"Search me," says I. "I wouldn't bet a nickel either way."
That was Wednesday. All day Thursday I was expectin' to be called in again, or hear that Sallie had made a break back for Vermont. But not a word. Nor on Friday, either. So at seven o'clock that night, as we collected in the Twombley-Cranes' drawin' room, there was some suspense; for at least half of us were wise to the situation. At seven-fifteen, though, they arrives.
And, say, I wish you could have seen Mrs. Sallie Leavitt of Clarks Mills! I don't know what it cost to work the miracle, but, believe me, it was worth twice the money! Leavitt was dead right. All she needed was the regalia. And she'd got it too,—sort of a black lacy creation, with jet spangles all over it, and long, sweepin' folds from the waist down, and with all that hair of hers done up flossy and topped with a fancy rhinestone headdress, she looked tall and classy. And stunnin'? Say, she had a neck and shoulders that made that Mrs. K. Taylor French party look like a museum exhibit!
Then there was Mr. Leavitt, all dolled up as correct as any cotillion leader, balancin' his silk tile graceful on one wrist, and strokin' his close-cropped mustache with his white glove, just as Mrs. Humphry Ward describes on page 147.
"Well!" gasps Sadie. "I thought you said they were a pair of countrified freaks!"
"You should have seen 'em when they landed with the pies," says I.
And, if you'll believe me, Mr. Leavitt not only had on the costume, but he had the lines too. Sounded a little booky in spots maybe; but he was right there with the whole bag of chatty tricks,—the polite salute for the hostess, a neat little epigram when it come his turn to fill in the talk, a flash or so of repartee, and an anecdote that got a good hand all round the table. You see, he was sort of doublin' in brass, as it were; conversin' for two, you know. For Sallie was playin' it safe, watchin' how the others negotiated the asparagus, passin' up all the dishes she couldn't dope out, and sayin' mighty little. Mostly she's watchin' Mr. Leavitt, her eyes growin' brighter and rounder as the meal progresses, and at last fairly beamin' across the table at him.
I didn't quite get the slant of all this until later, when we'd finished and was trailin' into the lib'ry. Mrs. Leavitt breaks loose from Twombley-Crane and falls back alongside of me.
"Well, how goes it?" says I. "Wasn't so bad, after all, was it?"
"Don't tell anyone," she whispers, "but I'm so scared I'd like to yell and run away. I would too, if it wasn't for Edwin."