The White Lady (23 page)

Morris Thayer gave his orders. He was a connoisseur also at mixing drinks and in his club boasted of not a little fame in this line. Silas obeyed quietly and deftly, getting out his best articles and endeavoring to show that he understood his business; but behind it all there was something deeper. He wished if possible to draw this gentleman out. Not with insulting sneers did Silas open the conversation; he knew better. He knew how to insinuate himself into the good graces of such a man as Morris Thayer. There was deference, but there was also a certain amount of confidence given and taken, a flattering show of the knowledge of the kind of life to which the stranger was accustomed, carried on by a laugh, a shrug, a wink, and a few insinuations.

Under the mellow influence of liquor, Morris Thayer became affable and unsuspecting. He admitted to being a very intimate friend of the lady across the street. In Silas’s mind that was a distinct point gained. It would not do to insinuate anything against this lady, of course. He did not wish that. It was enough that such a man was her intimate friend. Morris Thayer did not know perhaps how fully he had also let the bootlegger into the knowledge of his own character and habits of life by one or two sentences that showed he was not all pure and noble. Just a condescending comradeship, the city man regarded it—any man would say as much before other men, and some would boast about it. He thought nothing of what he had said, as he sauntered back again to take his hateful little revenge upon Norah, eat his supper, and wait for Constance, for he had decided within himself that it would hardly do to present himself to her before eight o’clock now, as she had not been at home to invite him to dine with her.

Silas Barton had watched him from his narrow little eyes that glinted with the fire of hate and saw, complete, a story that was to make the town too hot for the minister and the new owner of the tearoom.

Constance, all unconscious of the threads that were forming themselves into a net for her unwary feet, was at that moment hurrying into an apron to help Norah, for a party of ten men had arrived on the five o’clock train and ordered dinner to be served at six, as they must leave again at seven.

T
he ten men had just taken their seats at the largest table when Morris Thayer entered the dining room for his evening meal. Holly sat over in the farthest corner, with his arms comfortably spread about a generous platter of nicely cooked ham and eggs, a point of vantage from which he surveyed the room with content. A man and two women with long black veils sat at one of the tables by the front windows. They had just come from the funeral and were going to take the seven o’clock train.

These were hurrying times in the tearoom. Norah had been obliged to give up waiting tables and go to cooking again, for the funeral party demanded certain things that were not on hand, and Holly’s ham and eggs had delayed the dinner. Norah grumbled to the fire about Holly’s taking this particular night to order ham and eggs when he usually wanted roast beef, and there was roast beef in plenty without extra cooking.

Jimmy was doing double duty. He slipped around among the tables as if he went by electricity.

Thayer surveyed the situation gloomily. He preferred the room to himself. This company did not suit him, nor go with the rest of the furnishings of the room. Holly’s recognizing grin was particularly obnoxious. He half turned to go away and then reflected that he must dine somewhere, and this was convenient. There was nothing for it but to sit down. He selected a table near the front windows, as far from the obnoxious Holly as possible, and summoned Jimmy peremptorily.

“These here railroad gentlemen’s got first choice,” said Jimmy pertly. “You’ll hev to wait. Norah’ll get round pretty soon.”

Thayer explained to the small waiter that he did not wish to be waited upon by the woman with red hair and an Irish brogue. He desired Jimmy to say so to the proprietor and to have another waitress sent to him.

Jimmy looked him over contemptuously. He measured him by his unfailing model for all men, the minister, and found him falling far short. He sniffed, “All right,” and was off like the wind and spoke breathlessly to Constance, who was just putting on a cap and cuffs preparatory to waiting upon those ten men.

“Thur’s a pain in the neck in thur says he wants
you
to wait on him; says he won’t hev Norah; she’s got too red hair. Shell I tend to him? He’s fierce, he is. ’F I’s you, I’d let him whistle awhile.”

Constance colored. She dreaded all the more to go into the dining room, supposing some country loafer was there who desired to compliment her; but, telling Jimmy to wait upon the man, she summoned all her courage and took up her tray filled with smoking dishes.

