, but it also sank.
"Did anybody call?" she asked, and asked several times in _crescendo_.
"Only Mrs. Enslee, ma'am," he whispered, in his dry, cackling, deaf
man's voice.
Persis cast her eyes up in despair and hastened to pay her devoirs to
her mother-in-law. The elder Mrs. Enslee was looking radiantly beautiful
in her white hair and her black eyes and the assisted red of her Spanish
lips, with her cascade of furs falling about her.
She smiled at Persis sadly. Her daughter-in-law was beautiful
undeniably. What a pity that she was not also good! But she kept back
her reproaches, and said in the most delicate of accents, with her
tendency to an exquisite lisp:
"Don't worry, my dear. It's only a duty call."
"Won't you stop to dinner?" Persis urged. "We're only going to have a
bite. We're dining early and hurrying away to the opera. Willie is
determined to hear the overture and the first act. I dote on 'Carmen,'
but I've never been in time for the first of it."
"'Carmen!'" Mrs. Enslee sniffed. "That old slander on my race--as if
Spanish women were all faithless!"
"But if it's Carmen for Spain," Persis said, "it's Camille for France,
and Becky Sharp for England, and--who for America?"
"Hester Prynne, perhaps."
"Oh yes," laughed Persis. "Even the Puritans had their scandals; but she
was a grass-widow, and the town was so dull, and the preacher so
handsome. Can you blame her?"
"Cynical Persis!" Mrs. Enslee sighed. "Well, I shall be late."
"I wish you'd stay," Persis lied, graciously. "You're a picture. And
everybody says you are flirting dreadfully with old General Branscomb."
"I hope you don't believe all you hear."
"Only the worst."
"Then you're on the safe side. But remember, my dear, other people can
apply the same rule. I'm not the only one who has been suspected of
flirting with an army officer." The doorbell had punctuated their
chatter several times. It rang again. "Now, who's that? Expecting
anybody?"
"No, and I've got to fling into my opera-gown."
"What are you wearing to-night?"
The rhapsody of description was interrupted by the incursion of Willie.
He wore his overcoat and top hat into the room, and his key-chain
dangled. He was in one of his most fretful moods. He vouchsafed his
mother a casual "Oh, hello, _madre mia_," then turned to Persis.
"What the devil has happened to the servants? Nobody to answer the bell.
Had to let myself in. Deuced nuisance unbuttoning coat, getting keys
out, finding right one. What are we coming to? I'll fire that Dobbs."
"You forget, dear, he is getting married this afternoon."
"We all ought to have gone," said Mrs. Enslee; but Willie has no sense
of obligation to his employees.
He ignored the suggestion and raged on, "Well, Dobbs isn't our only
servant, is he?"
"No," Persis explained; "but, you see, he's marrying the housekeeper's
daughter, and the butler is best man, and the maids are bridesmaids--"
"Romance everywhere," Willie sneered, as he laid off his things and
threw them on a chair, "except up-stairs. I suppose that's why my man
was so surly when I told him he'd have to stay and dress me. He'll
probably cut my throat while he shaves me. I wish he would."
"That's cheerful!" said Persis. "What brings you home from the club so
early? It's such an unusual honor."
"I heard something I didn't like--gossip."
"Tell us what you heard," Mrs. Enslee asked, hungrily.
"I prefer not to retail club gossip in my home," said Willie.
"Oh, aren't we punctilious?" Persis railed; and Willie answered, curtly:
"One of us ought to be."
Persis was jarred a trifle, but her only comment was: "Why is it that
when men are feeling ugly they always come home early?"
Willie threw her a look of wrath and turned to his distressed mother.
"Won't you stop to dinner?"
"Not when there's so much war-paint visible, thanks!"
"But hang it all--" Willie began, and checked himself, for Crofts
shuffled through the room. Willie rounded on him. "Oh, somebody at last,
eh? Why the deuce was no one at the door? I had to let myself in."
Crofts cupped his hand behind his ear, and crackled, "Beg pardon, sir?"
"I had to let myself in, I say."
"Very sorry, sir, but owing to Dobbs' wedding and your early dinner,
sir, the servants have a great deal to do."
"But I rang and rang!" Willie stormed, and repeated, wrathfully, "I rang
and rang!"
"Very sorry, indeed, sir," Crofts pleaded. "My hearing isn't as good as
it was when I entered your father's service."
"Well, I won't have my house turned into a--an infirmary."
Crofts heard that and withered. "Your father never complained of me,
sir."
"You heard better then and jumped quicker," Willie shouted.
The old man, at bay, answered with unintended irony: "I meant no
offense, sir, by growing old."
"Oh, get out!" Willie snapped.
Crofts bowed and turned on Persis a pitiful look. She gave him a glance
of sympathy, then pointed to Enslee's coat and hat. Crofts took them,
and, touching the back of his hand to his eyes and swallowing hard,
shuffled away.
Willie's mother rebuked him. "You've broken his poor old heart."
And Persis was more severe. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Willie retorted, more sharply: "Oh, we all ought to be ashamed of
ourselves--for something or other. Crofts isn't the only man on earth
with a broken heart."
As Persis stared in wonderment at his unusual mood Crofts came back.
"You are wanted on the telephone, ma'am. The gentleman wouldn't give his
name."
Persis flinched at this, and stammered, "You'll excuse me?"
