Jane hurried down the hall, Sophy's laments in her ears. She found Olive sitting on the foot of her mother's bed talking perturbedly with the elder woman, in the effort to dissuade her from the purpose of attempting to entertain any guests whatever in the circ.u.mstances. But it became evident to Jane at once that Mrs. Townsend was not to be dissuaded.

"There must be somebody to be had," she a.s.serted, as Jane drew up a chair, after laying a cool hand on the aching forehead and expressing her sympathy with the headache. "It can't be possible that Lemare could n't send me somebody if he understood the necessity--or Perceval. We don't need much done. Cook had all the preliminary baking done yesterday. It's only to get everything together."

"But that's the whole of it, mother," Olive urged. "You may say it's only a simple luncheon, but Norah and Mary are certainly not equal to it. Is n't it excuse enough to send those women word that you 're ill?

I 'll telephone--or write notes, if you prefer."

She rose as she spoke, but Mrs. Townsend waved an agitated hand, and shook her head violently. "You don't understand," she moaned, pressing her hand to her head and falling back among the pillows. "There are reasons why I can't have this thing fail. Mrs. Arlo Stevenson is a most difficult person to get for any affair whatever--and this is particularly in her honour. I could have had a caterer, of course, but I consider it not good form to put small entertaining into any hands but one's cook's. I am indebted to Mrs. Wister very deeply, and she is bringing a guest whom she is very anxious to have meet Mrs. Stevenson.

There are other reasons----"

"But, mother"--Olive's tone was growing impatient--"what can't be, can't be. We can't get any one."

"Perhaps I could do it," Jane began, with some hesitation. "If it's really a simple luncheon----"

"It is!" Mrs. Townsend spoke with eagerness.

"I might not be able to manage the most elaborate dishes----"

"Cook can't be too ill to tell you what is necessary."

"But, mother," Olive protested, "Jane must be at the table. She can't be in the kitchen, sending in courses."

"That's of no consequence," declared Jane, quickly. "I don't mind missing the luncheon in the least."

"They are all older women," murmured Mrs. Townsend, closing her eyes wearily. When Olive took things in hand, it was always difficult to oppose her.

"Yes, but Jane is our bride. And you expect me to be there. If Jane stays in the kitchen, so shall I."

"I don't know what to do," and the poor lady on the bed, among her pillows, looked as if she were indeed suffering.

There was a minute's silence. Then Jane spoke with gentle decision.

"Olive, dear, that is very nice of you, but I truly don't mind in the least. It is n't as if you had n't already introduced me everywhere, and I had n't been entertained over and over. If mother's guests are older ladies, my absence surely won't be noticed. And I 'd love to try what I can do. You know I 've had years of training at cookery, and if I can't manage all of Cook's dishes, perhaps I can subst.i.tute others that are n't at all common. I can promise at least that nothing will be burned."

"You are a dear child," said Mrs. Townsend fervently. She wiped away a nervous tear or two.

Olive followed Jane to her room to watch her new sister exchange her morning dress for one more suitable for the affairs she meant to take in hand.

"This is going to be fun," said Jane gaily.

"I don't see how you can think so. It's certainly very foolish of mother to persist against all odds. One would think her life depended on that luncheon."

"It does--in a way. Her poor nerves are quite worn out. I 've seen it for a long time. Having things go wrong just now is the last straw."

"Why, Jane, what's going to happen?" called Shirley, five minutes later, encountering Jane on the stairs which led to the servants' rooms on the third floor. Shirley had been up to see Cook, who adored her.

"Is Bridget able to see me?" asked Jane.

"She 'll be much flattered. It's sciatica, and it lays her low, but she can converse with intelligence, even with brilliancy. She 's in a terrible state over not being able to get up that luncheon."

"I 'm going to hold a council of war with her," and Jane disappeared into Cook's room.

Half an hour later she came out again, her eyes dancing with antic.i.p.ation, pencil and paper in hand. As she ran downstairs, Sophy came up with a tray, and caught the overflow of Bridget's emotions.

