VI
Mandeville Ryder returned to his sister’s house the next evening at the usual hour, and found Elaine sitting alone on the veranda.
“Hello, Mandy!” she greeted him.
“Afternoon, Elaine,” he vouchsafed.
“Golly, such a row!” said she.
“Who? Sheila and Lucian?” he asked, not much interested.
“No—Aunt Sheila and mother and that poor little French girl—”
“What?”
“Yes!” said Elaine. “They’ve been looking for a chance to destroy her ever since you danced with her. We’ve all been pretty beastly. I’m sorry. I don’t believe she ever stole—”
“She—stole?”
“That’s the tale—that she stole Aunt Sheila’s bracelet—the one you gave her two years ago on her fifth anniversary.”
“She?” cried Mandeville. His healthy face grew pale. His eyes narrowed. “That’s a damned lie!” he said.
Elaine was enchanted by this dramatic outburst.
“You never heard such a row!” she continued, with unction. “You know what mother and Aunt Sheila are when they get going. I feel sorry for the poor girl.”
“Where is she?” demanded Mandeville.
“Oh, she’s gone!” said Elaine cheerfully. “But—oh, here’s Uncle Lucian! Better and better! Poor Uncle Lucian! He—”
But Mandeville waited to hear no more. He ran up the stairs, to face his sister, and to find out where Miss La Chêne had gone.
At first he could find neither of his sisters, although he heard their voices. He flung open door after door, and at last he discovered them in the little room that had been Miss La Chêne’s.
Sheila Robinson was very busy there. She was emptying out the bureau drawers, ransacking the wardrobe, and unpacking a trunk. All over the floor lay Miss La Chêne’s dainty belongings—filmy little garments, shoes, bits of ribbon, a pathetic wreath of flowers from a hat. The sight of these things—her things—trampled underfoot, was more than the young man could endure.
“What are you doing in here?” he shouted.
“My bracelet is gone,” said his sister, “and I’m going to search that girl’s room thoroughly.”
“Clear out of here!” he ordered. “I won’t have it!”
“You won’t have it?” said she. “And pray—”
“Look here!” said he. “Maybe you’ve forgotten the time you accused that poor little chambermaid of stealing your ring, when it was in your purse all the time; but I haven’t. I won’t have Miss La Chêne called[Pg 201]—”
“Lucian!” she cried, spying her husband in the doorway. “Don’t let Mandeville insult me like this!”
The unhappy Robinson essayed a smile.
“I—I—I say, Mandy!” he stammered. “Sheila’s upset, you know, and—”
“Get her out of here, Lucian!” cried Mandeville.
“This is my house,” said Mrs. Milner, “and Sheila has a perfect right to be here. That little French thing has robbed—”
“Stop that!” shouted Mandeville. “Look here, Lucian, if you don’t get them both out of here—”
“Lucian, are you a man?” his wife demanded wildly. “Will you allow your own wife to be insulted and ordered out—”
Mandeville advanced toward his brother-in-law until he stood towering above him.
“If you don’t keep her quiet—” he said.
“Lucian, protect me!” wailed Sheila.
“I—I—I—” began Robinson.
With one glance at him, Mandeville turned away. Only one glance—but it might better have been a blow.