Chapter FIVE: I

Angelica awoke early the next morning and dressed quickly, determined to be ready before Mrs. Russell could possibly send for her. She needn’t have hurried; she waited from half-past six until half-past eight without hearing a sound. Time after time she opened her door and stepped out into the hall, to find it always empty and silent.

Finally she could tolerate it no longer, she was so much afraid that something was expected of her, that she was betraying her awful ignorance of rich people’s habits. She decided to go down-stairs, find a servant, and make diplomatic inquiries about the daily procedure.

As she was going along the hall, who should come out of his room, directly in her path, but the blond young man.

"Er--good morning," he said, with a slight frown.

"Good morning!" Angelica answered, and in her desperation added: "Say, would you mind telling me, when does _she_ get up?"

"Ten o’clock--somewhere about then. You’d better come and have your breakfast with me now. I’d like to have a little talk with you."

She followed him with a great assumption of carelessness--which, unfortunately, there was no one to see--down the stairs and into a little screened porch, where a willow table was laid. She was impressed by what she saw, but not astonished, for she was prepared for the utmost luxury. In fact, she couldn’t have been astonished, no matter what she had seen, so greatly did the marvels of which she had read in the Sunday papers exceed any possible reality.

On the table stood a copper coffee percolator, shining in the sun like gold, and steaming softly; a nickel chafing-dish, bright as silver; cut-glass cream-jugs and sugar-bowls like diamonds; and a cloth of hemstitched linen. There were little willow chairs with chintz cushions drawn up before each place, and sweet fresh flowers. She was in no way disappointed.

She sat down opposite the young man, resolved to do exactly as he did. He unfolded an immense napkin, then picked up the morning paper, and for a few minutes studied the Wall Street news intently. Then, as the servant entered, he laid the paper down and sat immovable while she drew him a steaming cup of coffee, prepared it, and put before him a cantaloupe cut into halves and filled with ice.

"Bring this young lady’s breakfast, if you please," he said, frowning again.

"Now, then, miss--what is your name?" he asked Angelica, when the maid had left the room.

"Kennedy--Angelica Kennedy."

"Miss Kennedy, I was speaking to my mother about you last night. I felt that it wasn’t at all the thing to--for her to have engaged you as a companion. You’re not qualified. It’s not fair to Mrs. Geraldine, and it’s not fair to you. You couldn’t fill such a position."

He spoke with decision, with authority, but not in the least unkindly. He spoke in the manner which his business training had given him; and Angelica accepted it in the manner she had learned from her factory experience. He was arbitrary and supreme; useless for her to complain, to resent. She didn’t even trouble to think whether he was just or not; simply, she was "fired."

"All right," she said, without emotion.

"Now," he said, "if you wish to remain in another capacity--if you wish to be Mrs. Russell’s maid----”

"No, I don’t."

"That’s for you to decide, of course; but it’s a pleasant, easy position, and the pay is better."

"I’m not thinking so much about pay. I could have got plenty of jobs that would have paid twice as much as this. Only----”

"Why did you want this?" he asked, with interest.

"Well, I thought I’d----” Her dark face flushed. "I want to learn--nice ways. I want to get on. I don’t want to be--like I am, all my life."

"You’re perfectly right!" he said, looking at her. "I’m glad to see you’re ambitious; but why choose this sort of way to get on? Why don’t you try to get into a good office?"

She shook her head.

"No! It wouldn’t do me a bit of good to get ahead in business if I--didn’t have nice ways. No! I watched the papers a long time for something I could have a try at, and then I saw Mrs. Russell’s ad, with ‘experience unnecessary.’ I knew I wasn’t the kind of girl that they want for a companion, but I thought if I could show ’em that I could be more useful than any one else, I might stand a chance."

He was silent for a time, while the servant reentered with a cantaloupe for Angelica and porridge for him. Then he looked up and studied her face.

"I think--if I’d understood the case better, perhaps----” he said. "But, anyway, why don’t you stay as my mother’s maid? There’s no use having a silly pride about such things. There always has to be a beginning."

"No!" she said again. "There’s no sense in that. If I can’t be--oh, right in the family, kind of, it won’t help me. I’ll go. I couldn’t stand being a servant."

He didn’t say any more, but continued his breakfast with hearty appetite, and with a dexterity which she found herself quite unable to copy. At last he had finished, and pushed back his chair.

"I’ve been thinking," he said. "You’re evidently out of the ordinary. I don’t see why you shouldn’t be given a chance--if you’re really anxious to improve yourself." He rose. "I’ll speak to Mrs. Geraldine this evening, when I get home," he said. "If she agrees, you shall stay. Good morning!"

