"I see," she said with an acid little laugh, "you have the _Chatterer_ up here in your unholy of unholies." Her eyes fell on a small magazine which made a speciality of besmirching the good names of the entire country. "Everybody reads it, and everybody pretends to despise it."

"It's awfully interesting," said Lena, and she went on with a little giggle, "I think I'll just tuck it away before my husband comes in. He doesn't approve of it, you know. Men don't care for gossip. I think it is perfectly wonderful what an amount of scandal it gets hold of. I don't see how they do it. And they've such a naughty way of writing it up, too."

"Nothing very remarkable. In every town of importance they have some one always on the lookout for a promising piece of mud." Miss Huntress eyed Lena speculatively for a moment. "I'll tell you in confidence," she went on, "and I trust you to keep mum about it, for the sake of the times when I helped you--I write for it here. I don't exactly like it, but you know I can't afford to despise dollars and cents. It's just plain business, after all. There's a demand for that kind of thing and it falls to my lot to supply it."

"And did you write that awful thing about Mrs. Clarke?" cried Lena, sitting up with big blue eyes, and gazing earnestly at Miss Huntress with, awe as an arbiter of reputations.

"Yep," replied that lady with a gulp of tea.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Percival. "I hope you'll never send them anything about me."

"Then you'd better never do anything indiscreet," Miss Huntress laughed maliciously. "But I don't think you would," she went on speculatively.

"You're too clever and too ambitious for that. Do you know, I've rather come to the conclusion that it's only rather simple-hearted people who do those things. Take that Mrs. Clarke, now. Of course her husband was a brute, and when the other man came along she fell so much in love with him that she didn't even think of any one else in the world except their two selves. A woman who was incapable of whole-souled pa.s.sion would have kept an eye on the world and walked the narrow path of virtue."

"Why, you're defending her!" exclaimed Lena.

"Not in the least," said Miss Huntress grimly. "I helped to make her pay the price."

"Oh, well," Lena said with an air of greatness, "there are some of us who can combine the deepest love with decent behavior you know."

"Of course," answered Miss Huntress.

"Now Miss Elton is just that other kind. I believe she never thinks what people say about her," Lena observed. "Not that she'd do anything out of the way, you understand."

"Certainly not." Miss Huntress began to p.r.i.c.k up her professional ears.

"She's a particular friend of yours, isn't she?"

"Intimate," said Lena. "You know they used to say that Mr. Percival--but of course that was before he met me, and anyway there was nothing in it."

"I know," said Miss Huntress. "I sent a line to the _Chatterer_ once about it."

"Did you really? Well, of course, for form's sake, she has to be as nice as ever to me and Mr. Percival. But she has reconciled herself. It's all Mr. Early now."

"You don't say!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Huntress with interest.

"She's regularly throwing herself at his head. Why only this afternoon I saw her do the most unconventional thing."

"What was it?"

"Oh, I dare say she was just getting him to subscribe to some charity or something equally innocent. Still, it was queer. But I know her too well to suspect her of any impropriety. She's really the dearest, sweetest girl, Miss Huntress, and I'm the last person in the world to criticize her."

"But aren't you going to tell me?"

"Well, she came, quite alone, you understand, to Mr. Early's this afternoon, and was closeted there the longest time. I couldn't help wondering what it was all about. What do you suppose?"

"That was funny," meditated Miss Huntress.

"I'm certain there's some perfectly natural explanation, if we only knew it," Lena went on. "But she looked awfully flushed when she came out."

"Thank you," said Miss Huntress. "I must be going now."

"Oh, won't you have another cup of tea? Of course, I'm on very good terms with Miss Elton," said Lena, fingering the tray cloth a little nervously. "I shouldn't like her to think I'd criticized her behavior, even to you."

"You needn't be afraid," rejoined Miss Huntress. "I never let on how I get my information. I'd lose my job if I did. Much obliged to you, Mrs.

Percival. Things are so dull during Lent that we're thankful for even a few crumbs. I guess that's your husband's step. It must be getting late."

"Oh, good-by! d.i.c.k, you dear boy, how glad I am to see you," cried Lena, fluttering to the door to meet her returning lord. "Miss Huntress, this is my husband. Good-by, again. Don't you remember?" she went on, as d.i.c.k followed her back into her room. "She used to be my 'boss' when I was a poor little slavey in the _Star_ office, before my best beloved prince came and rescued me from dragons and printers' devils."

"And are you so fond of her that you keep up the acquaintance?"

