The car threaded its way through the crowded streets, and after what seemed a long time to Claudia, it stopped before a large block of flats, very red and very white, and obviously trying to show how gloomy was the rest of the square. Evidently it was a new block, and for this Claudia was thankful. Ugly youth is better than ugly age.
There was a lift, which she entered, with a rather obsequious and yet familiar liftman, who, when she asked—after some natural hesitation—for Mrs. Iverson, said, “Miss Fay Morris that was, you mean, madam? Oh, yes! it’s the third floor.” Claudia fancied that he eyed her curiously as he manipulated the wires. She tried to brace herself for the ordeal, for now she was ascending in the lift she felt like hurriedly descending and running away. There was no doubt it was an ordeal. It is quite bad enough in the ordinary way to have to make the first call on a new sister-in-law, but when she is “Miss Fay Morris that was,” whose portraits adorned the entrances of several music-halls, it is a colossal undertaking. She wished most heartily she had asked Jack to take her. Why had she not thought of that? How foolish of her. But now she was here she must face the music. Perhaps Jack would be there. If so, it would be all right. And yet, in a way she would rather not have him there, for though he was as stupid as an owl, there was a sort of understanding between them, and he would know what impression his wife was making on her.
She rang the bell and waited. There was no answer. Ah! a reprieve. She was turning away, but the liftman said reassuringly, “Ring again, ma’am. She’s in, I know. But the parrot makes such a noise they can’t hear the bell.”
So that was the meaning of the curious screeching she had heard while waiting, like someone at the mercy of a clumsy dentist. How could anyone stand such awful sounds!
The door opened and a servant, still in a print dress, nodded when she asked if Mrs. Iverson were at home. The screeching had grown worse, and Claudia quite understood why the servant nodded. She noticed that she wore no cap and that her hair was outrageously frizzed and curled. Was this the servant Jack had called “a sketch, a fair sketch”?
The good-sized hall was cheery enough with plenty of red paper and red carpet, perhaps a thought too cheerful, as though the decorator had said, “Now let’s have a cheerful hall, a very cheerful hall.” There was a large imitation oak stand, crowded with oddments in the way of coats. Claudia caught glimpses of a white knitted coat, a long squirrel one, a dark fur stole and two or three overcoats. There were any amount of umbrellas, walking-sticks, etc., and over all was a strong smell of cooking.
“Chuck it! Chuck it! Chuck it!” shrieked the parrot from somewhere near at hand. Claudia gave a start.
“Only that blessed bird,” said the servant. “She’s in there, miss.”
She jerked her head in the direction of a door that was a little ajar and suddenly departed. Claudia opened her lips to speak, but the maid had gone.
“Chuck it! Chuck it!” came more faintly from evidently the kitchen regions.