“Pinch me,” thought Sadie, who, precisely as she had expected gold and glitter, had expected, too, airs, hostility, the disdain of a very rich woman for a working-girl. Instead of which she was being treated “like a lady.” At the consciousness and sheer satisfaction of it she laughed. “This is too easy,” she told herself.
On that, for emphasis, there came a pop! The manservant, reappearing, was filling glasses on a wonderful tray which he placed on a table that he had conjured before her. It was not only easy, it was grand, for now the man had gone, and here was this party drinking her health.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Vivian, “to you and to Alfred! But you have not told me. What are your plans? Don’t you agree with me that long engagements are a mistake? Long engagements make people sick and tired of each other, and that only ought to come afterwards.”
“She’s dotty,” thought Sadie. But she said: “You’re dead right.”
The glass which Mrs. Vivian held and which she had barely touched, she put down. “There! I was sure you would think so. Now why don’t you and Alfred get married at once?”
“Hurray for Sadie!” thought the girl, who answered: “That’s what Mr. Vivian says.”
“And how natural that is! But in the circumstances is not ‘Mr. Vivian’ a bit formal?”
Comfortably the girl drained her glass. The uncertainty, the awe, the stabbing fear that she had of this fool of a woman, where were they now? Then roguishly she smiled. “Between you and me and the bedpost, I call him Fredikins.”
“Fredikins!” Mrs. Vivian with an enraptured air repeated. “Why that was his pet name when he was a baby! So amusing he was, too. Since then he has become very tedious. But tedious men make such excellent husbands, and that brings me back to what I was talking about. Why don’t you and he get married at once? If you will let me, I will give you the wedding.”
“I should worry,” thought Sadie, who said: “That will be elegant.”
“And every wish for your happiness.”
“That suits yours truly,” thought the girl, and she said it.
“And then, as Fredikins expressed it, and very manly he was—but then he is his father all over—he can carve out a future for you both.”
“Eh?” Sadie whinnied.
“Yes, wasn’t it manly of him? Reared as he has been in what I think I have seen described as the lap of luxury, isn’t it noble? It made me so proud. But that is not all. Without the slightest trace of conceit, but in a quiet, resolute way he has that way, you know, he got it from his father—he said that for you he would work his fingers to the bone.”
Sadie was bristling. Her tight mouth tightened. Had the champagne, she wondered, gone to the old cat’s head?
“And here is something else,” Mrs. Vivian, dropping her voice as though imparting a great confidence, continued. “When I die he will have six hundred a year. He won’t need it, of course, He will make millions. But, in case of a rainy day, there it will be for you both.”
“But—” Sadie fiercely exploded. At the moment her thoughts stammered. The monosyllable was all that she could get out.
Yet Mrs. Vivian seemed to appreciate, for enthusiastically, as though very much pleased with everybody and everything, she ran on; “And meanwhile, there is your ability and profession for him to fall back on.”
“Well, of all the gall!” thought Sadie. “See here—”
“My dear, I am an old woman,” interrupted Mrs. Vivian, who at the moment looked younger than the girl. “It is a month of Sundays since I have been to the theater, where, I am sure, you are as much of a success as that young French lady who was here last year—what was her name? Ah, yes, I have it and a quotation, too. ‘Consider the lilies of the field!’ Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like Gaby des Lys.”
“Gaby nothing,” Sadie furiously cut in. “See here—”
Apologetically Mrs. Vivian half-raised a hand. “But it is not for her that my boy is to work his fingers to the bone; it’s for you, yet with such an admirable example as hers before you—I am told that when under our flag she just Stars and Strips, and that I think shows so much tact—I am sure the dear boy won’t have to.”
“You can bet your life on that,” said Sadie, who not only thought it but meant it, and who in saying it stood up, shook herself and glared. “See here. Your son told me he had your consent.”
Ingratiatingly Mrs. Vivian smiled and nodded. “So he has.”
“And what else?” Sadie, stamping a foot, threw at her.
With an air of surprise that succeeded in being both infinite and sympathetic, Mrs. Vivian took it up. “But what more did you expect?”
“What?” Sadie snapped. “Why with him letting himself go like a prince of the blood, and everybody saying how rich you are, whatever I expected it wasn’t false pretenses, for that’s what it is.”
Mrs. Vivian arose. “But, my dear child, except the prince part it is all of it true.”
At that Sadie faced her. “You want this marriage?”
“But don’t you know,” Mrs. Vivian in a voice of gentle reproach replied, “don’t you know that it is my dearest wish?”
Mentally Sadie fanned herself. “I have you now,” she thought. But she said: “Then you’ve got to divvy up.”
Mrs. Vivian smiled her sweetest. “I would just love to. But Fredikin’s father wanted him to make his own way, and with a dear child like you he is sure to.”
“Do you hear that!” Sadie gnashed. “Then listen to this. Unless a man can support me in style, it’s another dear child for him.”
“There he is now!” Mrs. Vivian, with the same sweet smile, exclaimed. “Alfred,” she called, “you
