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Updated: June 14, 2025
Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who always have their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers. Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or she assisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back. Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always looked to see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week.
"There is no truth in the report of Patty's engagement to young Whiteland." "There isn't? Well, there ought to be, after the way they went around together last winter." "She told me so herself," Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically. "Do you know what I believe?" "No," truthfully. "I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington." "You don't mean it!"
Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, so great was her curiosity. "You will learn soon enough without my telling you." And that was all Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say. But it was enough, enough for her purpose. Within an hour's time all the old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlers gathered about for the feast. It is all so simple and easy. Mrs.
She had always believed London society quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of "The Duchess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought to know; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchilds had ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this old world of ours.
"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, waiting for some heart to peck at. Church! bah!" It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced his sentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke. There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldene was the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife.
I got your bills this morning. You'd better go light till I've settled with these meddlers. Then we'll pack up our duds and take that trip to Paris I promised you. Mac. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shivered. How horribly vulgar! She felt polluted for a moment, and half wished she had let the missive lie where it had fallen. But this sense of disgust wore off directly.
Indeed, she would take the bag over to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her that trifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past three weeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times, doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare. She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain from Mrs.
I didn't see you." "You seldom do." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion, the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his native irony was concerned. That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. He possessed large interests in the local breweries.
A delivery horse went past, drumming an irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hers ever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base a means of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; but there was something warmer and clearer coursing through her veins hope! She went on.
Franklyn-Haldene's beak-like nose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense." "You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, nodded, and passed on into the street. A truce! Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, savagely bit off the end of a cigar. "What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded. "Franklyn!"
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