Mrs. Enslee answered with a sudden frigidity, "Of course, but I'll not
wait. Good-by."
"Good-by!" said Persis, uneasily, and left the room. The moment she was
gone Mrs. Enslee put her hand on Willie's arm and spoke in some
confusion.
"Willie, I--it's very hard for me to say it. But I think you allow
Persis too much liberty."
Willie snorted. "Gad! a lot of good it does an American husband to try
to manage his wife!"
"I know, and Persis is very headstrong," Mrs. Enslee faltered;
"but--well, if anything happens, remember I tried to--"
"Enjoying the luxury of an 'I told you so' already, eh?" Willie sneered.
"What's up?"
"Oh, nothing--nothing definite--but I--I'm just a little uneasy. It
can't hurt to keep your eyes open, can it?"
She had said this much at last. Willie took it solemnly. "What could
hurt a man worse than to have to watch his wife?"
"Well, if that's the way you feel, just forget what I've said. I'm a
foolish old woman. Good-by!"
Willie let her make her way out unattended. He stood musing till Persis
came back, then he wakened with a start, and demanded, "Who was it
telephoned you?"
The question took Persis by surprise. "No one that would interest you."
"Are you sure?"
"Since when this sudden concern in my affairs?"
"Aren't your affairs mine?" he pleaded; but she was curt:
"Indeed they're not. I don't nag you with questions."
He answered this with a sorrowful humility. "Sometimes I wish you would
take a little more interest."
"You're in a funny mood," she said, more gently.
"It's not very funny to me," he groaned.
"You'll feel better after dinner. Run along and let Brooks dress you."
"What about you?"
"I had my hair done while I was out. I've got to wait for Nichette to
get back. I--I'll come up as soon as I--as soon as I write a letter or
two."
"All right," he sighed, and went out obediently, but paused to stare at
her with a curious craftiness.
CHAPTER LXIV
Persis awaited his departure impatiently, tapping her foot with
restlessness. She fell into reverie of indefinite duration. The bell
rang. She gave a start of joy. Crofts went by on his way to the door.
She checked him. "I'm expecting Captain Forbes." He got the name on the
third iteration. "If it is he, show him in here." He nodded and set out
again. She called after him, "If it is any one else I'm not at home."
She ran to a mirror, preened herself expectantly, and waited with a look
of joy. Crofts returned with a card. Persis took it, and asked, "You
told her I was out?"
Crofts was alarmed at once. "No, ma'am, I said you were at home."
"But I said I was out to every one except--"
Crofts was in despair at his blunder. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm afraid I'm
too old and deaf to--"
She relented and patted his hard shoulder-blade. "There, there! don't
worry, we'll get through the day somehow. Show Mrs. Neff in; but nobody
else except Captain Forbes."
Crofts smiled like a forgiven child, and returned with Mrs. Neff, who
bustled in crying, "Ah, my dear, such luck to find you at home."
"So sweet of you to come," said Persis. She was in no mood for Mrs.
Neff. She determined to be rid of her. She explained about the early
dinner and begged to be excused lest Willie murder her for being late.
Persis rang for Crofts, kissed Mrs. Neff a grateful good-by, and fled.
As Crofts opened the door to let Mrs. Neff out he let Winifred Mather
in. Crofts protested feebly that Persis was not at home, but Winifred
came in anyway.
Winifred was just returned from Paris, foiled in her campaign for the
late Ambassador, and determined to regain her control over Bob Fielding.
She had not seen Mrs. Neff, and she had much to say. Ignoring the
helpless Crofts, they drifted back to the drawing-room to swap scandals
from the opposite shores of the ocean. In this fascinating barter they
forgot the flight of time, forgot even the place they were in, for they
fell to discussing Persis and her affair with Forbes.
Winifred had heard of it even in Paris.
"But what does Willie think of it?" she asked; "if he can think?"
"In any intrigue, my dear," Mrs. Neff pronounced, "the last three
persons to learn what all the world knows are the husband and the two
intriguers."
"I saw Bob Fielding yesterday," said Winifred. "He told me about it on
the dock. He's furious at Persis. He said somebody ought to tell
Willie."
"He's right, my dear," said Mrs. Neff; "but who wants to do that sort of
job? It's like street-cleaning--very necessary and sanitary, but we
don't care to do it ourselves, and we don't admire the people who do.
Crooked things have a way of arranging themselves in this naughty world.
Leave Persis alone. Some day some little accident she couldn't
foresee--the mistake of a messenger-boy or a postman or somebody--and
bang! out comes the whole scandal. Persis is clever, but she's juggling
with dynamite."
It was only the last thirteen words that Persis overheard as she came
down to the drawing-room, never dreaming that Mrs. Neff had not gone or
that Winifred had come. Her slippers were soft, and her gown made no
frou-frou. The voices of the women, softened to a ghoulish stealth,
reached her with uncanny clearness.
She paused, struck to stone. Her heart pummeled her till her throat
throbbed visibly. She wanted to fall down and die. She wanted to run
from the house and from the town. Instead, she shook off every primitive
impulse, and, tossing her head in defiance of fate, marched into the
room with all the gracious majesty of a young queen going to her
coronation. Her costume completed the picture: she was robed for the
opera, and she wore her all-around crown of diamonds. She stared
incredulously at Winifred, and cried with ardent hospitality: