Abbott's large and hideous front parlor after
luncheon, and she had tormented them throughout the meal with a
promise of "something that would make their hair stand on end."
She had succeeded beyond her happy expectations. Mrs. McLane's eyes
were flashing. Mrs. Ballinger looked like a proud silver poplar that
had been seared by lightning. Sally burst into tears, and Miss
Hathaway's large cold Spanish blue eyes saw visions of Nina Randolph,
a brilliant creature of the early sixties, whom she had tried to save
from the same fate.
"Be sure the bell boys will find it out," continued Mrs. Abbott
unctuously. "And when it gets to the Union Club--well, no use for us
to try to hush it up."
"As you are trying to do now!"
"You needn't spit fire at me. I feel as badly as you do about it. If
I've told just you four it's only to talk over what can be done."
"I don't believe there's a word of truth in the story. Probably that
wretched servant is down on her for some reason. Madeleine Talbot!
Why, she's the proudest creature that ever lived."
"She might have the bluest blood of the South in her veins,"
conceded Mrs. Ballinger handsomely. "I pride myself on my imagination
but I simply cannot _see_ her in such a condition."
"If it's true, it's Masters, of course," said Miss Hathaway.
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