"You mustn't talk like that. Everything will come out all right, of course. But I think you are wrong not to have told your daughter. Her place is here at your side. She ought to be told even if only in justice to her. If you don't tell her someone else will, or, what's worse, she'll hear of it through the newspapers."

"Ah, I never thought of that!" exclaimed the judge, visibly perturbed at the suggestion about the newspapers.

"Don't you agree with me?" demanded Stott, appealing to Mrs.

Rossmore, who emerged from the house at that instant. "Don't you think your daughter should be informed of what has happened?"

"Most a.s.suredly I do," answered Mrs. Rossmore determinedly. "The judge wouldn't hear of it, but I took the law into my own hands.

I've cabled for her."

"You cabled for Shirley?" cried the judge incredulously. He was so unaccustomed to seeing his ailing, vacillating wife do anything on her own initiative and responsibility that it seemed impossible.

"You cabled for Shirley?" he repeated.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Rossmore triumphantly and secretly pleased that for once in her life she had a.s.serted herself. "I cabled yesterday. I simply couldn't bear it alone any longer."

"What did you say?" inquired the judge apprehensively.

"I just told her to come home at once. To-morrow; we ought to get an answer."

Stott meantime had been figuring on the time of Shirley's probable arrival. If the cablegram had been received in Paris the previous evening it would be too late to catch the French boat. The North German Lloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched at Cherbourg. She would undoubtedly come on that. In a week at most she would be here. Then it became a question as to who should go to meet her at the dock. The judge could not go, that was certain.

It would be too much of an ordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know the lower part of the city well, and had no experience in meeting ocean steamships. There was only one way out--would Stott go? Of course he would and he would bring Shirley back with him to Ma.s.sapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and the judge toiled preparing their case, which often necessitated brief trips to the city, Mrs. Rossmore, seconded with sulky indifference by Eudoxia, was kept busy getting a room ready for her daughter's arrival.

Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an Irish lady with a thick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable enough so long as things went to her satisfaction, but when they did not suit her she was a termagant. She was neither beautiful nor graceful, she was not young nor was she very clean. Her usual condition was dishevelled, her face was all askew, and when she dressed up she looked like a valentine. Her greatest weakness was a propensity for smashing dishes, and when reprimanded she would threaten to take her traps and skidoo. This news of the arrival of a daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm. Firstly, it meant more work; secondly she had not bargained for it. When she took the place it was on the understanding that the family consisted only of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there was practically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilege of an evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium she soon found Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughter was to be foisted on her. No wonder hard working girls were getting sick and tired of housework!

As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity among Ma.s.sapequans regarding their new neighbors from the city but some of the more prominent people of the place considered it their duty to seek at least a bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores by paying them a formal visit. So the day following the conversation on the porch when the judge and Stott had gone to the city on one of their periodical excursions, Mrs. Rossmore was startled to see a gentleman of clerical appearance accompanied by a tall, angular woman enter their gate and ring the bell.

The Rev. Percival Pontifex Deetle and his sister Miss Jane Deetle prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in Ma.s.sapequa. The inc.u.mbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave a comical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written all over his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk. She looked as if she were constantly under self-restraint and was liable at any moment to explode into a fit of rage and only repressed herself with considerable effort. As they came up the stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs. Rossmore, was ready for them. With her instinctive respect for the priestly garb she was rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but she brazened it out:

"Mr. Rossmore's not home." Then shaking her head, she added: "They don't see no visitors."

Unabashed, the Rev. Deetle drew a card from a case and handing it to the girl said pompously:

"Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as we came along. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that the Reverend Pontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to present their compliments."

Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the Rev. Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and took a seat in the parlour.

"She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budged and who stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card.

"Blame you? For what?" demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.

"She told me to say she was out--but I can't lie to a minister of the Gospel--leastways not to his face. I'll give her your card, sir."

The reverend caller waited until Eudoxia had disappeared, then he rose and looked around curiously at the books and pictures.

"Hum--not a Bible or a prayer book or a hymn book, not a picture or anything that would indicate the slightest reverence for holy things."

He picked up a few papers that were lying on the table and after glancing at them threw them down in disgust.

"Law reports--Wall Street reports--the G.o.d of this world.

Evidently very ordinary people, Jane."

He looked at his sister, but she sat stiffly and primly in her chair and made no reply. He repeated:

"Didn't you hear me? I said they are ordinary people."

"I've no doubt," retorted Miss Deetle, "and as such they will not thank us for prying into their affairs."

"Prying, did you say?" said the parson, resenting this implied criticism of his actions.

"Just plain prying," persisted his sister angrily. "I don't see what else it is."

The Rev. Pontifex straightened up and threw out his chest as he replied:

"It is protecting my flock. As Leader of the Unified All Souls Baptismal Presbytery, it is my duty to visit the widows and orphans of this community."

"These people are neither widows or orphans," objected Miss Deetle.

"They are strangers," insisted the Rev. Pontifex, "and it is my duty to minister to them--if they need it. Furthermore it is my duty to my congregation to find out who is in their midst. No less than three of the Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who and what these people are and whence they came."

"The Lady Trustees are a pack of old busybodies," growled his sister.

Her brother raised his finger warningly.

"Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmore people have been here two weeks. They have visited no one, no one visits them. They have avoided a temple of worship, they have acted most mysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is it fair to my church, is it fair to my flock? It is not a bereavement, for they don't wear mourning. I'm afraid it may be some hidden scandal--"

Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible.

"Miss Deetle--Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too effusive greeting.

The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression, was all smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for the moment ceased to worry him.

"The honour is ours," he stammered. "I--er--we--er--my sister Jane and I called to--"

"Won't you sit down?" said Mrs. Rossmore, waving him to a chair.

He danced around her in a manner that made her nervous.

"Thank you so much," he said with a smile that was meant to be amiable. He took a seat at the further end of the room and an awkward pause followed. Finally his sister prompted him:

"You wanted to see Mrs. Rossmore about the festival," she said.

"Oh, of course, I had quite forgotten. How stupid of me. The fact is, Mrs. Rossmore," he went on, "we are thinking of giving a festival next week--a festival with strawberries--and our trustees thought, in fact it occurred to me also that if you and Mr.

Rossmore would grace the occasion with your presence it would give us an opportunity--so to speak--get better acquainted, and er--"

Another awkward pause followed during which he sought inspiration by gazing fixedly in the fireplace. Then turning on Mrs. Rossmore so suddenly that the poor woman nearly jumped out of her chair he asked:

"Do you like strawberries?"

"It's very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Rossmore, glad of the opportunity to get a word in edgeways. "Indeed, I appreciate your kindness most keenly but my husband and I go nowhere, nowhere at all. You see we have met with reverses and--"