hall, imperilling in its passage a number of things and threatening to overwhelm its own object; but instead at the miraculous moment it became rigid, gracefully executed a flying slide on the tiled floor, and came to a perfect stop with Galt in its arms.
“Safe!” I shouted, filled with excitement and admiration.
“Natalie,” said Galt, introducing her.
She shook hands in a free, roguish manner, smiling with me at herself, without really for an instant taking her attention off Galt.
“You’re wet,” she said severely.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re soaking wet,” she insisted, feeling and pinching him at the same time. “You’ve got to change.”
“I’ve got to do nothing of the kind,” he said. “We want to talk. Let us alone.” To me he said: “Come up to my room,” and made for the stairway.
Natalie, getting ahead of him, barred the way.
“You won’t have a minute to talk,” she said. “Dinner is ready. Go in there.”
“Oh, all right... all right,” he growled, turning into the parlor. Almost before he could sit down she was at him with a dry coat, holding it. Grumbling and pretending to be churlish, yet secretly much pleased, he changed garments, saying: “Will that do you?”
“For now,” she said, smoothing the collar and giving him a little whack to finish.
Mrs. Galt appeared. Then Galt’s mother, introduced simply and sweetly by her nursery name, Gram’ma Galt There was an embarrassing pause.
“Where is Vera?” Galt asked.
Vera, I supposed, was the ferryboat girl.
Nobody answered his question. Mrs. Galt by an effort of strong intention moved us silently toward the dining room. The house seemed bare,—no pictures to look at, a few pieces of fine old furniture mixed with modern things, good rugs worn shabby and no artistry of design or effect whatever except in the middle room between parlor and dining room which contained a grand piano, some art objects and a thought of color. Nothing in the house was positively ugly or in bad taste, nor in the total impression was there any uncomfortable suggestion of genteel poverty. What the environment seemed to express, all save that one middle room, was indifference.
“You will want to talk,” said Mrs. Galt, placing me at the left of Galt, so that I faced Natalie, who sat at his right This was the foot of the table. Mrs. Galt sat at the head of it, with Gram’ma Galt at her right and a vacant place at her left.
“Where is Vera?” Galt asked again, beginning to develop symptoms.
“She isn’t coming down,” said Mrs. Galt in a horizontal voice.
“Why not?” asked Galt, beating the table. “Why not?”
“T-e-e o-o-o doubleyou,” said Natalie, significantly, trying to catch his eye. But he either didn’t hear or purposely ignored her, and went on:
“She does this to spite me. She does it every time I bring anybody home. I won’t have it. She’s a monkey, she’s a snob. I’ll call her till she comes. Hey, Ver-a-a-al”
Natalie had been shaking him by the arm, desperately trying to make him look at a figure formed with the fingers of her right hand. Evidently there was a code between them. She had already tried the cipher, T O W, whatever that meant, and now this was the sign. If he would only look! But of course he wouldn’t. Suddenly the girl threw herself around him, and though he resisted she smothered him powerfully and whispered in his ear. Instantly the scene dissolved. She returned to her place slightly flushed with the exertion, he sat up to the table, and dinner began to be served as if nothing unusual had taken place.
Mrs. Galt addressed polite inquiries at me, spoke to the butler, conversed with Natalie, not feverishly or in haste, but placidly, in a calm level voice. She was a magnificent brunette woman, turning gray at a time of life and in a manner to make her look even younger and more striking than before. Her expression was trained, impersonal and weary, as that of one who knows the part too
“Safe!” I shouted, filled with excitement and admiration.
“Natalie,” said Galt, introducing her.
She shook hands in a free, roguish manner, smiling with me at herself, without really for an instant taking her attention off Galt.
“You’re wet,” she said severely.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re soaking wet,” she insisted, feeling and pinching him at the same time. “You’ve got to change.”
“I’ve got to do nothing of the kind,” he said. “We want to talk. Let us alone.” To me he said: “Come up to my room,” and made for the stairway.
Natalie, getting ahead of him, barred the way.
“You won’t have a minute to talk,” she said. “Dinner is ready. Go in there.”
“Oh, all right... all right,” he growled, turning into the parlor. Almost before he could sit down she was at him with a dry coat, holding it. Grumbling and pretending to be churlish, yet secretly much pleased, he changed garments, saying: “Will that do you?”
“For now,” she said, smoothing the collar and giving him a little whack to finish.
Mrs. Galt appeared. Then Galt’s mother, introduced simply and sweetly by her nursery name, Gram’ma Galt There was an embarrassing pause.
“Where is Vera?” Galt asked.
Vera, I supposed, was the ferryboat girl.
Nobody answered his question. Mrs. Galt by an effort of strong intention moved us silently toward the dining room. The house seemed bare,—no pictures to look at, a few pieces of fine old furniture mixed with modern things, good rugs worn shabby and no artistry of design or effect whatever except in the middle room between parlor and dining room which contained a grand piano, some art objects and a thought of color. Nothing in the house was positively ugly or in bad taste, nor in the total impression was there any uncomfortable suggestion of genteel poverty. What the environment seemed to express, all save that one middle room, was indifference.
“You will want to talk,” said Mrs. Galt, placing me at the left of Galt, so that I faced Natalie, who sat at his right This was the foot of the table. Mrs. Galt sat at the head of it, with Gram’ma Galt at her right and a vacant place at her left.
“Where is Vera?” Galt asked again, beginning to develop symptoms.
“She isn’t coming down,” said Mrs. Galt in a horizontal voice.
“Why not?” asked Galt, beating the table. “Why not?”
“T-e-e o-o-o doubleyou,” said Natalie, significantly, trying to catch his eye. But he either didn’t hear or purposely ignored her, and went on:
“She does this to spite me. She does it every time I bring anybody home. I won’t have it. She’s a monkey, she’s a snob. I’ll call her till she comes. Hey, Ver-a-a-al”
Natalie had been shaking him by the arm, desperately trying to make him look at a figure formed with the fingers of her right hand. Evidently there was a code between them. She had already tried the cipher, T O W, whatever that meant, and now this was the sign. If he would only look! But of course he wouldn’t. Suddenly the girl threw herself around him, and though he resisted she smothered him powerfully and whispered in his ear. Instantly the scene dissolved. She returned to her place slightly flushed with the exertion, he sat up to the table, and dinner began to be served as if nothing unusual had taken place.
Mrs. Galt addressed polite inquiries at me, spoke to the butler, conversed with Natalie, not feverishly or in haste, but placidly, in a calm level voice. She was a magnificent brunette woman, turning gray at a time of life and in a manner to make her look even younger and more striking than before. Her expression was trained, impersonal and weary, as that of one who knows the part too
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