For Louise the evening would have been perfect but for one disturbing remark which she overheard in the supper room. Minnie Swigger, whose brand new “Kelly green” satin had lost something of its splendor when contrasted with the simple black velvet in which Louise was sheathed, had watched Miriam pass by in company with Pearl Beatty and Jack Wallace, the proprietor of the Valley livery stable, and had vouchsafed her criticism in an ungrateful voice which carried to Louise’s ears: “She’s supposed to be his secretary. Either Weedgie is blind, or she holds Miss Cread over his head as an excuse for her own little game. Nobody but her could get away with it.”
Louise wheeled about and walked up to Minnie. “Get away with what?” she inquired evenly.
Minnie was too startled to reply for a moment, then with the defiance born of a bad conscience she said, “I don’t care if you did hear me. It certainly looks funny, and that’s not my fault. And Pearl Beatty there, as big as life! When you make a fuss over her decent fellows like Jack Wallace get the idea she’s all right.”
“Isn’t she?”
“If you call that all right!”
“Being all right is minding your own business. You’re a nice little thing, Minnie, but you don’t. Not always. Don’t try to mind mine; it’s far too much for you.”
What the natives thought was in itself a matter of indifference, but if “things,” as Minnie alleged, did “look funny”, it was just conceivable that the natives, for all their ignorance, saw the situation at Hillside in a clearer perspective than any of the actors. Keble’s departure was, therefore, in a sense opportune.
2
Although it meant twenty-four hours without sleep, Louise and Miriam next morning insisted on accompanying Keble as far as the Valley. The four took breakfast, along with Dr. Bruneau, at the Canada House as Miriam’s guests. They were weary, a little feverish, and inclined to be silent. Keble alone chatted with a volubility that betrayed his nervousness, his regret at the separation, and his excitement at the prospect of revisiting the home he had long ago abandoned. Louise was pale, and kept hiding in the depths of her fur coat. Miriam and the doctor sustained Keble’s talk, but could not relax the tension. The stage was due in fifteen minutes.
Suddenly Louise jumped up from the table, which was being cleared by an ill-kempt waitress with whom Keble had danced a few hours previously. “I nearly forgot . . . the snapshots of Baby for his grandmother. They’re still at the drug-store. I’ll run over and get them.”