ILLIE sat on the edge of Nelly's bed with its owner, and conversation was free and constant. Millie was bent on persuading Nelly to go with her to see some friends in Putney on the next afternoon.
“They're delightful people,” she urged. “The eldest girl sings; and the father is very clever, too.”
These vague inducements did not shake Nelly's resolution to stay with Mrs. Martin and help her to receive any casual Sunday callers.
“The fact is,” she said, in answer to further entreaties, “I think some one may come to-morrow; and I would rather be at home.”
Millie detected a conscious tone in Nelly's voice, and demanded details, which Nelly much enjoyed relating. With little smiles and pauses, she told how she had met an American, Mr. Delarne, at Paris-Plage; and how, the night before Nelly left, she had had talk with him—“about nothing much,” she concluded. “Of course, there's nothing in it, but when he happened to meet us at the station the next morning, he asked if he might get the Soneys to bring him to call. They did last week; and auntie said she hoped we should see something of him before he sailed for home; and would he come one Sunday afternoon? That's all.”
Millie was glowing and radiant. She sniffed romance as a charger sniffs battle. Her manner to Nelly became tenderly gay, delicately comprehending; and Mrs. Martin uneasily felt that something was toward. When the girls met on Sunday morning, Millie bestowed with her kiss the breathy whisper: “I know he's coming!” and Nelly began to regret the confidence she had given in a rash moment. She had yet to learn that some things are too slight to be told without unconsciously exaggerating them.
Mr. Delarne did call, and he came early—and the significance of this fact strengthened Millie in her determination to “leave them together,” if possible. After surveying and studying him with an eager interest which inevitably proved to all three that Nelly had thought it worth while to talk of him to her friend, Millie rose and crossed the room, begging Mrs. Martin to let her help with the tea. On Mrs. Martin's polite refusal she entered into a light conversation, standing well between the couple on the sofa and the hostess, with her back to them. When Mrs. Martin, after several vain attempts to look round Millie's plump figure, somewhat peremptorily waved her to a chair, she went to it with a commiserating glance at Nelly, who seemed anything but grateful for the consideration shown her
The conversation had not proceeded long when Nelly perceived a sudden lightening of Millie's face. Her heart sank, even before Millie rose and, holding her handkerchief to her forehead, murmured an apology to Mrs. Martin, and left the room.
“I did not know Millie had a headache?” said Mrs. Martin interrogatively.
“Nor I,” responded Nelly, somewhat guiltily.
Delarne looked rather puzzled, but was about to continue talking, when Elise entered.
“If you please, madame,” she said, “Mademoiselle Millie is very sorry to trouble you, but she cannot find any sal volatile; and would you tell her if you have Doctor Gray or Doctor Kerr?”
Mrs. Martin turned a concerned look on Nelly, who immediately gave the situation away by exclaiming earnestly and with conviction: “Oh, it's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. You needn't go to her.”
This revelation of apparent complicity forced Mrs. Martin to seem to accept the message; and, after some hesitation, she left the room with a heightened color. Nelly, scarlet and miserable, glanced at Delarne, over whom a subtle change had come. She was quite aware that it all looked as though she was trying to be left alone with him, and she was not surprised to see the stony politeness which had succeeded to his previous friendliness. She could almost see passing through his mind the recollection of her friendship for Miss Carruthers at Paris-Plage, the girl whom he abominated, and her silly imitation of her model's flippant rudeness. He would think her present behavior a fitting sequel!
She stood by the window endeavoring to talk about any indifferent subject, and receiving with growing dejection his frigid replies. His pride and his vanity were both up in arms; and he was not at all softened by the fact that Nelly was laying her apparent snares with the clumsiness of a novice. Things at last reached such a pitch that she turned suddenly into the room, sat down near him, and burst out: “I had nothing to do with it—Millie, I mean.”
Delarne raised his eyebrows slightly, and let his voice drop through several acres of mountain glacier before it reached her.
“Of course not. What should you have to do with your friend's headache?”