But Maud looked vague at that and turned to the final ordering of her living-room. It was really all in order, deep, willow chairs with bright cushions in their most comfortable hollows, a tea-table before the empty fireplace and tall glasses already on it. Maud was expecting guests for tea. She had informally asked a few important matrons and chosen this date with much care. The last dance of the summer—the only semiformal one, was to be held in a week at the Country Club. Maud wanted to be sure of enjoying herself on that occasion and to be on an easy familiar footing with the summer residents. Hence this very informal, extremely important preceding afternoon at her cottage.
Maud was all a-flutter as her first guests came but as more arrived until at length most of the hoped-for were assembled, her asurance rose. The last comer was Mrs. Stanley Clifford in white organdie and a broad-brimmed hat.
“I brought my guest, Mrs. Hill,” she said to Maud in gracious explanation and Maud bubbled with welcomes. But as she turned to introduce Horatia, a sudden constraint was in the air.
“I have met Miss Grant,” said Mrs. Hill, “when she was working on The Journal. She went to great pains to frustrate my plan for a soldiers’ and sailors’ memorial.”
She spoke quite clearly. Horatia looked at her with cool gravity, conscious that the eyes of everyone in the room were on her.
“I remember,” she said, without the faintest apology.
Marjorie’s laugh came to the rescue.
“Now don’t scold dear Horatia,” she pleaded gaily, “none of us really wanted that memorial job. And Horatia had sense enough to see it.” She moved Mrs. Hill off and the incident passed over. But Horatia felt a little chilled. This was part of the society to which it had seemed so dignified to belong. This woman with her ill-bred onslaught was part of it. Her mind brushed aside these contacts, these people; they were illusions. The strong virility of the life in the newspaper office—the personal freedom—flashed before her. Here she was not quite free—here she could not be quite straightforward. She could not turn to Mrs. Hill and say again what she thought of that preposterous plan. She must let the matter rest. It was part of the game.
She forgot certain limitations in the newspaper office. For a moment it stood out richly against a paler background.
“Odious creature, she is,” whispered Maud over the tea-table. “Glad you let it pass like a good sport.”