“What could I do, Mamma?” retorted Lucy.
“You could have ignored her. I should think that your mother would come before a mere acquaintance.”
“But, Mamma, she’s not a mere acquaintance.”
“Well, I should think a woman who was your mother’s enemy would hardly be the one to make an intimate of.”
“She’s been very good to me, Mamma.”
“Of course that excuses all she has done to me, Lucy. All you know is that she hates me and that is sufficient to make you idolize her.”
“But, Mamma, I know lots about her. She is one of Papa’s friends and—”
“Yes! That’s it! Anybody he picks up on the street is good enough for you. Don’t think of me or my feelings, I beg of you, Lucy. Anybody, no matter what her reputation—”
“Mamma, Miss Storms is one of the most distinguished women in the United States. Here in Chicago her influence is greater than almost any man’s in public life. The whole city is proud of her.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Why you only have to read the newspapers. Everybody knows it.”
“Is she rich, Lucy?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. I think she must be, she gives so much away.”
“Was that her machine?”
“Why, yes. She has an electric too, and her flat is the most beautiful thing you ever saw.”
“She certainly dresses elegantly,” admitted Nannie, “doesn’t she!”
“Yes,” agreed Lucy.
“Does she entertain much?”
“No, Mamma. She’s too busy.”
“I suppose she doesn’t go into society, then?” pursued Nannie interrogatively.
“Why, yes indeed, Mamma. Her name is always among those who were at the biggest functions. The McCullochs, the Porters, the Flemwells, and all the other social leaders try to get her. I’ve seen the invitations. Mrs. Porter used to come to the flat to persuade her to give up a board meeting of some committee, to help receive at her things.”
“She has a very aristocratic manner,” acknowledged Nannie. “Shall we take a car?”
“All right,” agreed Lucy. In a few minutes the two were in the big department store.
“Let’s go to a matinée,” suggested Nannie when they had made their purchases. “We’ll be just in time if we hurry through our lunch.”
“Let’s see if we’ve money enough for the tickets,” considered Lucy, searching through her purse. “All right,” she decided. “What play do you want to see?”
“Why it makes no difference to me, Lucy. You choose.”
“Nazimova is playing Hedda Gabler at the Standard. This is the end of the season and just about our last chance,” said Lucy. “I’ve been wanting to see the play ever since I read it at Miss Storms’. Shall we go there?”
“Aren’t there any musical comedies playing now?” inquired Nannie. “They have such beautiful costumes in them.”
“We can see as we are eating,” planned Lucy, leading the way into a small restaurant and tea room. “We’ll look at a paper.”
“What a cheap looking place!” commented Mrs. Merwent, staring around as they sat down.
“If we go to a dear one we’ll have to give up the matinée,” retorted Lucy rather wearily.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that I mind,” returned Nannie quickly. “You always try to twist everything I say into something mean, Lucy,” she added petulantly.
“Mamma, please let’s not quarrel again,” pleaded Lucy. “I’m so tired.”
“I’m sure I’ve not been trying to quarrel. I’ve been as nice as I knew how to be all day. You’re the one who always seems to want to quarrel.”
The waitress came up with a menu.
Lucy scrutinized her mother in silence. Then, turning to the waitress who had come back to the table, she gave an order and asked for a morning paper.
Nannie preserved an injured silence until the food was placed before her, but she could not resist its expansive effect.
Lucy picked up the paper and scanned it.
“There are no musical comedies playing near here, Mamma,” she announced. “The only other theatre near enough is giving a revival of As You Like It. The rest are too far away for us to get there before the curtain goes up.”
“Well, let’s see Nazimova then,” conceded Mrs. Merwent. “These sandwiches are so good I could eat a dozen!”
Lucy had ended her meal.
“We’ll be late if you do!” she said warningly. “It’s half past one.”
“Wait a minute, Lucy. You hurry me so I hardly know what I’m eating,” Nannie protested.
Only the highest priced seats were left when they reached the theatre, and, by the time they were in their places, the curtain had risen and the first act was in progress.
“If I’d known we were going to be late I wouldn’t have come,” grumbled Nannie. “I hate to come in after a piece is started. It’s so hard to get the threads of the plot.”
During the progress of the play Mrs. Merwent insisted on whispering personal remarks regarding the actors and actresses, until Lucy could no longer endure it with equanimity.
“Please, Mamma, do wait till after the act is over!” she requested irritably.
“I never saw anyone in my life who was so hard to get along with as you,” murmured Nannie in a savage undertone. After this she preserved an injured silence, not speaking again until they had reached home.
Here Lucy changed into her house dress and apron and began dinner, and Nannie went to her room.
At the end of an hour Mrs. Merwent appeared in a pretty light green demi-toilette. On Dimmie’s return from the Hamiltons’ Lucy had changed his clothes and he too was spotless.
As John’s step was heard, Nannie ran to the door. Dimmie followed rather timidly. When John entered the dining room it was with one hand on Nannie’s arm, while Dimmie clung to his other hand.
“How’s everybody?” John asked. “You look like a débutante, Nannie.”
“Everybody’s well,” she replied. “We’ve been to a matinée.”
“I didn’t go,” volunteered Dimmie. “I stayed with Mrs. Hamilton.”
At this juncture Lucy came in with a dish from the kitchen.
“You look like you’d been to a funeral,” said John, regarding her. “What’s the matter?”
“I have a slight headache, but it’s nothing. Let’s have dinner.”
When they
