Up The Hill And Over Part 33

Again Mrs. Coombe arose; this time without flurry. The little excitement had done her good. The dull eyes were actually sparkling, the sallow cheeks were flushed. She looked just as she used to look in one of her little rages before the great change came.

"That's enough, Esther. I'll take no more from you. I did what seemed to me right. If Amy were in her right mind I should not have had to take the ring, she would have offered it. Under the circ.u.mstances I did the only sensible thing. Amy will never discover the loss. I am getting a very good price for it from Jessica Bremner. It is a valuable jewel. She s.n.a.t.c.hed at the chance of getting it."

Behind its whiteness Esther's face seemed to glow with pale flame. "Is it possible that you have forgotten the history of that ring?" she asked. "That it was poor Auntie's engagement ring and that, although she can't remember anything about it, she knows it means something more than life to her. And that she always says that she cannot die without the ruby on her finger?"

Mrs. Coombe looked uncomfortable, but kept her poise.

"It's all rubbish. She'll forget all about it. Dying people don't think of ruby rings. And anyway, she will probably outlive all of us. If not--we can easily divert her attention."

The girl looked at her step-mother in horror, half believing that this must be some cruel joke. The callousness of the words seemed unbelievable. But the reality of them could no longer be doubted and the pale glow died out of her face, leaving it white and hard.

"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "Somehow you do not seem quite--human. But be sure of this, Aunt Amy shall have back her lover's ring. Jane says it has not all been paid for. How much did you receive?"

"I shall not tell you. And I warn you, Esther, not to waste your money.

If you buy it back, I shall sell it again."

They were standing now facing each other. Esther took a step forward and looked down steadily into her step-mother's face. Her own curious eyes were wide open, they looked like blue stars, bright, cold and powerful as flame.

"No! You shall not."

For a s.p.a.ce Mary Coombe met that sword-like look, then her weaker will gave way. Her eyes shifted and fell. Her hands began to pluck nervously at the embroidery of her dress. She laughed, a little, affected laugh with no mirth in it, turned and entered the house.

CHAPTER XIX

We have stated elsewhere that Coombe was conservative, but by this we do not mean to imply that it was benighted. Far from it! True, it talked a great deal before it ventured upon anything strange or new, referred constantly to the tax rate and ran no risks, but at the time of which we write it had decided to take a plebescite upon the matter of Local Option and, a little later, the council wished to go so far as to present Andrew MacCandless, who had served them five times as mayor, with an address and a purse of fifty dollars.

The Presbyterian church, too, although still clinging to solid doctrine, was far removed from the tuning-fork stage. Through throes of terrible convulsion it had come to possess an organ, a paid soloist, and a Ladies' Aid, that insidious first thing in women's clubs.

The first meeting of the Knox Church Ladies' Aid, after the return of Mrs. Coombe and Jane, was held for the purpose of putting together a quilt, not the old-fashioned kind, of course, but something quite new--an autograph quilt, very chaste.

It was a large meeting and, providentially, Mrs. Coombe was late. I say providentially because, had she been early, it is difficult to imagine how her fellow members would have eased their minds of the load of comment justified by her indiscreet home-coming, and several other things equally painful but interesting. The Ladies' Aid had its printed const.i.tution but it also had its unwritten laws and one of these laws was that strictest courtesy must always be observed. No member, whatever her failings, was ever discussed in meeting--when she was present.

"What I cannot excuse," said Mrs. Bartley Simson, "is the tone of levity in which she answered Mr. MacTavish when he met her on the way from the station. It is possible that she had some good reason for coming on that particular train. I am not one of those who hold that nothing can ever justify Sunday travel. Exceptional cases must be allowed for. But the frivolity of her excuse nothing can justify."

"Besides," said Miss Atkins, the secretary, "it was a--it sounded like--what I mean to say is that she could not possibly, _no one_ could possibly, have forgotten what day of the week it was."

A subdued chorus of "Certainly not" and "Absurd" showed the trend of public opinion upon this point.

"I once forgot that Wednesday was Thursday," said the youngest Miss Sinclair, who always stood for peace at any price.

"Don't be silly, Jessie!" The elder Miss Sinclair, who believed in war with honour, jogged her sister's elbow none too gently. "That's a different thing altogether. For my own part," raising her voice, "I think that as a society we cannot be too careful how we minimise the fact itself. To us, as a society, it is the fact itself that matters, and not what Mrs. Coombe said about it. That, to a certain extent, may be her own affair. But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath in a public way without affecting the community at large. That is why I feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe's behaviour. And I hope," here she raised a piercing eye and let it range triumphantly over the circle, "I sincerely hope that the minister has been told of this occurrence!"

