At Home with the Jardines Part 23

"That is not likely," I said. "He has so many engagements."

"You might try him--by telephone," suggested Bee again.

"Certainly, I'll ask him," I said, cordially.

Aubrey pressed my handkerchief into my hand with a meaning twinkle in his eyes, and when Bee went in to dress, he said:

"It will be rather nice to see old Featherstone again, don't you think?"

"Yes, if we can get him," I answered.

"You poor little goose," said Aubrey, "don't you know they have it all arranged, and that Featherstone won't go beyond earshot of the telephone until he receives your invitation?"

To be sure! I had forgotten Bee's methods.

Of course it turned out as Aubrey predicted--it always does. Captain Featherstone accepted with suspicious alacrity.

For three days Bee was polite, and I, who am most easily gulled for a person who looks as intelligent as I do, was pluming myself upon the fact that our modest mode of living was proving agreeable to Bee's jaded European palate. I wondered if she had noticed my housekeeping.

She had not expressed herself in any way, but I wondered if she had observed how scrupulously neat everything was, that there was no lint on the floors and what bully things we had to eat.

I was the more eager to know what she thought from the fact that most of my friends had not hesitated to say that I couldn't keep house, and the Angel would starve. And once when I wrote home for a recipe for tomato soup and one of the girls heard of it, she actually sent me this insulting telegram: "Tomato soup! You! O Lord!"

Which just shows you.

So, on the third day, on seeing Bee cast a critical look around, I said, unable to wait another minute for the praises I was sure would come:

"Well, what do you think of us anyway?"

Then I leaned back with the thought in my mind, "Now here is where, as Jimmie would say, I get a bunch of hot air."

Bee wheeled around on me eagerly, and I smiled in antic.i.p.ation.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do!" I cried, impatiently.

"You asked me, you know," she said, warningly.

"I know I did. Go ahead. Tell me."

"Tell you what I think of you?" said Bee, looking me over as if to find a sensitive spot for her blow to fall on. "Well, I think that you are the most hopelessly _bourgeoise_ mortal I ever knew."

I sat up.

"_Bourgeois_!" I exploded.

"From a woman with social possibilities," she went on, "you have degenerated into a mere housewife. And you and Aubrey have become positively--"

She paused in order to be more impressive.

"Domestic!" she hissed at last with such vehemence that I bit my tongue. As I put in no defence she went on, gathering momentum as she talked.

"When I heard that you had come to live in one of the smartest towns along the Hudson, where millionaires are as thick as blackberries, I said to myself: 'Now they will rise to the occasion.' But have you?

No! I come, fresh from those gorgeous house-parties in England, to find you and Aubrey no better than farmers and--satisfied with yourselves! If you could only get my point of view and see _how_ satisfied you are!"

"We are happy,--that's what it is!" I interpolated, feebly.

"Then be miserable, but progress!" cried Bee. "Such a state of social stagnation as you exist in is a sin against yours and Aubrey's talents."

I was so stunned I forgot to bow at this unexpected compliment.

"Here you are in the midst of smart traps, servants in livery, horses with docked tails and magnificent harnesses, perfectly contented with fat, lazy horses, an old negro coachman in a green coat, and carriages whose simplicity is simply disgusting. There is only one really magnificent thing about Peach Orchard, and that is the dog."

I felt faint. To have earned the right to live in Bee's eyes only by a dog's breadth! It was mortifying.

"I don't care so much for myself," pursued Bee, comfortably, "but what Sir Wemyss and Lady Lombard will say, _I_ don't know."

"Why, they aren't coming here, are they?" I gasped, sitting up.

"They are, if you will invite them. Of course I have nowhere to entertain them, in return for all they did for me, and I thought possibly you would ask them here for a fortnight, but since I have seen how you live--unless, perhaps, you would be willing to be smartened up a bit?"

Bee looked distinctly hopeful.

"What would you suggest?" I asked, huskily.

Bee cleared her throat in a pleased way.

"First of all, let me be a.s.sured that I will not be embarra.s.sing you,"

she said, politely. "You can afford to--to branch out a little?"

"Yes," I said. But my pleasure in the admission was not keen.

"Then," said Bee, "I would advise a coachman and a footman in livery.

I know just where two excellent Englishmen can be got. Then you want all this made into lawns. You want to exercise the horses more, and have their tails docked. And above all you want a victoria."

"We have got that," I said. "I was going to surprise you with it. It came this morning."

"Where is it?" cried Bee, standing up and shaking out her gown.

"In the barn, but perhaps--"

"Let's go and look at it!" exclaimed Bee. Then as we started she laid her hand kindly on my arm. "And please say 'stables,' not 'barn.' Sir Wemyss might not know what you meant."

I giggled at this, for ours is so hopelessly a barn. n.o.body but a fool would try to rejuvenate the huge red structure by the word "stables."

It sheltered the lovely, soft-eyed Jerseys, a score of sitting hens in one retired corner, the horses, the feed, the carriages, and farm implements. Stables indeed!

Bee walked straight by all the animals, who turned their heads and gave me a welcome after their several kinds, and stood in delighted contemplation before the beautiful shining victoria.

"That is a beauty!" she said, at length. "Aubrey certainly knows what's what, even if you don't. Now I can tell you what has been in my mind all day long. Oh, do leave that cow alone and listen! Call the dog!"