The Cup of Fury Part 26

Men can be catty, too--tom-catty, yet contemptibly feline when they are not on their good behavior. There are times when the warning, "Gentlemen, there are ladies present," restores them to order as quickly as the entrance of a teacher turns a school-room of young savages into an a.s.sembly of young saints.

The women in Mrs. Prothero's drawing-room could not hear any of the words the men mixed with their smoke, but they could hear now and then a m.u.f.fled explosion of laughter of a quality that indicated what had provoked it.

The women, too, were relieved of a certain constraint by their isolation. They seemed to enjoy the release. It was like getting their minds out of tight corsets. They were not impatient for the men--as some of the men may have imagined. These women were of an age where they had something else to think of besides men. They had careers to make or keep among women as well as the men among men.

The servants kept them on guard till the coffee, tobacco, and liqueurs were distributed. Then recess was declared. Marie Louise found herself on a huge tapestried divan provided with deep, soft cus.h.i.+ons that held her like a quicksands. On one side of her was the mountainous Mrs.

Dyckman resembling a stack of cus.h.i.+ons cased in silk; on the other was Mildred Tait Fargeton, whose father had been amba.s.sador to France.

Marie Louise listened to their chatter with a frantic impatience.

Polly was heliographing ironic messages with her eyes. Polly was hemmed in by the wife of a railroad juggler, who was furious at the Administration because it did not put all its transportation problems in her husband's hands. She would not have intrusted him with the buying of a spool of thread; but that was different.

Mrs. Prothero was monopolized by Lady Clifton-Wyatt. Marie Louise could see that she herself was the theme of the talk, for Mrs.

Prothero kept casting startled glances Marie-Louise-ward, and Lady Clifton-Wyatt glances of baleful stealth.

Marie Louise had proved often enough that she was no coward, but even the brave turn poltroon when they fight without a sense of justification. Her pride told her that she ought to cross over to Lady Clifton-Wyatt and demand that she speak up. But her sense of guilt robbed her of her courage. And that oath she had given to Mr.

Verrinder without the least reluctance now loomed before her as the greatest mistake of her life. Her sword and s.h.i.+eld were both in p.a.w.n.

She gave herself up for lost and had only one hope, that the men would not come in--especially that Ross Davidge would not come in in time to learn what Lady Clifton-Wyatt was so eager to publish. She gave Mrs.

Prothero up for lost, too, and Polly. But she wanted to keep Ross Davidge fond of her.

Then in a lull Mrs. Prothero spoke up sharply:

"I simply can't believe it, my dear. I don't know that I ever saw a German spy, but that child is not one. I'd stake my life on it."

"And now the avalanche!" thought Marie Louise.

The word "spy" was beginning to have more than an academic or fictional interest to Americans, and it caught the ear of every person present.

Mrs. Dyckman and Mme. Fargeton sat up as straight as their curves permitted and gasped:

"A German spy! Who? Where?"

Polly Widdicombe sprang to her feet and darted to Mrs. Prothero's side.

"Oh, how lovely! Tell me who she is! I'm dying to shoot a spy."

Marie Louise sickened at the bloodthirstiness of Polly the insouciante.

Mrs. Prothero tried to put down the riot of interest by saying:

"Oh, it's nothing. Lady Clifton-Wyatt is just joking."

Lady Clifton-Wyatt was at bay. She shot a glance at Marie Louise and insisted:

"Indeed I'm not! I tell you she is a spy."

"Who's a spy?" Polly demanded.

"Miss Webling," said Lady Clifton-Wyatt.

Polly began to giggle; then she frowned with disappointment.

"Oh, I thought you meant it."

"I do mean it, and if you'll take my advice you'll be warned in time."

Polly turned, expecting to find Marie Louise showing her contemptuous amus.e.m.e.nt, but the look she saw on Marie Louise's face was disconcerting.

Polly's loyalty remained staunch. She hated Lady Clifton-Wyatt anyway, and the thought that she might be telling the truth made her a little more hatable. Polly stormed:

"I won't permit you to slander my best friend."

Lady Clifton-Wyatt replied, "I don't slahnda hah, and if she is yaw best friend--well--"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt hated Polly and was glad of the weapon against her.

Polly felt a sudden terrific need of retorting with a blow. Men had never given up the fist on the mouth as the simple, direct answer to an insult too complicated for any other retort. She wanted to slap Lady Clifton-Wyatt's face. But she did not know how to fight. Perhaps women will acquire the male prerogative of the smash in the jaw along with the other once exclusive masculine privileges. It will do them no end of good and help to clarify all life for them. But for the present Polly could only groan, "Agh!" and turn to throw an arm about Marie Louise and drag her forward.

"I'd believe one word of Marie Louise against a thousand of yours,"

she declared.

"Very well--ahsk hah, then."

Polly was crying mad, and madder than ever because she hated herself for crying when she got mad. She almost sobbed now to Marie Louise, "Tell her it's a dirty, rotten lie."

Marie Louise had been dragged to her feet. She temporized, "What has she sai-said?"

Polly snickered nervously, "Oh, nothing--except that you were a German spy."

And now somewhere, somehow, Marie Louise found the courage of desperation. She laughed:

"Lady Clifton-Wyatt is notori--famous for her quaint sense of humor."

Lady Clifton-Wyatt sneered, "Could one expect a spy to admit it?"

Marie Louise smiled patiently. "Probably not. But surely even you would hardly insist that denying it proves it?"

This sophistry was too tangled for Polly. She spoke up:

"Let's have the details, Lady Clifton-Wyatt--if you don't mind."

"Yes, yes," the chorus murmured.

Lady Clifton-Wyatt braced herself. "Well, in the first place Miss Webling is not Miss Webling."

"Oh, but I am," said Marie Louise.

Lady Clifton-Wyatt gasped, "You don't mean to pretend that--"

"Did you read the will?" said Marie Louise.