"The cleverness of her!" exclaimed the invalid. "To take the menyou into her own pretty hands and think she can see to it all! She can, too, or I 'm deceived. Consultin' with me and gettin' my directions, and tellin' me where she makes bold to follow, and where she 's not quite sure. It's a pity she 's not mistress of the house in Mrs. Townsend's place--and her so wore out she ought to be at a sanitarium this minute.

Look to it, Sophy, that Norah and Mary does their duty by Mrs. Murray this day, If they 're inclined to be triflin', bid them come up to me.

I 'll soon put them in mind of what Mr. Murray says to me when he brought home his wife. 'Whatever you do to please her will be appreciated,' he says, 'by me.' And it's nothing I would n't do for Mr.

Murray and Miss Shirley, these seven years I 've lived here. And now I 'm feelin' the same way toward Mrs. Murray."

Whether it was the potency of the message which reached scullery maid and waitress by way of Sophy, or whether it was Jane's own engaging manner, together with the respect she soon inspired by the a.s.sured and competent way in which she "took hold," there could be no question that by the end of the first hour not only Norah and Mary, but also Ellen, the laundress, were flying about as they had rarely done before, even for Bridget, who certainly knew how to get out of them work enough and to spare.

At a moment when they chanced to be all together, Jane had said to them, as with deft fingers she mixed a bowlful of ingredients, that if with their help she could only bring about the serving of a luncheon which the guests would like to eat, she should be happier than over any entertainment she herself had ever been offered. And she had been able to tell from their smiling interested faces that she was to have from that moment the best service they could give her.

Shirley, when affairs were well under way, had gone to the telephone and called up Murray's office.

"I want you to come home for a few minutes at two o'clock!" she said, imperatively.

"What for? Anything the matter?" asked her brother.

"Not a thing," said Shirley, rea.s.suringly "But there 's something happening up here at the house that you must see."

"I 'm pretty busy."

"You 'll never forgive yourself, when you hear about it, if you don't see with your own eyes."

"All right, I 'll try to make it. Anything connected with Jane?"

"Of course. Do you suppose I 'd ask you if it was n't?"

"I'll be there."

"I thought you would," and Shirley laughed as she hung up the receiver.

No doubt Murray was a happy man.

"Do you suppose Jane is going to be able to do it?" queried Mrs.

Townsend, dressing with the help of Shirley and Sophy. As the hour for the arrival of her guests approached, doubts were beginning to a.s.sail her. Jane was no doubt an extremely capable young matron, but the preparing of such a luncheon as Bridget had planned meant not only accomplished cookery, but much skill and care in the details of serving.

Had Jane's eyes been open during the brief period of her entertainment at various fine tables! It was too late to do anything but hope so.

"Don't worry, mother," Shirley had urged. "Jane's doing wonders. If she can keep it up she 'll surprise you."

"I had a bit sip of the booly-on just now when I was down in the kitchen," offered Sophy, "and it was elegant. And you know yourself 'm, Bridget says that's one of the most trying things of all to get tasty."

Mrs. Townsend went wanly down into her rooms, to find flowers all about, distributed by Olive's skilful fingers. She looked into the dining-room. Her table was faultlessly laid, to the last detail, and a charming arrangement of lilies was mirrored in the polished mahogany.

"Now come and rest until the last minute," urged Shirley. "And don't worry. Mrs. Arlo Stevenson won't have a thing to criticise--except the conversation."

An hour afterward, Murray, letting himself in with his latch-key, found Shirley awaiting him inside the door. "Don't say a word," she whispered. "Just walk straight past the dining-room without looking in.

Mother 's entertaining Mrs. Stevenson at luncheon, you know, and it's a very solemn occasion."

Wondering, Murray, hat in hand, followed his sister as she walked demurely by the wide entrance to the dining-room, from within which he could hear a subdued murmur of voices. But once past, she hurried him, by a circuitous route, to a narrow hallway at the back of the house, which led to the kitchen. Here she stationed him, and bade him push the door open a cautious crack and peep within. He obeyed her. Shirley stood behind him, alive with antic.i.p.ation, while she watched her brother's shoulders.