Morris Thayer did not see her when she first entered; he was examining his fork.

Now, if ever a staid old family fork with a great engraved “W” on its polished surface got up and winked at anybody, that fork did. “You and I have met before,” that fork said. “Don’t you remember? Think of the most delicious squabs, mushrooms, truffles, salads, you ever tasted”—and Thayer put on his eyeglass and took up the fork curiously.

“Strange!” he said to himself. “
W
. That is very strange, and the pattern seems familiar. And the spoons, too! Ah—how can this be? A very odd coincidence, extremely odd.”

Then he glanced up and saw Constance’s dainty figure as she glided about, deftly waiting upon the big table. Constance had been much too busy to look at him as he sat in the distant corner.

Thayer sat, fork in hand, and stared at Constance. He could not believe his senses. It was she—and yet
was
it? The plain black gown, the apron and cap, badges of servitude. Could this be a part of her benevolence, as well as attending funerals with saintly old ministers? Or was she becoming insane? It was high time her philanthropy ceased.

By the time she returned from the kitchen with a second tray full, he had decided that he must not let her see that he recognized her. It would be embarrassing to them both. He must eat something and get out of there as quietly as possible and then send for her to see him. So he dropped his eyes discreetly whenever she came that way, though he could not forbear watching her covertly from under a sheltering hand. Most fortunately for Constance, she was unaware as yet of his presence.

Jimmy suddenly appeared at his elbow for orders, and he asked him at once who was the lady that waited on the big table.

“That’s her! The boss!” said Jimmy proudly. “She’s runner of this here tearoom, and she’s a Jim dandy! Now, d’you want anythin’? Fer you gotter be mighty quick ’bout it. My time’s val’able. Don’t no grass grow under yer feet round here. Hustle’s the word.”

Thayer managed to order something, assisted by the indefatigable Jimmy, who always tried to see that the bill would be of adequate size. He ate very little, for his appetite had somehow deserted him, so he soon paid his bill and went into the room across the hall, whence he endeavored to call a servant.

Jimmy was in the kitchen when the library bell rang, and remarked, as he made a dive toward the door, “There goes that mud again. He’d orter know better, when I told him how busy we was!”

He soon returned, however, with a puzzled frown, bearing Morris Thayer’s card. “He says he’s gotter see you,” he said, handing the card to Constance. “I told him I was your agent, an’ you was busy fryin’ crokays, but he said give this here to you right away. He’s a chump, he is. He’s fierce. I don’t like him. Want me ter put him out?”

Jimmy’s red little face bristled with irritation. He saw himself for the moment sitting astride the chest of the city gentleman and browbeating him. His recent victories had somewhat swelled his head.

But Constance’s face was flaming with color and turning white by turns; she found herself trembling like a culprit caught in the midst of her evil deeds.

Morris Thayer had found her out at last! Morris Thayer here, and she in this array and waiting upon a lot of railroad men! There was no chance to equivocate, no chance to hide behind blind phrases. Her secret was out. She must confess and see him turn upon his heel after giving her her due of pity.

Then her strong common sense came to the front, and her new views of life began to assert themselves.

Well, what matter? He was not worth sighing over if he was made of that kind of stuff. Besides, she was away from New York now, where she would not need to see their pity, and she could brave it better. At least, that was something to be thankful for. But oh, if she did not have to go in there and talk to him! She laughed nervously over Jimmy’s offered aid and wished she dared accept it. A sudden thought of Endicott and a wish for his presence came to her; then she was instantly glad he was not here, for what could he do?

She looked helplessly around the room at the things that were to be done, and then with firm lips set to work again.

“Tell him I cannot come at present, Jimmy. He will have to wait.”

Then she went on with the croquettes, which required swift attention. Meanwhile her thoughts worked rapidly.

What should she say to him? Did he know everything, or nothing? Had he seen her in the dining room? Very likely. She had been too busy to notice him and too annoyed by having so many eyes watching her at her unaccustomed task to look up more than was necessary. He must have sat alone over in the corner by the window. What had he come for? How should she meet him? She must go upstairs and dress, of course, and yet it would take time, and she could not be spared.

