Her pity fled in haste, however, when she saw Emily.
A very earnest young secretary ushered the caller into a big, quiet, sunny office, and there, behind a large desk, sat Miss Lyons. She rose at once, and came forward with outstretched hands. Her blue eyes behind the horn-rimmed spectacles were as friendly and kind as ever, and yet Mrs. Champney’s heart sank. The Emily she wished to remember was a thin, freckled girl with a long blond pigtail and a shy and hesitating manner—an Emily who had very much looked up to the debonair and popular Jessica. This was such a very different Emily—a person of importance, of grave assurance, a person with a large, impressive office at her command. To save her life Mrs. Champney couldn’t help being impressed by offices and filing cabinets and typewriters.
She sat down, and she tried to talk in her usual blithe and amusing way, but she knew that she was not succeeding at all. In the presence of this new Emily she felt shockingly frivolous. She was sorry that she had worn her white gloves and her sable stole. She wished that the heels of her new shoes were not so high.
She told Emily that she wanted something to do.
“Do you mean charitable work, Jessica?” asked Miss Lyons.
“I’m afraid I’d have to be paid,” said Mrs. Champney, with a guilty flush. “You see, Emily, I’ve had a—a financial disaster. Of course, my children are only too willing, but—”
“They’re all married, aren’t they?” asked Emily.
Something in the grave, kindly tone of her question stung Mrs. Champney into a sort of bitterness.
“Yes,” she answered. “All of them are married. I’m a mother-in-law, Emily.”
Miss Lyons did not smile. She was si[Pg 277]lent for a time, looking down at her polished desk as if she were consulting a crystal. Then she looked up.