"I did not read the second one," she said, flushing painfully. "You have no right to a.s.sume that I will meet you--oh, _can"t_ you be a gentleman?"
He gasped. "My G.o.d! Can you beat _that_!"
"It is becoming unbearable, Mr. Smith-Parvis," said she, looking him straight in the eye. "If you persist, I shall be compelled to speak to your mother."
"Go ahead," he said sarcastically. "I"m ready for exposure if you are."
"And I am now prepared to give up my position," she added, white and calm.
"Good!" he exclaimed promptly. "I"ll see that you never regret it," he went on eagerly, his enormous vanity reaching out for but one conclusion.
"You beast!" she hissed, and walked away.
He looked bewildered. "I"m blowed if I understand what"s got into women lately," he muttered, and pa.s.sed his fingers over his brow.
On the way to Pickett"s, Mrs. Smith-Parvis dilated upon the unspeakable Mr. Juneo.
"You will be struck at once, Miss Emsdale, by the contrast. The instant you come in contact with Mr. Moody, at Pickett"s--he is really the head of the firm,--you will experience the delightful,--and unique, I may say,--sensation of being in the presence of a cultured, high-bred gentleman. They are most uncommon among shop-keepers in these days. This little Juneo is as common as dirt. He hasn"t a shred of good-breeding. Utterly low-cla.s.s Neapolitan person, I should say at a venture,--although I have never been by way of knowing any of the lower cla.s.s Italians. They must be quite dreadful in their native gutters. Now, Mr. Moody,--but you shall see. Really, he is so splendid that one can almost imagine him in the House of Lords, or being privileged to sit down in the presence of the king, or--My word, Stuyvesant, what are you scowling at?"
"I"m not scowling," growled Stuyvesant, from the little side seat in front of them.
"He actually makes me feel sometimes as though I were dirt under his feet," went on Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
"Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you feel anything of the--"
"I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear."
"Oh,--well," said he, slightly crestfallen.
Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a n.o.bleman with countless generations of n.o.bility behind him!
The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett"s.
Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them.
"Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right to stand there, blocking the way."
"It"s Mrs. Millidew"s car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin.
"Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out here. It"s only a step."
Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her cheeks. She had not seen Trotter since that day in Bramble"s book-shop. Her heart began to beat rapidly.
Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a conversation with some one inside the car. He too started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon the third person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile. Almost instantly his face darkened and his tall frame stiffened. He had taken a second look at the first person to emerge. The reply he was in process of making to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It became disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a halt. He was afforded a slight thrill of relief when Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand that was extended to a.s.sist her in alighting.
Mrs. Millidew, the younger, turned her head to glance at the pa.s.sing trio. Her face lighted with a slight smile of recognition. The two Smith-Parvises bowed and smiled in return.
"Isn"t she beautiful?" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis to her son, without waiting to get out of earshot.
"Oh, rather," said he, quite as distinctly.
"Who is that extremely pretty girl?" inquired Mrs. Millidew, the younger, also quite loudly, addressing no one in particular.
Trotter cleared his throat.
"Oh, you wouldn"t know, of course," she observed. "Go on, Trotter. You were telling me about your family in--was it Chester? Your dear old mother and the little sisters. I am very much interested."
Trotter looked around cautiously, and again cleared his throat.
"It is awfully good of you to be interested in my people," he said, an uneasy note in his voice. For his life, he could not remember just what he had been telling her in response to her inquiries. The whole thing had been knocked out of his head by the sudden appearance of one who knew that he had no dear old mother in Chester, nor little sisters anywhere who depended largely on him for support! "Chester," he said, rather vaguely. "Yes, to be sure,--Chester. Not far from Liverpool, you know,--it"s where the cathedral is."
"Tell me all about them," she persisted, leaning a little closer to the window, an encouraging smile on her carmine lips.
In due time the impa.s.sive Mr. Moody issued forth from his private office and bore down upon the two matrons, who, having no especial love for each other, were striving their utmost to be cordial without compromising themselves by being agreeable.
Mrs. Millidew the elder, arrayed in many colours, was telling Mrs.
Smith-Parvis about a new ma.s.seuse she had discovered, and Mrs.
Smith-Parvis was talking freely at the same time about a person named Juneo.
Miss Emsdale had drifted over toward the broad show window looking out upon the cross-town street, where Thomas Trotter was visible,--out of the corner of her eye. Also the younger Mrs. Millidew.
Stuyvesant, sullenly smoking a cigarette, lolled against a show-case across the room, dropping ashes every minute or two into the mouth of a fragile and, for the time being, priceless vase that happened to be conveniently located near his elbow.
Mr. Moody adjusted his monocle and eyed his matronly visitors in a most unfeeling way.
"Ah,--good awfternoon, Mrs. Millidew. Good awfternoon, Mrs.
Smith-Parvis," he said, and then catching sight of an apparently neglected customer in the offing, beckoned to a smart looking salesman, and said, quite loudly:
"See what that young man wants, Proctor."
The young man, who happened to be young Mr. Smith-Parvis, started violently,--and glared.
"Stupid blight-ah!" he said, also quite loudly, and disgustedly chucked his cigarette into the vase, whereupon the salesman, in some horror, grabbed it up and dumped the contents upon the floor.
"You shouldn"t do that, you know," he said, in a moment of righteous forgetfulness. "That"s a peach-blow--"
"Oh, is it?" snapped Stuyvesant, and walked away.
"That is my son, Mr. Moody," explained Mrs. Smith-Parvis quickly. "Poor dear, he hates so to shop with me."
"Ah,--ah, I see," drawled Mr. Moody. "Your son? Yes, yes." And then, as an afterthought, with a slight elevation of one eyebrow, "Bless my soul, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, you amaze me. It"s incredible. You cawn"t convince me that you have a son as old as--Well, now, really it"s a bit thick."
"I--I"m not spoofing you, Mr. Moody," cried Mrs. Smith-Parvis delightedly.
His face relaxed slightly. One might have detected the faint, suppressed gleam of a smile in his eyes,--but it was so brief, so evanescent that it would be folly to put it down as such.
The ensuing five minutes were devoted entirely to manoeuvres on the part of all three. Mrs. Smith-Parvis was trying to shunt Mrs. Millidew on to an ordinary salesman, and Mrs. Millidew was standing her ground, resolute in the same direction. The former couldn"t possibly inspect heirlooms under the eye of that old busy-body, nor could the latter resort to cajolery in the effort to obtain a certain needle-point chair at bankrupt figures. As for Mr. Moody, he was splendid. The lordliest duke in all of Britain could not have presented a truer exemplification of lordliness than he. He quite outdid himself. The eighth letter in the alphabet behaved in a most gratifying manner; indeed, he even took chances with it, just to see how it would act if he were not watching it,--and not once did it fail him.
"But, of course, one never can find anything one wants unless one goes to the really exclusive places, you know," Mrs. Smith-Parvis was saying.