The meeting rustled with approbation. This, it felt, was something like a proper spirit. There was no compromise here. A thrill of conscious virtue, raised to the _n_th power, shot through the circle.

"You think that Mr. Macnair ought to take cognizance of it officially?"

asked Miss Atkins. (Being the secretary she used many beautiful words.)

"I do."

"But he and Mrs. Coombe are such friends!" objected the younger Miss Sinclair, who was a kindly creature.

An electric silence fell upon the quilters. Every one looked toward the president.

"I cannot allow such insinuations to be made at this meeting," said the President firmly.

"But--but I did not insinuate anything!" stammered poor Miss Jessie who, severely jogged by her sister and transfixed by the President's eye, had turned the colour of the crimson square before her.

"We all know," went on the President more mildly, "that Mr. Macnair calls fairly often at the Elms. We may even have heard rumours to the effect that he intends--I hardly know how to phrase it, but as our minister is unmarried and Mrs. Coombe is a widow you will understand what I mean. But, ladies, I may state on no less an authority than Miss Annabel that Mr. Macnair has no such intentions. There is absolutely nothing in it. His calls no doubt may be accounted for by the presence of--er--affliction in the house."

"Do you mean Aunt Amy?" A younger woman with a clever and rather pretty face looked up. "Why, can't you see that there is a much simpler explanation than that?"

It was certainly unfortunate that Mrs. Coombe should have chosen this moment to arrive. But the Ladies' Aid were used to interrupted statements. It was felt to be very convenient that one of the windows looked out directly upon the steps so that the meeting was never quite taken by surprise. A sudden pause there might be, but late arrivals had learned to expect that. It was the penalty for being late.

"Dear Mrs. Coombe, so glad you have come!" said the hostess pleasantly.

"No, you are not very late. We are only just beginning."

Every one nodded and smiled. Chairs were moved and sewing shifted to provide s.p.a.ce for the newcomer. A few left their work in order to shake hands and there was a general readjustment of everything, including topics of conversation. In the s.p.a.ce of a few seconds it was noticed that Mrs. Coombe wore a new hat, a new gown, new slippers and silk stockings and that in spite of all these advantages they had never seen her look worse.

"Dear Mrs. Coombe, I think your belt-pin has become--allow me!" Miss Milligan, dressmaker in private life, with a discreet swiftness, twitched the blouse and skirt into place and deftly fastened it. At the same time she closed a gap in the fastening of the blouse itself.

Mary Coombe laughed. "Dear me! Am I undone? I must have forgotten to ask Amy to fix me. These blouses that fasten in the back are such a nuisance!"

The President smiled politely, but with evident effort. Mrs. Coombe was a prominent member. Still, on principle, she, a president, could not be expected to approve of people who forgot to have themselves done up.

Supposing the minister had been present!

"What are we doing this afternoon?" asked the unconscious delinquent languidly. "Autograph quilts? I've got a lot of blocks for you--friends of mine in the city." She began to fumble in the pretty workbag she carried. "Gracious, I was sure I had them with me! Isn't that odd? I can't find them."

"Let me look," suggested Miss Jessie Sinclair kindly.

But the other s.n.a.t.c.hed back the open bag with a gesture which was almost rude.

"Oh, no--they are not there! I can't imagine what I have done with them." She looked up in a bewildered way. Indeed the perturbation was so out of proportion to the size of the calamity that the ladies questioned each other with their eyes.

The President tapped with her thimble upon the quilting frame and every one became very busy. "I hope," she said, taking the conversation into her own hands for safe keeping, "that you found all well upon your return, Mrs. Coombe? I hardly ever seem to see Esther now. Did you know that we have been talking of changing our meeting to Sat.u.r.day afternoon so that Esther and some more of our younger folk may join us? We thought that it would be so nice for them--and for us too," she finished graciously.

Mrs. Coombe looked surprised. "I can hardly see Esther at a Ladies' Aid Meeting," she said. "Did she tell you she would come?"

"No. We have not yet told any one of the proposed change. But we all felt--"

"We all felt," interrupted Miss Sinclair, who was fairly sniffing the air with the spirit of glorious war, "that the less time our young girls have to go off philandering with young fools whom no one knows anything about, the better it will be for everybody concerned!"

Mary looked up with an air of pleased surprise.

"Has Esther been philandering?" she asked eagerly.