CHAPTER LXIII

The following afternoon Persis came home from a tango-tea, where she had

expected to meet Forbes. Through some misunderstanding he had failed to

appear. This left her plans in a decided tangle. He was probably trying

to find her by telephone. He would doubtless call up the house. Things

were in a mess there, too. An ancient romance in the servants' quarters

had resulted in a wedding between the second man and one of the

chambermaids. Nichette had been chosen as a bridesmaid and had begged

off for the afternoon, as had all of the others that could be spared.

Nichette had long ago been taken into their confidence as a necessary

go-between. Persis trembled lest a message from Forbes should fall into

inexperienced hands.

To complicate matters Willie had resolved to go to the opera that night

and to be on time. He had read an editorial somewhere ridiculing the

horseshoe of box-holders for their indifference to overtures and first

acts. Willie naturally selected this one evening for his rebuke to the

editor. Dinner was to be served an hour earlier than usual.

Harrowed by the multiplex difficulties surrounding an intrigue, Persis

was kept waiting at the door a long time in the cold. She was about to

rend the tardy footman to pieces when the door was opened by Crofts, the

superannuated butler, an heirloom from Enslee's father.

Crofts had long ago reached the age when he was too venerable to wear

the Enslee livery. He was an ideal gentleman, respected and loved by all

the family and its friends. But as an officer of the household he was

deaf, decrepit, and almost useless. Yet he was too much of an

institution to discharge, and he simply would not retire.

He was permitted to lag superfluous as a sort of butler _emeritus_. At

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.