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Such were the castes above the buzzer-line. Una's caste, made up of private secretaries to the chiefs, was not above the buzzer. She had to leap to the rattlesnake tattoo, when Mr. Ross summoned her, as quickly as did the newest Jewish stenographer. But hers was a staff corps, small and exclusive and out of the regular line.
"Tell them over there to keep their spirits up I am coming along presently." "Me too," said Shirley laconically, proffering a brown paw. Susan heard him and her face turned very grey. Una shook hands quietly, looking at him with wistful, sorrowful, dark-blue eyes. But then Una's eyes had always been wistful.
Una's hand was at her jumping heart pressing hard as if to hold it in her body as she beheld the tall figure of the chauffeur, motionless as arrested mechanism, upon the trail, ahead. "I heerd a skirl." Andrew's face was stony as that of the Old Man of Greylock a featured rock as he turned it upon the breathless girls. "A skirl! A cry!" he repeated hoarsely. "'Twas na the yap of an animal, either!
When he had risen to give out the hymn his hands were trembling and his pale face was flushed. Then Una's fainting spell had banished everything from his mind for a time. Now, in the darkness and solitude of the study it rushed back. Rosemary was the only woman in the world for him. It was of no use for him to think of marrying any other.
A visit to Miss Gore made one morning when Jerry was in town at the office showed me that even if Marcia knew of Una's approaching visit, she had not told Miss Gore of it and also revealed the unpleasant fact of Channing Lloyd's presence in the neighborhood, a guest of the Carews and at the very moment of my visit a companion of Marcia in a daylong drive up to Big Westkill Mountain.
She had, it appeared, a clear, strong voice and a good ear. "His blood can make the VIOLETS clean," carolled Mary blithely. Mrs. Jimmy Milgrave, whose pew was just in front of the manse pew, turned suddenly and looked the child over from top to toe. Mary, in a mere superfluity of naughtiness, stuck out her tongue at Mrs. Milgrave, much to Una's horror.
He promised to "think it over." He was still taking a few months to think it over while her Saturday pay-envelope remained as thin as ever when Bessie Kraker resigned, to marry a mattress-renovator, and in Bessie's place Mr. Wilkins engaged a tall, beautiful blonde, who was too much of a lady to take orders from Una. This wrecked Una's little office home, and she was inspired to write to Mr.
Una met the black-haired young man several times after that in the house and garden, but he did not talk to her again about the little boys and girls who lived in that other country, which was so different from kind, peaceful old England. After a time he went away, and no more strange gentlemen came to the house. And then, one day, Una's father went away also.
He dissembled it, however, out of a natural disinclination to appear in the ridiculous role of the jealous husband. "That," he said, "is a matter that you may safely leave to me," and his lips closed tightly upon the words when they were uttered. "Oh, quite so," said Tremayne, no whit abashed. He persisted nevertheless. "You know Una's feelings for Dick."
And the feathered Santa, apparently having no objection to this rële finding himself no longer a waif in Babel finally settled down again on the glittering head-rail of Una's cot, his fluffy breast to the outdoor sunlight, his solemn, kittenish face the head turning round on a pivot without the movement of a muscle in the body confronting sagely the delighted girls. "Isn't he the dearest thing?
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