v“oh! come on, mary. it’s garbo, and a grand film—all about paris. and a story by a tiptopauthor. there was an opera of it once.”
“it’s frightfully nice of you, ted, but i really won’t.”
ted bigland said angrily:
“i can’t make you out nowadays, mary. you’re different—altogether different.”
“no, i’m not, ted.”
“you are! i suppose because you’ve been away to that grand school and to germany. you’retoo good for us now.”
“it’s not true, ted. i’m not like that.”
she spoke vehemently.
the young man, a fine sturdy specimen, looked at her appraisingly in spite of his anger.
“yes, you are. you’re almost a lady, mary.”
mary said with sudden bitterness:
“almost isn’t much good, is it?”
he said with sudden understanding:
“no, i reckon it isn’t.”
mary said quickly:
“anyway, who cares about that sort of thing nowadays? ladies and gentlemen, and all that!”
“it doesn’t matter like it did—no,” ted assented, but thoughtfully. “all the same, there’s afeeling. lord, mary, you look like a duchess or a countess or something.”
mary said:
“that’s not saying much. i’ve seen countesses looking like old-clothes women!”
“well, you know what i mean.”
a stately figure of ample proportions, handsomely dressed in black, bore down upon them. hereyes gave them a sharp glance. ted moved aside a step or two. he said:
“afternoon, mrs. bishop.”
mrs. bishop inclined her head graciously.
“good afternoon, ted bigland. good afternoon, mary.”
she passed on, a ship in full sail.
ted looked respectfully after her.
mary murmured.
“now, she really is like a duchess!”
“yes—she’s got a manner. always makes me feel hot inside my collar.”
mary said slowly:
“she doesn’t like me.”
“nonsense, my girl.”
“it’s true. she doesn’t. she’s always saying sharp things to me.”
“jealous,” said ted, nodding his head sapiently. “that’s all it is.”
mary said doubtfully:
“i suppose it might be that….”
“that’s it, depend upon it. she’s been housekeeper at hunterbury for years, ruling the roost andordering everyone about and now old mrs. welman takes a fancy to you, and it puts her out!
that’s all it is.”
mary said, a shade of trouble on her forehead:
“it’s silly of me, but i can’t bear it when anyone doesn’t like me. i want people to like me.”
“sure to be women who don’t like you, mary! jealous cats who think you’re too good-looking!”
mary said:
“i think jealousy’s horrible.”
ted said slowly:
“maybe—but it exists all right. say, i saw a lovely film over at alledore last week. clark gable.
all about one of these millionaire blokes who neglected his wife; and then she pretended she’ddone the dirty on him. and there was another fellow….”
mary moved away. she said:
“sorry, ted, i must go. i’m late.”
“where are you going?”
“i’m going to have tea with nurse hopkins.”
ted made a face.
“funny taste. that woman’s the biggest gossip in the village! pokes that long nose of hers intoeverything.”
mary said:
“she’s been very kind to me always.”
“oh, i’m not saying there’s any harm in her. but she talks.”
mary said:
“goodbye, ted.”
she hurried off, leaving him standing gazing resentfully after her.