He went out abruptly, leaving Angelica alone at the table. She jumped up in a violent hurry, before the servant could return and find her defenseless, and went out into the hall. She had no idea where to go, what to do; she was bewildered and rather miserable. The young man hadn’t made any effort to spare her feelings. Suggesting that she should be a servant!

"He’s got a nerve, all right!" she said to herself, but half-heartedly.

Really she thought that he was right in all that he had said, and that, in spite of his uncompromising frankness, he had been friendly. She liked him.

"But _she’s_ different," she reflected. "I won’t let _her_ trample all over me!"

She recalled the previous evening with burning shame. Those French words! She felt that Mrs. Russell had been unfair and unkind, and she went up-stairs, to find her, with deep reluctance. She was determined not to be meek and not to be frightened.

"You’ve got to act like you were somebody!" she said to herself. "You’ve got to show ’em you won’t stand any of their nonsense. People take you at your own valuation!"

That was a favorite phrase of hers. She had read it often, and it quite fell in with her cheap and pitiful philosophy. It was true enough, too, among the people she knew--people who weren’t capable of judging or analyzing a fellow being. She herself took others at their own valuation, because of an unconscious conviction that she was incapable of making an original appraisement.

So, resolutely looking as if she were somebody, she knocked at Mrs. Russell’s door.

"Come in!" said that suave and charming voice, and she entered.

She had expected to find Mrs. Russell still in bed, lazy and fascinating, and she was more or less surprised at finding her up and dressed, and scribbling away at a little desk. All her charm had vanished. She looked quite her five and fifty years; she was bony, sallow, horribly untidy in a green sweater and a short plaid skirt that showed her knoblike ankles and her great feet. It was rather surprising to see her hair coming down so early in the morning, a coil of it slipping out under her jaunty little hat. It gave her a most unpleasant, haglike look.

"Golf this morning!" she cried cheerfully. "Damn these letters! They’ll have to wait. Now, my dear, I’ll take you to Polly, because I’m in a hurry to be off. Mind what you say, won’t you? She’s so exacting! Make friends with her and stay near her. I’ve absolutely got to be gone all day--I’ve promised so many people at the Country Club, and I’ve got to get in a lot of practice before the big match. It’s a wonderful game, but it makes a perfect slave of you. It’s so fatally easy to lose your form. I take it so seriously. I worry myself ill over it. Come on!"

Angelica came after her slowly. She didn’t know whether she ought to say anything about her talk with the blond young man--whether he expected her to do so. Before she had decided, Mrs. Russell was knocking on a half-open door, and a voice bade them come in.

Angelica had had a preconceived idea that this daughter-in-law would be young and beautiful, a pampered darling. She was somewhat taken aback by the reality. There was a woman lying in bed, reading a newspaper, which she politely put down when they entered--a woman of forty, dark, sallow, with heavy eyes. She was apathetic and weary, but she was not dull; there was a quiet intelligence in her glance; she was indifferent without being uninterested. She was like a very tired but pleased spectator at a play. There was a charm about her lassitude, a lingering handsomeness which she made no effort to retain.

"Good morning!" she said, with a smile.

"Good morning, Polly! Did you have a good night? I don’t believe you did, you poor soul! I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. I would have come in, half a dozen times, only that I was afraid of disturbing you, if you _had_ dropped off. And it worried me so to think that I had to leave you to-day! But it couldn’t be helped. I’ve absolutely got to go to the dentist."

"Like that?" asked Polly, glancing at the other’s costume.

"My dear, of course not! I just put these on to do a little gardening. I was up so early; I thought I’d look after your beloved plants a bit."

"Now, why does she tell such lies?" thought Angelica. "Can’t she see that that woman doesn’t believe her?"

"You’re going out again, then?" asked Polly, with just a shade of reproachfulness in her voice.

"My dear, I’m obliged to go to the dentist’s----”

"You won’t be home to lunch, then, I suppose?"

"But you shan’t be alone!" cried Mrs. Russell brightly. "I’ve got Miss Kennedy here--the daughter of an old, old friend of mine!"

And then began a new series of the most preposterous lies, flowing in a bland, untroubled stream. She said that Angelica’s father was a clergyman living in the country, and that Angelica was going to be married, and that her mother had sent her to stop with Mrs. Russell while she bought her trousseau. She added a great deal of the grossest flattery about Polly’s superior taste.

"I advise you to consult her in everything!" she ended, turning to the astounded Angelica. "Now, then, I’ve got to fly. You two must have a nice, comfy chat!"

