“I see here that Miss Powell was one of the hostesses last night at the Ravenswood Golf Club,” said Lucy in a determinedly pleasant voice, laying the paper down.
“She has relatives with money so she can do such things,” her mother sighed, dropping the stocking into her lap and staring moodily out the window. “Little did I think I would ever be dependent on your charity,” she mourned, after a pause.
Lucy looked quickly at her mother.
“Well, I don’t envy Miss Powell. She’s too self centered to be very happy,” said Lucy.
“Like me, I suppose you mean,” complained Nannie. “I’ve ceased to expect any sympathy from you, Lucy.”
“I didn’t mean any such thing, Mamma, and you know it!” Lucy spoke with forced good nature. “You know I don’t make oblique or sarcastic comments.”
“Well, do I?” demanded her mother. “Did I ever imply that you envied Miss Powell or anyone else?”
“I didn’t mean you envied her, either,” explained Lucy. “I only said I didn’t.” She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room.
She had passed up the stairs when the tinkling of the telephone sounded from the hall and Nannie rose to answer it.
“This is John,” was the reply to her faint “hello.” “Is this Nannie speaking?”
“Yes,” she affirmed weakly, remembering her aching head.
“Well, I was mistaken about Jim’s working tonight. It’s tomorrow night. So I’m going to bring him out this evening. Tell Lucy, will you?”
“Certainly,” responded Nannie in a livelier tone.
“How’s your headache?”
“Oh, it’s ever so much better, thank you; it’s about all gone.”
“That’s good,” said John, and he hung up the receiver.
Lucy, dressed for the street, soon came downstairs.
“I’m going to do some shopping,” she informed Nannie. “I didn’t suppose you would care to go with your headache. I’ll be back by the time Dimmie comes from kindergarten and get him ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s. Your lunch is all fixed and in the refrigerator. There’s ice tea already made in the blue pitcher.”
“My headache’s not as bad as it was.”
“Well it’s too late now to wait for you to dress,” began Lucy.
“Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. I have no intention of going. I’ve got sense enough to know whether I’m wanted or not.”
“Mamma, please,” Lucy begged, almost in desperation.
“Well, Lucy, you started it.”
Lucy hurried toward the hall.
“Mr. Sprague is coming to dinner tonight,” Nannie called importantly.
Lucy halted an instant.
“Well, there’s plenty,” she called back enigmatically, and went out.
Nannie looked blank until the front door shut.
It was evening when Lucy returned from the city. On the train she encountered Mrs. Hamilton who had invited Dimmie to take tea with Stella. John and Jim had already arrived and were smoking in the dining room when Lucy came back from the Hamiltons’ where she had left Dimmie. Nannie, in a careful toilette with a rose in her hair, was chatting and laughing in the highest of spirits.
“Hello, Lucy!” exclaimed Jim cordially, rising and shaking hands. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Lucy told him, smiling.
“You’re not looking any too well,” he observed, glancing at her face.
“Well, I’m feeling fine, anyway.”
“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired.
“He’s gone out to tea.”
“Getting to be quite a swell.” Jim smiled affectionately.
“Yes, and with a young lady, too,” she laughed.
“Mr. Sprague, I was talking to you,” interrupted Nannie, pouting.
“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim, hastily resuming his chair.
“Oh, don’t apologize. I don’t expect to compete with Lucy,” she declared with the sweetest intonation of voice.
Jim colored.
“What were we talking about?” he asked, straightening his cravat.
“There! That shows how much attention you pay to me,” she gibed. “Come on, John! Let’s leave them together.” She rose and moved toward the living room.
“Well, dinner’s ready, so there’s no use in your taking John away,” remarked Lucy, without heat. And the four sat down at the table.
“It’s been a long time since you were here, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie in a sprightly manner as she was serving the soup.
“Yes,” conceded Jim.
“You used to come out at least once every week before I came, so Lucy tells me, and always stayed all night, and sometimes over Sunday.”
“I have been very busy lately.” Jim’s tone was defensive and he glanced at Lucy.
“And very successful lately, I believe,” Nannie continued. “You made a fine deal yesterday, didn’t you? John told me all about it.”
“Yes—it was a good deal.”
Jim reddened again and stared at the table cloth.
Lucy’s eyes were upon him.
Shortly after dinner, Dimmie, escorted to the back gate by Mrs. Hamilton and Stella, came in through the kitchen.
“Mrs. Hamilton brought me to the back gate,” he volunteered as he entered the dining room. Then, catching sight of Jim, he yelled, “Hello, Uncle Jim!” and rushed for his idol.
“You must go to sleepy town now, dear,” suggested Lucy, a few minutes later. “Say good night.” And Dimmie obeyed reluctantly, but with a special tight hug for “Uncle Jim.”
Soon the sound of Lucy’s voice as she sat upstairs singing Dimmie to sleep was heard by the trio in the dining room.
“I’ve often wondered why Lucy never sang before people,” declared Jim, lighting his pipe. “She certainly has a beautiful voice.”
“I gave her piano lessons for years,” answered Nannie quickly, “but she hasn’t kept it up. The reason I didn’t have her voice trained is that her ear is not true.”
“I never noticed that and I have overheard her singing a number of times,” persisted Jim. “Now take that thing from Butterfly she is singing now, for instance. She places the difficult intervals with absolute precision. And Puccini’s music is tricky.”
“Oh, I never knew you understood music, Mr. Sprague. You never seemed particularly interested in it.”
“Why, I have listened to your singing with much pleasure, Mrs. Merwent.”
“You couldn’t get away from it,” Nannie laughed. “Come on, John.
