Lavender and Old Lace
Page 28"My Hepsey is his lady love," Ruth explained.
"What? The haughty damsel who wouldn't let me in? Do tell!"
"You're imitating now," laughed Ruth, "but I shouldn't call it
flattery."
For a moment, there was a chilly silence. Ruth did not look at him, but
she bit her lip and then laughed, unwillingly. "'It's all true," she
said, "I plead guilty."
"You see, I know all about you," he went on. "You knit your brows in
deep thought, do not hear when you are spoken to, even in a loud voice,
and your mail consists almost entirely of bulky envelopes, of a legal
nature, such as came to the 'Widder' Pendleton from the insurance
people."
"Returned manuscripts," she interjected.
"Possibly--far be it from me to say they're not. Why, I've had 'em
"You don't mean it!" she exclaimed, ironically.
"You seek out, as if by instinct, the only crazy person in the village,
and come home greatly perturbed. You ask queer questions of your humble
serving-maid, assume a skirt which is shorter than the approved model,
speaking from the village standpoint, and unhesitatingly appear on
the public streets. You go to the attic at night and search the inmost
recesses of many old trunks."
"Yes," sighed Ruth, "I've done all that."
"At breakfast you refuse pie, and complain because the coffee is boiled.
Did anybody ever hear of coffee that wasn't boiled? Is it eaten raw
in the city? You call supper 'dinner,' and have been known to seek
nourishment at nine o'clock at night, when all respectable people are
sound asleep. In your trunk, you have vainly attempted to conceal a
"Oh, my hapless chafing-dish!" groaned Ruth.
"Chafing-dish?" repeated Winfield, brightening visibly. "And I eating
sole leather and fried potatoes? From this hour I am your slave--you
can't lose me now!
"Go on," she commanded.
"I can't--the flow of my eloquence is stopped by rapturous anticipation.
Suffice it to say that the people of this enterprising city are well up
in the ways of the wicked world, for the storekeeper takes The New York
Weekly and the 'Widder' Pendleton subscribes for The Fireside Companion.
The back numbers, which are not worn out, are the circulating library of
the village. It's no use, Miss Thorne--you might stand on your hilltop
and proclaim your innocence until you were hoarse, and it would be
utterly without effect. Your status is definitely settled."
naught?"
"Now you are rapidly approaching the centre of things," replied the
young man. "Miss Hathaway is one woman in a thousand, though somewhat
eccentric. She is the venerated pillar of the community and a constant
attendant it church, which it seems you are not. Also, if you are really
her niece, where is the family resemblance? Why has she never spoken
of you? Why have you never been here before? Why are her letters to you
sealed with red wax, bought especially for the purpose? Why does she go
away before you come? Lady Gwendolen Hetherington," he demanded, with
melodramatic fervour, "answer me these things if you can!"