And she whimpered to Angelica as she went out:

"Just till she gets used to you, you know. Then we can tell her!"

II

Polly lay back on her pillows, looking at Angelica. She didn’t ask her to sit down. Angelica returned her gaze resentfully and miserably, ashamed of her preposterous position, but quite helpless, having no idea how to extricate herself. She didn’t feel able to say bluntly that Mrs. Russell’s story was a lie, although she could see that Polly was suspicious--more than suspicious--and she was certain that she could not sustain any sort of examination.

"When did you come?" inquired Polly.

"Last night."

"Alone?"

"No; she brought me."

"Mrs. Russell, you mean? And she says she was a school friend of your mother’s. I wonder what school!"

"I don’t know."

"Does she often visit your mother?"

"No."

"Then, as a matter of fact, you don’t know her very well?"

"Never saw her till the day before yesterday."

Polly smiled.

"Aren’t you afraid you’ll feel rather strange here? How long do you expect to stay?"

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know? I’ve forgotten--where did Mrs. Russell say you lived?"

"In New York."

"That’s odd--very odd! I certainly understood her to say you lived in the country."

Angelica was dumb.

"Where in New York? I know the city so well."

"At the Ritz," said Angelica boldly.

She was quite desperate now. She was sure that Polly saw through her, and that it was only a matter of time before she was shamefully exposed.

"At the Ritz!" exclaimed Polly.

Their eyes met in a long and hostile look.

"Yes, at the Ritz," Angelica repeated.

"Why do you tell me that?" asked Polly quietly.

Angelica’s swarthy face grew scarlet.

"You needn’t think this was my idea!" she cried. "I don’t try to pass myself off as--some one different. She hired me, and I told her all about myself. My mother’s a janitress, and I worked in a factory!"

Polly’s face had flushed, too.

"What was the idea in trying to make you my companion?" she asked. "Did Mrs. Russell imagine I shouldn’t know the difference? Or perhaps she thought any one was good enough for me!"

Angelica was a hardy young devil, but this was too much even for her.

"I’m not--just any one," she muttered, with a quivering lip. "I’m not--dirt. I’m----”

"My dear child!" cried Polly, in sudden compunction. "Of course not! I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. I’ve nothing against you personally; it’s simply that I don’t want a companion at all. I--I can’t endure the idea of a person who is paid to amuse me--a stranger, who doesn’t know anything about me or the child I lost!"

She waited a moment, then she went on.

"I’m very sorry. It’s an awkward situation for both of us. Mrs. Russell has done it before. You see, the doctor said I was not to be left alone--all nonsense, but Mr. Eddie took it very much to heart, and he wants Mrs. Russell to stay with me. Naturally she finds it irksome, shut up in the house. If I can’t have a familiar face, then I’d rather be alone. I’m sorry, but it’s no use your wasting your time, my dear. You might be looking for something else." She held out her hand with a kindly smile. "Good-by!" she said.

Angelica didn’t move.

"I saw that Mr. Eddie," she said; "and he said he was going to speak to you about me. He said he’d keep me if you would."

"But what has he got to do with it?" asked Polly, smiling.

"Well, at first he thought I wouldn’t do; and then, after he thought it over, he said: ‘Well, I’ll agree if _she_ will.’"

Polly was silent, perplexed to know how to get rid of this tenacious young creature. Angelica seized the opportunity.

"Well," she said, "I’m sorry I came, bothering you; but as long as I’m here, hadn’t I better stay till she gets home again? I’m better than nobody!"

III

It was the longest day Angelica had ever spent. She didn’t go out of the room; even lunch was brought to them there. She sat, answering whenever she was spoken to, but for the most part silent, looking out of the window at the country landscape, which held nothing to interest her gamine eye, and watching the clock. She couldn’t believe that something wouldn’t happen.

She tried, in her very crude way, to study Polly, but she had no success. She watched her lying for long stretches of time with her eyes closed, whether asleep or awake it was impossible to divine. Her face in repose was profoundly mournful, and, unrelieved by the fine black eyes, looked older and more worn. Her mouth had a kindly line, but it was the disillusioned, cynical kindness of one who expects no gratitude.

"I suppose she’s Mr. Eddie’s wife," reflected Angelica. "Well, she’s certainly a lot older than he is--ten years, I’d say. I wonder why they call her Mrs. Geraldine, when her name’s Polly!"

This detail puzzled her greatly. She fancied it must be some custom of rich people. Perhaps Polly was a nickname for Geraldine among them. It didn’t occur to her that it was a surname; she took it for granted that Polly was young Mrs. Russell.