"Oh, I remember how hard it used to be to get 'matter'; and I don't mind helping her out a bit when she's hard pressed."

"You are a kind-hearted little soul, Lena,"--and her husband stooped and kissed her fondly, doing penance in his heart for his doubts of a day or two ago, thoughts cruel, unjust, unwarranted. Lena had never looked more delectable than now, with her head on one side, pouring his tea. She kissed each lump of sugar as she put it in and laughed at her own conceit; and she brought the cup over to his chair and rubbed her apple blossom of a cheek against his with a little purr.

"I'm afraid you think me very silly, d.i.c.k," she laughed. "I do not seem to get a bit wiser or better behaved, do I, for all Mrs. Appleton and Ram Juna, and even your lovely high-bred mother? d.i.c.k, do you despise me!"

"Despise! Why I love and love you and love you all over," said d.i.c.k.

CHAPTER XVII

GRAPE-SHOT

Mrs. Quincy, in her solitary confinement, unloved and complaining, might be considered a figure either repulsive or pathetic, according to the onlooker's point of view. Fortunately there are always a few big enough at heart to turn towards the world a face of affection rather than of criticism, to whom woe appeals more than vulgarity.

So, once in a while in her busy life, Mrs. Lenox found time to drop in as the bearer of a cheerful word and a friendly look to the ugly little apartment where Mrs. Quincy lived in the third story height of domestic felicity.

On an April afternoon she came, like a dark-eyed Flora, her hands loaded with daffodils that might bring a glow of the beauty of spring even to an inartistic spirit. The front door stood open, and a flat has an unrelenting way of laying bare all the skeletons that find no closet room. Mrs. Lenox surprised a scene of domestic economy in the tiny parlor. The curtains had been taken down for fear they would fade, and a large piece of newspaper lay where the sunlight struck the carpet. In the middle of the room sat Mrs. Quincy, and before her on a kitchen chair stood a little tub of foamy soap-suds. A maid was stationed at hand with a bar of soap and a bottle of ammonia, and the steam of homely cleanliness filled the air.

"Good gracious, I declare!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Quincy, "if it ain't Mrs.

Lenox! Come right in. I'm just washin' out my under-flannels and my stockin's. I can't bear the slovenly ways of servants, and it's only myself as can do 'em to suit myself. There, Sarah, you take the things away, and I'll let you rinse 'em out this once. And mind you do it good.

Be sure to use four rinsin's. And soft water, mind. And hand me a towel to wipe off my hands. It's real good of you to come and see a forlorn old woman, that I know can't be much pleasure to you, Mrs. Lenox. There ain't many that takes the trouble. And yet time was when I was considered as good-lookin' as that ungrateful daughter of mine, that I slaved for for years. Put them flowers in water, Sarah. I guess a b.u.t.ter jar's the only thing I got that's big enough to hold them."

Mrs. Lenox sat down, wondering if time and life could ever transform the smooth beauty of Lena's features to this semblance of failure which they so closely resembled. Mrs. Quincy's face was like a grain field over which the storms had swept, changing what was its glory to a horror.

The scarlet-faced Sarah hustled tub and chair and dripping garments kitchen-ward. The visitor took up her task of cheerfulness, and Mrs.

Quincy cackled and grumbled to her heart's content.

"Lena'd be 'shamed to death if she knew you'd caught me doin' my wash,"

she whined. "I hope you won't tell her. She can come down on me pretty hard sometimes, I tell you."

"Oh, I won't tell," Mrs. Lenox laughed. "I only wish you had let me help. I was thinking what fun it must be--with a maid to hold the soap.

It took me back to nursery days. I used to love to wash dolls' clothes."

"I don't do it for fun," Mrs. Quincy snapped. "But I ain't provided with a servant that's worth her salt. If anybody's dependent, like I am, on a whipper-snapper son-inlaw, that ain't got affection enough for me to spend an hour a week with me--why, I guess I have to pinch and sc.r.a.pe wherever I can. No knowin' when I'll git more. I've worked hard all my life for other folks, Mrs. Lenox. You can see by my hands how I've worked. And what do I get for it? A stranger like you is kinder to me than my own flesh and blood. And I know well enough that if Richard Percival throws me a crust, it's only because he would be ashamed to have folks say his mother-in-law was starving. Oh, I let him know that I see through him whenever he comes near me--which ain't very often. And Lena goes days and days and never comes to see me." Her voice and her garrulity were rising, but here a sob gave pause, and Mrs. Lenox rushed in, repressing an impulse to say a word on the elementary laws of give and take in love.