Lucy came downstairs.
“Well, Jim, are you deserted?” was her question, as she opened the dining room door and saw him there alone.
He nodded his head without speaking.
“Let’s go in and hear Mamma sing,” she suggested.
He hesitated an instant as if about to make some comment, and then followed her.
Mrs. Merwent ceased singing and swung around on the piano stool as they entered.
“Go on, Mamma. Don’t stop,” Lucy urged, seating herself and indicating a chair to Jim.
“Mr. Sprague had rather hear you,” said Nannie.
“Nonsense, Mamma. You know I never sing,” protested Lucy, looking embarrassed. “What were you singing?”
“It’s a little thing called ‘Juliet at the Window.’ ”
“There’s to be a revival of Romeo and Juliet at the Standard Theatre next week,” observed John.
“Yes. I saw by the papers that that little Hilda Knowlton is going to play Juliet. She’s much too young for the part,” said Nannie.
“I don’t see how she well could be,” objected Jim.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie. “I’ve seen Mary Anderson, and Adelaide Neilson, and Julia Arthur, and Eleanor Robson, and Julia Marlowe, all in the part, and they weren’t young girls in their teens.”
“Well, according to the play a young girl in her teens would be exactly suited to the role,” answered Jim tenaciously.
“I’m sure that’s the first time I ever heard anyone say such a thing,” retorted Nannie.
“I’m not the only one who said so.” Jim was smiling but obstinate.
“For instance?” demanded Nannie sneeringly.
“Shakespeare,” replied Jim.
“Nonsense!” Nannie exclaimed irritably.
Jim walked to the bookcase and took down a volume of Shakespeare’s plays.
“ ‘Act one, scene three,’ ” he read. “ ‘She’s not fourteen. Come Lammas-eve at night, she shall be fourteen.’ ”
“Well, I’ve always thought she was older anyway,” insisted Nannie, “and I’m sure almost everybody thinks so. I’ve never seen a young chit of a girl take the part, and it would generally be considered ridiculous.”
“Perhaps Shakespeare didn’t know,” said Jim.
“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic and nasty about it, we better not discuss it. I suppose you feel very superior and triumphant over having gotten the best of me. I’m sure it makes no difference to me how old Juliet is supposed to be. Of course you never make any mistakes, Mr. Sprague.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent, for having ventured to offer an opinion on the subject,” apologized Jim coldly.
“Here! You two people will be pulling hair in a minute,” interrupted John, breezily. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“With pleasure,” agreed Jim in the same frigid tone.
Mrs. Merwent rose without a word and made her way to the dining room.
“Where are you, Nannie?” John called after a few minutes. Receiving no reply, he stepped to the door.
“What are you sitting out here alone for?” he began. Then, in response to a sign from her, he entered the room.
“You and Jim don’t seem to get on very well tonight.” He spoke in a lowered voice as he seated himself by her side.
“Well, I’m amazed that you do,” she responded cryptically.
“What do you mean, Nannie?”
Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows significantly.
“You watch him,” she advised, almost in a whisper.
“Watch him?” John repeated in surprise. “Why, what for?”
“Remember what I say!” she whispered. “You watch his attitude toward Lucy. Didn’t you notice how anxious she was to defend him last night?”
An expression of understanding came into John’s eyes.
“Why, Nannie, you don’t mean—” He paused.
“I don’t mean anything.” She paused. “But it’s as I said the other night,” she added; “you’re too good and trusting, John.”
In the other room Jim had risen to take his departure.
“It’s early yet,” Lucy was saying.
“I must get back,” he insisted.
“Well, thank you for coming, anyway.”
“I’m afraid I’ve done no good,” he answered, discouragedly.
“You’ve certainly done no harm, Jim.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head.
They went into the hall and he took up his hat.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Merwent. Good night, John,” he said formally, stepping to the dining room door.
“Good night,” returned John absently.
“Goodbye, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie responded in her usual silvery tones.
As he was leaving, Jim grasped Lucy’s hand warmly.
After he had gone, Lucy came to the dining room door and glanced in at Nannie and John. Then she turned away and ascended the stairs. Neither of them had noticed her.
XXI
Egged on by Nannie, John, though temporarily distracted by other matters, had not relinquished his determination to secure a servant, and one morning, as the result of his efforts, a girl from an employment agency presented herself.
“My name is Grace Stanley,” she announced, handing Lucy the note of introduction which John had sent, “and I do no washing, ironing, or mending, and I want Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. Of course I’ll stay today,” she concluded.
Lucy, whose protests had been in vain, had been warned of John’s intention the morning before and now without comment led the girl to the servant’s room.
About noon Nannie appeared, carefully made up and tastefully dressed in a white and green linen gown. The new servant had removed her corsets and exchanged her shoes for felt house slippers. And, when Nannie entered the dining room, was cleaning the silver ware. Grace, from the corner of her eye, gave Mrs. Merwent a shrewd glance.
“Good morning,” said Nannie, passing on to the next room where she sat down to the piano.
She finished running over some music and turned on the stool.
“My, but you sing pretty!” exclaimed Grace, who had been watching unnoticed in the doorway.
“Thank you.” Nannie smiled condescendingly, rising to pick up a volume of songs which she had laid on a nearby chair.
“Is there anything I can do for you before I start luncheon, Mrs. Winter?” the servant inquired, still hesitating in the doorway.
“I am Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is my daughter. Yes, you can come upstairs with me and I will show you how I wish my room done every day.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Merwent,” acceded Grace.