Little by little, as always, her thoughts drifted off to her own future.

"I wonder how it’ll be when I’m married? Anyway, I bet you’d never catch me moping around like she does! If I was rich like her, and got sick, I’d have lots of flowers, and friends coming in all the time--everything nice and pretty and bright; and a trained nurse, too, I guess."

It must be admitted that Angelica had little sympathy. She had a certain amount of facile generosity. She had moods when she was willing to do a great deal for any one she liked; but it was impossible for her to put herself in the place of another, to compassionate any pain which she had not actually felt herself. Losing a baby seemed to her a grief of small significance. She had seen very little of babies, and wasn’t interested in them. To her, at nineteen, the only comprehensible sorrow was that of losing a lover.

She regarded Polly with irritation. She was rich, not too old, not too bad-looking; why didn’t she try to throw off this lethargy of grief and take some advantage of her opportunities? The life of a rich person, as seen by Angelica, was a very fantasy of gaiety. It might be gaiety covering a broken heart, if you wished, but always gaiety. The proper course for such as Polly would be to plunge into a whirlpool of excitement, and just reveal, from time to time, by a shadow stealing over her face, that her heart was broken. No, decidedly she could not comprehend this woman lying there with closed eyes, brooding over her immeasurable loss.

Polly, however, through her greater sophistication and experience, and through her native shrewdness, found Angelica no puzzle. Now and then she asked her a well-calculated question, and she soon learned that Angelica had apparently spent all her nineteen years in learning, quite unconsciously, whatever would be useful in a lady’s service. She had spent innumerable Saturday afternoons sauntering through the big shops with girl friends, until her mind was richly stored with information. She knew just which place was best for any given article. She had compared styles and prices, and, with the amazing discernment of her sort, she had even distinguished among the various grades of customers. She knew who the really best people were, where they went for things, what they wanted, and what they paid. She knew things one wouldn’t have imagined her knowing--smart, out-of-the-way little shops for perfumes, for sweets, for lingerie.

Of equal or perhaps superior value was her deftness. She could manicure, she could dress hair; she had picked up, God knows how or where, an almost professional knowledge of make-up. She could sew, she could embroider, she could quite marvelously trim hats. She told all this to Polly, because she wanted to convince her of her usefulness. And she did.

Long before the afternoon was over, Polly had made up her mind that this girl would be valuable and likewise agreeable. She liked her, liked her lovely face and her husky, oddly touching voice, liked the character which she so ingenuously displayed. Here was a girl passionately anxious to please, yet without servility, who was at once ignorant and intelligent; one whom she could command, yet on whom she could lean.

However, she didn’t show any such approval. Who would, indeed, toward a person being employed?

IV

The light had all faded out of the sky, and the big room was nearly dark. To Angelica, who never sat still, who was not formed for meditation, it was depressing to remain there in the deepening twilight, with no idea how much longer this wretchedness would endure. Polly didn’t stir; all the house was still.

Her imprisonment was terminated by the sudden entrance of Mr. Eddie.

"Light the lamp!" he cried sharply. "You’re an idiot, Polly, to sit here in the dark like this! You--Miss What’s-Your-Name--you mustn’t let her. It’s very bad for her. Try to keep her cheerful."

He had turned a switch as he spoke, and five electric lights had flashed on, making the room as brilliant as a stage. He looked anxiously at Polly.

"Eating better?" he asked. "I’ve brought you some oysters--something rather special. Are you coming down?"

"Not to-night, Eddie, thank you; but I’ll enjoy the oysters. Is your mother home yet?"

"No. I shan’t wait for her. I told Annie an early dinner. Half-past six sharp, miss! I’ve brought home a lot of work to do."

He went out again, with a curt nod at Angelica.

"You’d better get ready," said Polly. "He’s not very patient. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting."

"I am ready," said Angelica. "I haven’t any better clothes to put on."

She had risen, and was standing near the door. She knew that Polly wished her to go, but still she lingered, miserable but resolute.

"Did I do all right to-day?" she blurted out.

Polly opened her eyes.

"Why, certainly, my dear," she said. "Would you mind putting out all the lights but one?"

"But doesn’t he want it cheerful?"

"I think it ’ll be more cheerful that way," Polly answered, with a faint smile. "Now, then--thank you! I think I’ll rest until dinner-time."

"But were you satisfied with me?" insisted Angelica.

"Of course I was."

"Well, do you want me to stay? Because he’s coming to talk it over with you. Will you tell him that you want me?"

"Yes," said Polly. "I do want you--very much!"