“Isn’t it a peach of a house?” demanded Irene as she convoyed Grace through the lower rooms with a careless air of proprietorship. She led the way up the steep stairway, that had been retained as built by the original owner, to the rooms above. The extensions, following strictly the original simple architecture, made a commodious place of the house, which rambled on in an inadvertent fashion bewildering to a first visitor. A wing that had been added in recent years was hardly distinguishable from the old rooms. Concessions to modern convenience and comfort had been made in the sleeping rooms, of which there were half a dozen, with white woodwork, walls in neutral tints, and wicker furniture in summer cottage style.
“It’s all perfectly adorable,” cried Grace as they paused in one of the rooms.
“You’ve got to hand it to Tommy,” remarked Irene; “he does have taste.”
“Maybe—” Grace hesitated and Irene instantly read her thoughts.
“Oh, you’re looking for the traces of a woman’s hand! Bless your heart, Mrs. Kemp doesn’t bother about The Shack! It was Tommy’s idea. The family come out for week ends in the spring and fall and Tommy makes a point of having Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners out here, and Mrs. Kemp invites the guests. I need hardly say”—Irene walked to a chiffonier and inspected her face intently in the mirror—“that I’ve never been invited to these en famille functions.”
“It seems queer,” remarked Grace, dropping her hat on the bed,—“I mean it’s queer our being here when she doesn’t know!”
“Why not?” said Irene, surveying herself slowly before the glass. “She’d probably like us if she knew us, and didn’t know we work for a living. If Tommy just has to play a little isn’t it fine that he chooses nice little playmates like us? He might do much worse, and get into awful scrapes. You needn’t be afraid that the lady of the house will come tearing in and make a fuss. Tommy never takes a chance. Her ladyship’s in New York spending a lot of money and having a grand old time. For all we know she’s playing around a little bit herself!”
“Oh, it wasn’t that I was thinking of so much,” Grace replied hastily. “I was just thinking that it’s like a play, this quaint interesting house hidden away, with all these lovely things, and kind of funny to think that there is a woman somewhere who belongs here.”
“While we’re here we belong, my dear. We’ll pretend it’s all ours. My conscience had awful twinges the first time I came out; but one does somehow get used to things. There’s no use bucking the spirit of the age; we’ve got to step to the music of the band. Tommy prefers a party of four and nearly always brings an out-of-town man, so I have to find the other girl. If you like this party I’ll put you on for some more.”
She swung around and eyed Grace critically.