Just then Norah grasped the situation and came to the front.

Now it must be confessed that Norah’s conscience had troubled her that day. She meant to pray all the saints to forgive her that night as soon as her schemes were carried out, but she craved indulgence for the sin of deception for that afternoon because she had not told Constance at noon that Thayer had been there, and had let her drive away with the minister, knowing that she was to be gone until evening, without so much as opening her lips on the subject. Just why she did it she had not exactly known at the time. She realized afterward that it was because she liked the minister and wanted to see him and her dear mistress keep on having good times together, instead of having her go back to New York and marry Mr. Thayer.

She had hoped he would be discouraged and go away, and even after he asked for Constance’s grandmother, Norah hoped he would take the four o’clock train and get out of the way. She was therefore much put out when he remained, and when he asked about the liquor, she grew angry. He was no fit man for her Miss Constance. She would like to tell him so if she dared, but she did not. Now, when she was caught at last, her wrath broke forth.

“The iverlastin’ spalpeen, hes he coom back agin? Bad look to the loikes uv him. Miss Connie, ye must joost rin oop the back stairs an’ get yersilf fixed up foin, an’ he’ll niver know the diffrunce.” Then she insisted that she could do everything now with Jimmy’s help, as there was only the dessert left to serve, and she hurried her mistress upstairs, charging her to put some powder on her face and never to tell about the tearoom.

But Constance, as she groped her way through the dark staircase, made a great resolve. She would face her own life honestly, and she would tell Morris Thayer just how things were. What was there to be ashamed of, and why should she, a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus, be afraid of what any wealthy friend should say or think of her? She breathed a quick cry for help as she went into her room and then swiftly removed all traces of the kitchen and her recent employment.

But, when she went to select a dress in which to appear before her former admirer, she hesitated. She naturally thought of some of her pretty evening gowns, rich and elaborate. But why should she, a poor girl now, seek to hold her former position and appear as she used to? Would it not be false to dress thus? It was not in keeping with her work to wear pale blue evening gowns that cost several hundred dollars each or decorate herself with strings of seed pearls. With sudden impulse she reached for the little white gown that she had worn the first night in the house. Norah had washed it and made it look like new. It was simply made and easily donned. She put it on quickly and ran downstairs before she would have time to change her mind.

But, though she wore a plain little white gown, she wore her old New York air and grace as she came quickly forward in her sweet way to greet her unwelcome guest. And so much did the little white gown change her from the deft maid whom he had seen in black, with white apron and cap, that he thought at once he had been mistaken and that that had only been some poor country cousin who looked like her. Also, it was good to him to see the face at last for which he had been so long in search. So he held the hand she gave him a trifle longer than propriety required and looked down into her face until her color came, and almost the tears, too; for to have him look at her like that upset her well-founded ideas of him.

“I have found you at last,” he said, with that more than flattering intonation that made him so great a favorite.

She led him into the inner room, partly because she wished to be away from possible interruptions, for there was no knowing what Jimmy might take it into his head to do, and partly because she wished to relieve the embarrassing situation.

The young man looked about again wonderingly at the familiar atmosphere that enveloped the place. It puzzled him why this room took him back to New York at once; he had not had time to understand that the furnishings were identical with those in Constance’s city home.

“What a charming nest you seem to have found! It is so much like your own taste here, that I might almost suspect you of having selected the furnishings. I have been puzzled all the afternoon, trying to understand some things, but since taking supper in the café and seeing a most lovely waitress with undeniably cultured manners and a likeness to you, I think I have solved the problem. You are staying here in this delightful retreat with some relatives who have lost their money and are trying to mend matters quietly in this way. Am I correct? It is a pity, is it not, for people of culture to be in unfortunate circumstances? Now that young girl whom I saw waiting upon those coarse men would, I am sure, shine in society if she had the right attire and a little experience in the ways of the world.”