Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man Part 46

"Gee, this is a big place!"

"Yes." So did they testify to fixity of friends.h.i.+p till they reached the house and Istra was welcomed to "that Teddem's" room as a new guest.

Dinner began with the ceremony due Mrs. Arty. There was no lack of the sacred old jokes. Tom Poppins did not fail to bellow "Bring on the dish-water," nor Miss Mary Proudfoot to cheep demurely "Don't y' knaow" in a tone which would have been recognized as fascinatingly English anywhere on the American stage. Then the talk stopped dead as Istra Nash stood agaze in the doorway--pale and intolerant, her red hair twisted high on her head, tall and slim and uncorseted in a gray tight-fitting gown. Every head turned as on a pivot, first to Istra, then to Mr. Wrenn. He blushed and bowed as if he had been called on for a speech, stumblingly arose, and said: "Uh--uh--uh--you met Mrs. Ferrard, didn't you, Istra? She'll introduce you to the rest."

He sat down, wondering why the deuce he'd stood up, and unhappily realized that Nelly was examining Istra and himself with cool hostility. In a flurry he glowered at Istra as she nonchalantly sat down opposite him, beside Mrs. Arty, and incuriously unfolded her napkin. He thought that in her cheerful face there was an expression of devilish amus.e.m.e.nt.

He blushed. He furiously b.u.t.tered his bread as Mrs. Arty remarked to the a.s.semblage:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I want you all to meet Miss Istra Nash.

Miss Nash--you've met Mr. Wrenn; Miss Nelly Croubel, our baby; Tom Poppins, the great Five-Hundred player; Mrs. Ebbitt, Mr.

Ebbitt, Miss Proudfoot."

Istra Nash lifted her bowed eyes with what seemed shyness, hesitated, said "Thank you" in a clear voice with a precise p.r.o.nunciation, and returned to her soup, as though her pleasant communion with it had been unpleasantly interrupted.

The others began talking and eating very fast and rather noisily.

Miss Mary Proudfoot's thin voice pierced the clamor:

"I hear you have just come to New York, Miss Nash."

"Yes."

"Is this your first visit to--"

"No."

Miss Proudfoot rancorously took a long drink of water.

Nelly attempted, bravely:

"Do you like New York, Miss Nash?"

"Yes."

Nelly and Miss Proudfoot and Tom Poppins began discussing shoe-stores, all at once and very rapidly, while hot and uncomfortable Mr. Wrenn tried to think of something to say....

Good Lord, suppose Istra "queered" him at Mrs. Arty's!...

Then he was angry at himself and all of them for not appreciating her. How exquisite she looked, with her tired white face!

As the soup-plates were being removed by Annie, the maid, with an elaborate confusion and a general pa.s.sing of plates down the line, Istra Nash peered at the maid petulantly. Mrs. Arty frowned, then grew artificially pleasant and said:

"Miss Nash has just come back from Paris. She's a regular European traveler, just like Mr. Wrenn."

Mrs. Samuel Ebbitt piped: "Mr. Ebbitt was to Europe. In 1882."

"No 'twa'n't, Fannie; 'twas in 1881," complained Mr. Ebbitt.

Miss Nash waited for the end of this interruption as though it were a noise which merely had to be endured, like the Elevated.

Twice she drew in her breath to speak, and the whole table laid its collective knife and fork down to listen. All she said was:

"Oh, will you pardon me if I speak of it now, Mrs. Ferrard, but would you mind letting me have my breakfast in my room to-morrow? About nine? Just something simple--a canteloupe and some s.h.i.+rred eggs and chocolate?"

"Oh no; why, yes, certainly, "mumbled Mrs. Arty, while the table held its breaths and underneath them gasped:

"Chocolate!"

"A canteloupe!"

"s.h.i.+rred eggs!"

"_In her room--at nine!_"

All this was very terrible to Mr. Wrenn. He found himself in the position of a man scheduled to address the Brewers'

a.s.sociation and the W. C. T. U. at the same hour.

Valiantly he attempted:

"Miss Nash oughta be a good person for our picnics. She's a regular shark for outdoor tramping."

"Oh yes, Mr. Wrenn and I tramped most all night in England one time," said Istra, innocently.

The eyes of the table asked Mr. Wrenn what he meant by it.

He tried to look at Nelly, but something hurt inside him.

"Yes," he mumbled. "Quite a long walk."

Miss Mary Proudfoot tried again:

"is it pleasant to study in Paris? Mrs. Arty said you were an artist."

"No."

Then they were all silent, and the rest of the dinner Mr. Wrenn alternately discussed Olympia Johns with Istra and picnics with Nelly. There was an undertone of pleading in his voice which made Nelly glance at him and even become kind. With quiet insistence she dragged Istra into a discussion of rue de la Paix fas.h.i.+ons which nearly united the shattered table and won Mr.

Wrenn's palpitating thankfulness.

After dessert Istra slowly drew a plain gold cigarette-case from a brocade bag of silvery gray. She took out a match and a thin Russian cigarette, which she carefully lighted. She sat smoking in one of her best att.i.tudes, pointed elbows on the table, coolly contemplating a huge picture called "Hunting the Stag"

on the wall behind Mr. Wrenn.

Mrs. Arty snapped to the servant, "Annie, bring me _my_ cigarettes."

But Mrs. Arty always was penitent when she had been nasty, and--though Istra did not at once seem to know that the landlady _had_ been nasty--Mrs. Arty invited her up to the parlor for after-dinner so cordially that Istra could but grant "Perhaps I will," and she even went so far as to say, "I think you're all to be envied, having such a happy family."

"Yes, that's so," reflected Mrs. Arty.

"Yes," added Mr. Wrenn.

And Nelly: "That's so."

The whole table nodded gravely, "Yes, that's so."