Mrs. Haight was hastily putting her parlor in order for the "Ten o'Clock Five Hundred Club." She was without a servant, having had four hired girls and three Japs in the past month; during the last three days she had cooked for herself and Mr. Haight, "done all the work," and attended seven card parties. Mr. Haight, who had not had his dinner the night before until nine o'clock, and whose steak this morning had been burned and his coffee muddy, had gone down-town in a huff, threatening to move to the hotel unless his wife found a servant or her sanity.
Mrs. Haight, who wore a red flannel wrapper trimmed with black lace, which she believed became her style, shook up the sofa-cushions on the divan, where she longed to receive her guests reclining in Oriental voluptuousness, but had never dared, and dusted the table as if she were slapping an enemy's face. The bed was not made, nor likely to be before night, and she too knew the penalties of burned steak and bad coffee, enhanced by the irritability of the insomniac. She had her redeeming virtues, no doubt; all have, even burglars and murderers, until they slip into the region of pathology; but this morning she looked and felt like a she-wolf; and few mammals are so dangerous, particularly a she-wolf that has never suckled young.
Her expected guests arrived promptly, glowing with the light dry cold, some wearing furs because they became the season, others thin cloth jackets over their shirt-waists. One had bundled herself into a broch?shawl and "run over" hatless. Each, as she entered the parlor, cast a critical eye upon the silver spoon standing in lonely glory on the mantel-piece, and nodded or scowled, according to her bent. Mrs. Haight was far too cunning to detain them from the tables they fairly rushed at as the last member arrived, and it was not until they had "scrapped" and wrestled and stormed at and abused each other for at least two hours, not until their ugly passions were in full possession, and they threw down their cards with loud indignation that a substitute should be allowed "to compete for a prize, anyhow"—the substitute having won the spoon—that the hostess, with the peculiar slow fire in her eyes that marks the beast of prey in sight of its quarry, suddenly let it be understood that the high tension was to be relieved with a choice bit of scandal. It was some time since they had had one; propriety, like business honesty, being almost inevitable in a community little larger than a throne.
Mrs. Wheaton exclaimed: "Your eyes look like two burnt holes in a blanket, Minerva. What is it? Hurry up. I must run home and supervise a new Swede that speaks ten words of English. She asked me if I wanted young children for dinner. I suppose she meant chickens, but one never knows, and Anabel's babies are just over the fence."
"It's this, and it's no joking matter, Sarah Wheaton. I saw Mr. Gwynne pass this house at three o'clock this morning, and on Isabel Otis's horse. Now, I saw him going out to Old Inn, walking before sundown. He had plenty of time to say what he had to say and get home at a decent hour—which is long before half-past ten, and that's what it's been many a night. This thing has become a scandal to the community, and I for one won't stand it any longer. Its downright immoral, and I'm not using too strong language purposely."
"Oh my!" exclaimed Dolly Boutts. "You could never make me believe anything against Isabel. He's studying terribly hard—the judge told pa—and likely as not has insomnia. Englishmen are so terribly dull to talk to I shouldn't wonder if it was hard work for them to learn anything."
"Insomnia!" cried Mrs. Haight. "I guess I have insomnia and I guess I know what I am talking about. What does a kid like you know of the wickedness of the world, or insomnia either? But this has gone just as far as I intend to permit it."
"It certainly looks very bad, very bad," muttered Mrs. Wheaton, whose own light eyes were glowing. "What steps shall you take, Minerva? Or what should you advise me to do? I am sorry I had forgotten the girl. I should have kept the eye on her that I intended."
"It's a matter for all, not for any one of us. I intend to bring it up at the Club Meeting this afternoon, and I expect you all to back me, for the thing's a disgrace to the community, and all our girls will be talked about. In my opinion the best thing to do is to tell her to leave and go and live in that hot-bed of wickedness, San Francisco."
"Why Minerva, you're a regular old Puritan witch-hunter!" exclaimed Mrs. Colton. "You never could make me believe that child had any harm in her—"
"It isn't what one believes. It's what is. I know. I've studied human nature. If I don't know anything else I know that. She'll get out of Rosewater, or I'll hit her in her weak spot. I'll write her up for the San Francisco Illuminator. They'd give hundreds, and they can have it for nothing—"
"Why, Minerva Haight, I'm ashamed of you!" cried Mrs. Colton. "It's like persecution, and you have no proof. Why should you know more of the world than we do, I'd like to know?"
"I do, that's all. And I don't see her doing every mortal thing she wants, while others have to walk a chalked line through life. It's all or none. That's my creed. She'll soon wilt when she sees we mean business—either go, or take a chaperon, or marry the man, whichever she prefers. I don't care, so long as she ain't allowed to do as she pleases and no questions asked and no penalty paid. But she'll knuckle, for it's my opinion she's just making money to spend it in San Francisco—cut a dash there like her mother did before her. Probably wants to become a society leader and have a string of lovers. Nice product to hail from Rosewater. I think she ought to be sent back to Europe where they don't mind such goings on. The things you do read about the English aristocracy! It's my opinion that Lady Victoria ain't any better than she should be. She looks it—and through us, just as if we were window-panes."
"You are real crude, Minerva," said Mrs. Colton, crushingly, as she rose to go. "I thought Rosewater was near enough to the metropolis for us not to be as provincial as some folks farther up the line, who haven't the same advantages."
"I guess we're all crude enough, if it comes to that," retorted Mrs. Haight. "I'd like to know what's cruder than a man's staying at a girl's house till two o'clock in the morning—and for all the high and mighty way he carries himself—and him the born image of Hi Otis. It's too ridiculous. I'd like to bring him down several pegs, too."
"He bears only the most distant resemblance to Hi Otis," said Mrs. Colton, indignantly. "I never could endure Hi; he didn't have the manners of a car-conductor, and this young man's real polite and kind, besides having a much more high-toned face. I don't believe you can run him out, either. He looks the kind to stay or go, just as suits him. And I'd advise you to think this matter over before you give it publicity. I might go out and speak to Isabel quietly—"
"Not much she don't get off as easy as that!"
Mrs. Wheaton nodded approvingly. "It's a case for the Club," said she. "We'll talk it out this afternoon and decide what's best to do."
And all the others, save Mrs. Colton and the loyal Dolly, cordially agreed with her.