When Mrs. Woodyard returned to her house at nine o'clock in the evening and found it dark, no lights in the drawing-room or the library, no fire lighted in either room, she pushed the button disgustedly and flung her cloak into a chair.
"Why is the house like a tomb?" she demanded sharply of the servant, who appeared tardily.
"Mrs. Woodyard was not expected until later."
"That should make no difference," she observed curtly, and the flustered servant hastened to pull curtains, light lamps, and build up the fire.
Conny disliked entering a gloomy house. Moreover, she disliked explaining things to servants. Her attitude was that of the grand marshal of life, who once having expressed an idea or wish expects that it will be properly fulfilled. This attitude worked perfectly with Percy and the children, and usually with servants. No one "got more results" in her establishment with less worry and thought than Mrs. Woodyard. The resolutely expectant attitude is a large part of efficiency.
After the servant had gathered up her wrap and gloves, Conny looked over the room, gave another curve to the dark curtains, and ordered whiskey and cigarettes. It was plain that she was expecting some one. She had gone to the Hillyers' to dinner as she had promised Percy, and just as the party was about to leave for the opera had pleaded a headache and returned home. It was true that she was not well; the winter had taxed her strength, and she lived quite up to the margin of her vitality. That was her plan, also. Moreover, the day had contained rather more than its share of problems….
When Cairy's light step pressed the stair, she turned quickly from the fire.
"Ah, Tommy,—so you got my message?" She greeted him with a slow smile.
"Where were you dining?"
"With the Lanes. Mrs. Lane and I saw The Doll's House this afternoon." As Conny did not look pleased, he added, "It is amusing to show Ibsen to a child."
"Isabelle Lane is no child."