Had Mrs. Manhattan been any other than herself, Eden would have sent back some femininely prevaricatory excuse. She was enervated still by the emotions of the preceding day, and her desire for companionship was slight. But Mrs. Manhattan was not only Mrs. Manhattan, she was a woman for whom Eden entertained a quasi-filial, quasi-sororal affection. She went forward therefore at once, her hands outstretched to greet.
On ordinary occasions it was Mrs. Manhattan’s custom to salute Eden with a kiss, but on this particular afternoon she contented herself with taking the outstretched hands in her own, holding Eden, as it were, at arms length.
“You abominable little beauty,” she began, “what did you mean by leaving me in the lurch last night? I came here expecting to find you in bed with the doctor. Mais pas du tout. Madame s’embellit à vu d’œil.”
“Laura, dear,” Eden answered, when they had found seats, “don’t be annoyed at me. I wanted very much to come. But you know the proverb: man proposes—”
“—And woman accepts. Yes, I know; go on.”
“Well, I simply couldn’t help it.”
“Couldn’t help it! What do you mean by saying you couldn’t help it? Don’t sit there with your back to the light; I want to look at you. Eden, as sure as my name is Laura Leigh, something has gone wrong with you. What business have you, at your age, to have circles under your eyes?”
“Presumably because I was unable to get to your dinner. I am really sorry, Laura. Did you have many people?”
“Of course I didn’t. Nicholas won’t let me give large dinners. There were only eighteen of us. I suppose I could have got the Boltens to come and take your place. But then you know how people are. Unless you invite them a fortnight in advance they think they are asked to fill up—as they are. H’m! I was mad enough. Nicholas was to have taken you in, and by way of compensation you were to have had your old flame, Dugald Maule, on the other side of you. Parenthetically, it is my opinion that he loves you still—beyond the tomb, as they love in Germany. However, that is not to the point; the dinner was a failure. Afterwards we all went to the Amsterdams; all of us, that is, except Jones, who said he had an engagement, which meant I suppose, that he was not expected.”
“Jones, the novelist?”
“Yes, Alphabet Jones. Personally he is as inoffensive as a glass of lemonade, but I can’t bear his books. He uses words I don’t understand, and tells of things that I don’t want to. Nicholas, however, will have him.”
And at the thought of her husband’s tyranny, Mrs. Manhattan shrugged her shoulders and gazed complacently in her lap.
“Laura, I don’t believe your dinner was a failure.”
“Well, not exactly a failure perhaps, but it is always upsetting to have people at the last moment send word that they can’t come. It is not only upsetting, it’s dangerous. It takes the flavor of the soup away. It makes everything taste bad.” And as Mrs. Manhattan said this she glared at Eden with the ferocity of an irritated Madonna. “Now tell me,” she continued, “what was the matter with you?”
“Really, Laura, it was nothing. I can’t tell you.” She hesitated a second and into the corners of her exquisite mouth there passed a smile. “I saw my husband in a cab with—with—”
“A woman?”
Eden stared at her friend with the astonishment of a gomeril at a contortionist. The smile left her lips.
“Did you see him too?” she asked.
“Why, no, you little simpleton, I didn’t see him; but I haven’t got a husband of my own for nothing.”
“Do you mean that your husband deceives you?”
“Deceives me? no, not a bit of it. He only thinks he does. Is that what has been the matter with you?”
“Laura—”
“And was it because you caught your husband in a cab that you couldn’t come to dinner? But, heavens and earth! if other women were to act like you no one would even dare to attempt to entertain. As it is,” Mrs. Manhattan grumbled to herself, “the Mayor ought to pass an ordinance on the subject. He has little enough to do in return for his double lampposts.”
“No, Laura, how absurd you are!” Eden exclaimed. “John was detained on business.”
“Ah! I see.” And Mrs. Manhattan looked at her in a gingerly fashion out of the corner of one eye.
“Yes, he sent me word that he was detained on business and for me to send word to you.”
“That was most thoughtful of him. And it was after you got the note that the cab episode occurred?”
“No, it was just before.”
“Yes, yes, I can understand.” Mrs. Manhattan paused a moment. To anyone else save Eden the pause would have been significant. “H’m,” she went on, “business may mean other men’s money, or it may mean other men’s wives. I do hope, though, you were sensible enough not to mention anything about the lady and the cab.”
“Oh, but indeed, I did. He explained the whole thing at once.”
“From the cab window?”
“When he came back, I mean—in the evening.”
“Some little time must have intervened.”
“Yes, two hours, I should judge.”
Mrs. Manhattan nodded. “Well,” she said, with an air of profound sapience, “no man ever talks to a woman for two hours unless he keeps saying the same thing all the time.”
“Laura, that is not like you. You know perfectly well
