Both women sighed sympathetically as they listened to Mrs. Stivers's calm and self-controlled statement of her financial and professional situation, little dreaming that the oppressive mortgage existed only in the imagination of the undemonstrative widow, who found it too powerful a lever in raising the rent of rooms, in raising her salary, and in raising the hats of compassionate observers—to be willingly abandoned.
But though the house mortgage had been cancelled long ago, she was then by way of secretly placing a mortgage upon her own character for upright honesty, for sincerity, for honor. True, there was no overt agreement to dupe a young girl and to circumvent her friends; yet if she made no slip, trip, or blunder in this matter intrusted to her, she surely knew that at its end Stewart Thrall, who guided, governed, and controlled her, would hold first mortgage on her character, since by tacit, unspoken agreement she would become a living surveillance, a personified treachery, while still deceptively wearing the livery of prim respectability and honest labor.
Now, Mrs. Van Camp asked the woman to be seated; expressed regret for her bereavement, and, because of the excellent impression Jane Martin had made upon her in the past, looked with unusually lenient eyes upon Jane Stivers of the present, and accepted readily her statements, and trustingly saw in her rectitude, her intelligence, and her respectful and deferential manner the most desirable sort of combination—landlady, maid, and sheep-dog.
When terms came to be considered, though they seemed surprisingly easy, Sybil nervously checked Mrs. Van Camp's acceptance of them, saying that her salary hardly justified such an outlay.
"Oh, Miss Lawton, if you'll pardon the interruption," said Jane Stivers, "your salary will be quite a different thing when you begin playing Juliet. Anyone would know that, as a mere matter of course. But besides that, when Mr. Thrall did me the service of mentioning this matter, he honored my little home with a call, and as he was going he puts on his hat and says: 'And I must have now a bit of a business talk with our little Royal Princess'—that's you, Miss; theatrical people are great for tagging folks with names, be you high or be you low—you're bound to get a tag; even I, miss, have been 'Jane Penny' ever since some rattle-brain found that Stiver was Dutch for a penny."
Sybil recalled her mother's old saying, "Not worth a stiver," and laughed, while Jane went on.
"Yes, ma'am, he said he must have a little talk with the Royal Princess and add a cipher to her salary, so she could settle down with a quiet mind, free for Juliet alone."
And on the strength of that report Mrs. Van Camp accepted the offered terms, but advised Sybil to run over with "Martin," as she would call her, "to look at the apartments and ascertain if there was a sun exposure for at least one room; and whether the drains were all right, and the gas-pipes innocent of dangerous leakage."
And Sybil—the wish being father to the thought—declared the house quite perfect. Mrs. Lawton was notified by letter, and while awaiting her answer a "lightning-change artist" had been at work upon walls and floor of the front room. The drab and blue horror of the wall had become a clear primrose yellow with white enamelled picture-rails. The floor being of old, badly matched pine-boards, and there being no time for painting or staining, was completely covered with a dull grayish-green carpet, with pure white rugs before sofa, writing-desk, etc.; and with flowing white curtains with broad primrose ribbon-ties and a white-framed rocker with cushion of grayish green, flowered over with pale primroses. These changes made so magical an effect that Sybil, coming on the third day to take possession, stood astounded.
"Yes, ma'am," evenly admitted Jane Stivers, "it was a bit of a rush, and I could not manage to get the second room done so quickly. The expense? Oh, I have been saving up for months for the express purpose of doing up my rooms."