“Did it never occur to you as a virtue in her that she puts herself out to entertain—even, Madame, I flatter myself to fancy—a withered old codger like me!”
Mrs. Tiffany’s first expression flooded her eyes and said, “Is there anything strange in liking you?” Her second expression set her mouth hard and said, “What is her object?” Her voice said nothing.
“And behold him now,” said Judge Tiffany.
There, indeed, came Bertram Chester, visible over their garden wall as he toiled up the hen-coop sidewalk. The Judge returned to the house; Mattie Tiffany settled herself on the piazza with the preen and flutter of a female thing about to be wooed. 108
The Tiffany drawing-room, panelled simply in woods, furnished with the old Sturtevant mahogany, came upon Bertram Chester like a stage setting as he entered with Mrs. Tiffany. Upstage, burned a driftwood fire in a low hearth of rough bricks; Judge Tiffany sat there, in a spindle-backed chair, reading. Across a space broken only by a painting, a Japanese print or so, and more spindle-backed chairs, Eleanor and Kate had grouped themselves by the piano. Eleanor, turning the leaves on the music-rack, looked over her shoulder at him. She was in pink that day; the tint of her gown, blending into the tint of her fresh skin, contrasted magically with the subdued background. Kate, all in white, sat on a hassock pulling a volume from the low book shelf. All this came upon Bertram with a soothing sense which he did not understand in that stage of his development, did not even formulate.
Kate, tripping across the rugs with a lightness which perfectly balanced her weight, greeted him first; Eleanor and Judge Tiffany shook hands with more reserve. And as Bertram settled himself in an arm-chair before the fire, it was the ready Kate who put 109 him at his ease by opening fire of conversation.
“Did I tell you, Mrs. Tiffany, about the restaurant which Mr. Chester found for us last night? such an evening he gave us! Mr. Chester, who is Madame Loisel—you should have seen her, Judge Tiffany—you’d never dine at home again. When these young charms fade, I’m going to marry a French restaurant-keeper and play hostess to the multitude and be just plump and precious like her. How can you ever get past the counter with her behind it, Mr. Chester?”
“I’m generally hungry—that’s how!” said Bertram Chester.
“That’s man for you!” responded Kate. “Judge beloved, if you were a young man and Eleanor—I’m too modest to mention myself, you see—were what she’ll be at forty, and she were behind a counter, and you before it, would hunger tear you away? Oh dear, it’s such a bore to keep one’s grammar straight!”
“I ask my wife’s permission before giving the answer which is in my heart,” said Judge Tiffany.