“That kid from next door has been snooping in here. I caught her trying to sneak out.”
“I know it wasn't your fault, dear,” said old Mrs. Greenleaf kindly. “What was it you wanted?”
Her errand forgotten, Missy could only attempt a smile and dumbly extend the bouquet.
Old Mrs. Greenleaf took the flowers, then spoke over her shoulder: “I think Helen wants you upstairs, Porter.” Missy had always thought she was like a Roman Matron; now it was upsetting to see the Roman Matron so upset.
“Miss Helen's got a terrible headache and is lying down,” said old Mrs. Greenleaf, fussing over the flowers.
“Oh,” said Missy, desperately tongue-tied and ill-at-ease.
For a long second it endured portentously still in the room and in the world without; then like a sharp thunder-clap out of a summer sky, a door slammed upstairs. There was a sound of someone running down the steps, and Missy glimpsed Mr. Hackett going out the front door, banging the screen after him.
At the last noise, old Mrs. Greenleaf's shoulders stiffened as if under a lash. But she turned quietly and said:
“Thank you so much for the flowers, Missy. I'll give them to her after a while, when she's better. And you can see her to-morrow.”
It was the politest of dismissals. Missy, having remembered the pattern, hurriedly got it and ran home. She had seen a suspicion of tears in old Mrs. Greenleaf's eyes. It was as upsetting as though the bronze Winged Victory on the parlour mantel should begin to weep.
All that afternoon Missy sought solitude. She refused to play croquet with Kitty Allen when that beautiful and most envied friend appeared. When Kitty took herself home, offended, Missy went out to the remote summerhouse, relieved. She looked back, now, on her morning's careless happiness as an old man looks back on the heyday of his youth.
Heavy with sympathy, non-comprehension and fear, she brooded over these dark, mysterious hints about the handsome Cleveland man; over young Doc's blighted love; over Miss Princess's wanting to “back out”; over old Mrs. Greenleaf's strange, dominant “pride.”
Why did Miss Princess want to “back out”?--Miss Princess with her beautiful coppery hair, and eager parted lips, and eyes of mysterious purple (Missy lingered on the reflection “eyes of mysterious purple” long enough to foreshadow a future poem including that line). Was it because she still loved Doc? If so, why didn't it turn out all right, since Doc loved her, too? Surely that would be better, since there seemed to be something wrong with Mr. Hackett--even though everybody did talk about what a wonderful match he was. Then they talked about invitations and things as though old Mrs. Greenleaf thought those things counted for more than the bridegroom. Old Mrs. Greenleaf, Missy was sure, loved Miss Princess better than anything else in the world: then how could she, even if she was “proud,” twist things so foolishly?