The room which she contemplated with a possessive and complacent eye was one so typical of American housekeeping in the Philippines that it merits description. It was a perfectly square apartment, generous in its proportion. Two sides were almost entirely taken up by windows opening on a deep-eaved veranda. The series of shell lattices were pushed back to their fullest extent, and on the broad window-seats were rows of potted ferns, rose geraniums, and foliage plants, some in gleaming brass jardinières, some in old blue and white Chinese jars. The walls were of the plaited bamboo in its natural color called suali; but the woodwork of soft American pine had been carefully burnt by Charlotte herself, and gave some richness of coloring. The floor of close tied bamboo slats was covered with blue and white Japanese mats. One inside wall was almost entirely hidden by a great Romblon mat, upon which Collingwood’s collection of spears, bolos, and head axes was artfully displayed. Beneath this, an army cot, a mattress, and some blue and white Japanese crêpe had been combined into a tempting couch heaped with pillows. The other inside wall held a very fair collection of hats, ranging from the cheap sun-defence of the field laborer to the old-time aristocrat’s head-piece of tortoise-shell ornamented with silver. Below these were some home-made shelves with Charlotte’s books upon them. One corner was occupied by a desk of carved teak inlaid with mother of pearl, a veritable treasure which Kingsnorth had given to Charlotte as a wedding present. Another corner held a tall, brass-bound Korean chest of drawers, which Charlotte had picked up at an auction in Manila. A suit of Moro armor in carabao horn and link copper hung beside this, and everywhere there was brass—brass samovars from Manchuria, incense burners from Japan, Moro gongs and betel-nut boxes, an Indian tea table with its shining tray. Wherever there was room for them, framed photographs decorated the walls. Rattan easy-chairs and rockers and a steamer chair with gay cushions lent a homely comfort to the apartment.
As the room was living-room and dining-room combined, its centre was occupied by a round narra-table—a beautiful piece of old Spanish workmanship, the glories of which were hidden at that moment by the whitest of cloths—and a service of Japanese blue and white china. There, too, gleamed the remains of the Maryland silver which had once been the pride of a county—the great breakfast tray with its urn and attendant dishes, the heavy knives and forks and spoons. It had lain for twenty years in chests, and Charlotte had brought it with her to the Philippines, not so much anticipating a use for it, as making it the evidence of final separation from all that her life had known.
Mrs. Collingwood never ceased to contemplate her living-room, and especially her table, with satisfaction. The snowy linen, the gleaming silver and glass, stood for her tastes. She could remember vividly the depression she had experienced at meal times during her first two weeks at the island, when the mess made its headquarters with the Maclaughlins. Mrs. Maclaughlin’s dream of table luxury was a red and white checked cloth, much colored glass in the form of tumblers, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and vinegar cruets, a set of brown and white “semi-porcelain” dishes, and knives and forks of German silver. Charlotte had endured the meals for which Martin had half-way prepared her, by the exercise of fortitude only; but she had waited patiently for Mrs. Maclaughlin’s own suggestion of a division of labor.
It happened that Mrs. Maclaughlin greatly desired to devote herself to poultry and gardening. The islanders had to depend wholly upon poultry, fish, pigs, and goats for meat, and upon tinned vegetables. Everybody yearned for green foods and better meats, so that Mrs. Maclaughlin’s ambitions received a hearty support. A kitchen was added to the Collingwood quarters, the stove and kitchen utensils were transferred, and Charlotte found plenty of occupation in her new duties.
The work was naturally to her taste. She possessed an ample home-making instinct, and she had had, in addition to the usual “Domestic Science” course of a modern college, her nurse’s training in dietetics. Collingwood’s exuberant delight in the changes she made in their manner of living was just second to Kingsnorth’s. For decency’s sake, that gentleman had refrained from comment in Mrs. Maclaughlin’s presence; but after their first meal he had taken Mrs. Collingwood aside, and had assured her with unmistakable sincerity that she was no less than a fairy godmother in their midst. He execrated Mrs. Maclaughlin’s cooking, her taste in foods, and her ideas of table service; and his gratitude to Charlotte was profound.
Mrs. Collingwood was contemplating her breakfast table and smiling softly at the memory, when her husband came out of their bedroom in his working clothes—flannel shirt, khaki trousers, and sea boots. He gave her a hearty kiss.
“You vain creature,” he said, “looking at your housekeeping and thinking how you can lay it over Mrs. Mac.”
“That wouldn’t be much to do. Do you remember that red and white tablecloth?”
“Don’t I? And how Kingsnorth used to curse it!” He eyed her reflectively. “Kingsnorth is mighty grateful to you, Charlotte, and mighty fond of you.”
To this, at first, no answer was returned. Mrs. Collingwood fingered a bowl which stood in the window, flushed slightly, and looked embarrassed. At last, as if his continued silence demanded response, she said perfunctorily: