But the next day, when Mrs. Dalton rang up and begged Jean to help her manage the Rimaldis, Jean at first refused. It was not until she saw that it was either a question of doing as Mrs. Dalton asked, or having the whole matter dropped, that she at last reluctantly consented to see Giuseppe Rimaldi and force him to reason.
"I'll see him this afternoon and let you know," Jean promised and Mrs. Dalton hung up.
The arrangements took longer than Jean expected and the others were at the table when she came in, a little excited and triumphant, as the contest with another will always left Jean. Giuseppe Rimaldi had been hard to handle, and it was only by threatening him with the law, which would take away from him both Tony and the new violin presented by Mrs. Dalton, that he had yielded and promised to let Tony give up selling papers and have this time for practice. In her success. Jean forgot Catherine's rudeness of the night before, and launched into a picture of Giuseppe Rimaldi, surrounded by wife and children, all except Tony, defending his poverty.
"Like a captain defending a fortress," Jean explained. "No wonder Dalton couldn't handle him."
"It was a miracle that you were on hand to do it," Catherine said in a cold, detached tone, each word like the prick of a knife.
Jean's eyes flashed. "If there had been any other way, I should not have interfered."
Catherine pushed back her chair. "You needn't apologize. But from now on you can have Tony—as well."
Gerte made no comment this time on Catherine's going, but Jean saw Nan's face flush scarlet. As soon as the meal was over, Jean went up to her own room.
What had Catherine meant by that "as well"? What unfounded hurt to her own vanity was she harboring? There was something more than temporary fatigue, or nerves, the matter with Catherine, and whatever it was, Nan knew.
The days passed, a sultry spring moved toward a scorching summer, and Jean did not change her mind. Catherine was different, so different that it was impossible to seek an explanation, even if Catherine had allowed the opportunity. Her wit, always sharp, stabbed now with a venom that penetrated even Gerte's imperviousness. She dipped her slightest remark in a well of hatred, and sent it tipped with personal animosity straight to its mark. Nan alone escaped. It seemed to Jean sometimes that Nan was mentally tiptoeing through this tension, as a nurse moves with a patient.