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Updated: April 30, 2025
I hadn't been there long when there came a knock at the door the same determined kind of inexorable knock which Mother gives when I've been found out in something which she thinks it her duty to make me sorry for. I'd locked the door, and would have liked to make some excuse not to open it; but it was Mrs. Ess Kay's door, and Mrs. Ess Kay's room, just as much as it was Mrs.
I can't talk it over even with Sally, because, after all, she's Mrs. Ess Kay's cousin. I wish I had a nose two inches long, and green hair, and then perhaps Mother and Vic would have let me stop at home. Still, I can't help taking an interest in ship life, and now that it's the morning of the last day on board, I look back on it all as if it ought to have been even more fun than it was.
On the dressing-table is another mirror, an oval one, framed with pink roses, each of which has an electric light hidden in its heart; and the bedspread is of pink and silver brocade to match the hangings, with a large, hard roll like an ossified bolster, at the top. I believe it's that bed more than anything else, which makes me feel that it's always Sunday in my room at Mrs. Ess Kay's.
"Oh, you needn't feel bound to for my sake. It isn't as though Mohunsleigh " I began; but Mrs. Ess Kay snapped my poor sentence in two, as if it had been cotton on a reel. "I have to think for all of us," said she; "Cora Pitchley is a climber."
Ess Kay was making out the list of invitations for the great Blow Out, as Potter called it, Mohunsleigh happened to stroll over to The Moorings alone. He came to tell us that he had made up his mind to stay, and why. "You see," he exclaimed, "I hadn't an invitation for any special time, from Harborough. It was a sort of standing thing, given when we met in Damascus last winter.
She was sitting in a chair in front of the makeshift dressing-table, putting on her rings, and clasping bracelets on her wrists with vicious snaps. Sally, who hadn't begun to dress, was standing up, looking almost cross; that is, with different features from hers, she might have succeeded in looking cross. "Sit down, Betty, please; I want to talk to you," said Mrs. Ess Kay.
I suppose it must have been because they were all Americans together, eating American things, with American waiters to wait upon them and no foreigners who ought to know they wouldn't stand that sort of nonsense, hanged if they would. Some of Mrs. Ess Kay's servants had gone on before us, and some were in our train.
Then, for some reason, they both turned and gazed at me with a "thank-goodness-here's-a-floating-spar" sort of look, while Sally examined the grounds in her tea-cup, with that funny little three-cornered smile of hers. "Was that the thing you thought would change me toward Cora Pitchley?" asked Mrs. Ess Kay. "Yes, I thought it would give you a sort of fellow feeling."
The Bishop spoke first. "I think she'll get him," he said musingly. "She's got a sort of cave-woman look, and she has no petticoats to impede her." "Ess fay," assented Granfa, "her'll get him, and hold him fast too, I'll be bound. A terr'ble powerful worm."
"Wonnerful language, an' in a nutshell," commented Billy, as, blowing rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning. "Us'll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you'll live to be sorry ever you said them words to me. Ess fay, you'll live to sing different; for when two 's set 'pon a matter o' marryin', ban't fathers nor mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to part 'em.
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