That talk, stormy and utterly incomprehensible, filled the child with a growing sense of terror. Accusations, quick pleadings, angry retorts, attempts at explanation, all formed a dreadful muttering background out of which shot, like sharp streaks of lightning, occasional clearly-caught phrases: “Charlie White came home dead drunk, I tell you--” “--You know I'm mad about you, Helen, or I wouldn't--” “--Oh, don't you touch me!”
To Missy, trapped and shaking with panic, the storm seemed to have raged hours before she detected a third voice, old Mrs. Greenleaf's, which cut calm and controlled across the area of passion.
“You'd better go out a little while, Porter, and let me talk to her.”
Then another interminable stretch of turmoil, this all the more terrifying because less violent.
“Oh, mother-I can't--” Anger, spent, had given way to broken sobbing.
“I understand how you feel, dear. But you'll--”
“I understand, dear. All girls get frightened and--”
“But it isn't that, mother. I don't love him. I can't go on. Won't you, this minute, tell him--tell everybody--?”
“Darling, don't you realize I can't?” Missy had never before heard old Mrs. Greenleaf's voice tremble.
“The invitation, and the trousseau, and the presents, and everything. Think of the scandal, dear. We couldn't. Don't you see, dear, we can't back out, now?”
“You're excited, dear,” soothingly. “You'd better go rest a while. I'll have a good talk with Porter. And you go upstairs and lie down. The Carrolls' dinner--”
The despairing sound of Miss Princess's cry, and the throbbing realization that these were calamities she must not overhear, stung Missy to renewed reconnoitering. Tiptoeing over to the window, she fumbled at the fastening of the screen, swung it outward, and, contemplating a jump to the sward below, thrust one foot over the sill.
On the side porch, not twenty feet away, Mr. Hackett was regarding her with amazed and hostile eyes. Missy's heart thumped against her ribs. Her consternation was not lessened when, tossing away his cigarette with a vindictive gesture, he added: “Stay where you are!”
Missy slackened her hold and crouched back like a hunted criminal. And like a hunted criminal he condemned her, a moment later, to old Mrs. Greenleaf.