Eileen deftly placed the strand of hair and set the jewelled pin with precision.
“Just possibly things have changed slightly,” she suggested.
“Yes,” said Linda, “I observe that they have. Marian has sold the home she adored. She is leaving friends she loved and trusted, and who were particularly bound to her by a common grief, without realizing exactly how it is happening. She certainly must know that you have taken her lover, and I have not a doubt but that is the reason she has discovered she can no longer work at home, that she must sell her property and spend the money cooped up in a city, to study her profession further.”
“Linda,” said Eileen, her face pale with anger, “you are positively insufferable. Will you leave my room and close the door after you?”
“Well, Katy has just informed me,” said Linda, “that this dinner party doesn’t come off without my valued assistance, and before I agree to assist, I’ll know one thing. Are you proposing to entertain these three men yourself, or have you asked Marian?”
Eileen indicated an open note lying on her dressing table.
“I did not know they were coming until an hour ago,” she said. “I barely had time to fill the vases and dust, and then I ran up to dress so that there would be someone presentable when they arrive.”
“All right then, we’ll agree that this is a surprise party, but if John Gilman has told you so much about them, you must have been expecting them, and in a measure prepared for them at any time. Haven’t you talked it over with Marian, and told her that you would want her when they came?”
Eileen was extremely busy with another wave of hair. She turned her back and her voice was not quite steady as she answered. “Ever since Marian got this ‘going to the city to study’ idea in her head I have scarcely seen her. She had an awful job to empty the house, and pack such things as she wants to keep, and she is working overtime on a very special plan that she thinks maybe she’ll submit in a prize competition offered by a big firm of San Francisco architects, so I have scarcely seen her for six weeks.”
“And you never once went over to help her with her work, or to encourage her or to comfort her? You can’t think Marian can leave this valley and not be almost heartbroken,” said Linda. “You just make me almost wonder at you. When you think of the kind of friends that Marian Thorne’s father and mother, and our father and mother were, and how we children were reared together, and the good times we have had in these two houses—and then the awful day when the car went over the cliff, and how Marian clung to us and tried to comfort us, when her own heart was broken—and Marian’s the same Marian she has always been, only nicer every day—how you can sit there and say you have scarcely seen her in six of the hardest weeks of her life, certainly surprises me. I’ll tell you this: I told Katy I would help her, but I won’t do it if you don’t go over and make Marian come to-night.”