XVII
The Sayre house stood on the hill behind the town, a long, rather lowwhite house on Italian lines. In summer, until the family exodus to theMaine Coast, the brilliant canopy which extended out over theterrace indicated, as Harrison Miller put it, that the family was "inresidence." Originally designed as a summer home, Mrs. Sayre now used itthe year round. There was nothing there, as there was in the town house,to remind her of the bitter days before her widowhood.
She was a short, heavy woman, of fine taste in her house and of no tastewhatever in her clothing.
"I never know," said Harrison Miller, "when I look up at the Sayreplace, whether I'm seeing Ann Sayre or an awning."
She was not a shrewd woman, nor a clever one, but she was kindly in themain, tolerant and maternal. She liked young people, gave gay littleparties to which she wore her outlandish clothes of all colors and allcuts, lavished gifts on the girls she liked, and was anxious to seeWallie married to a good steady girl and settled down. Between her sonand herself was a quiet but undemonstrative affection. She viewed himthrough eyes that had lost their illusion about all men years ago, andshe had no delusions about him. She had no idea that she knew all thathe did with his time, and no desire to penetrate the veil of his privatelife.
"He spends a great deal of money," she said one day to her lawyer. "Isuppose in the usual ways. But he is not quite like his father. He hasreal affections, which his father hadn't. If he marries the right girlshe can make him almost anything."
She had her first inkling that he was interested in Elizabeth Wheelerone day when the head gardener reported that Mr. Wallace had orderedcertain roses cut and sent to the Wheeler house. She was angry at first,for the roses were being saved for a dinner party. Then she considered.
"Very well, Phelps," she said. "Do it. And I'll select a plant also, togo to Mrs. Wheeler."
After all, why not the Wheeler girl? She had been carefully reared, ifthe Wheeler house was rather awful in spots, and she was a gentle littlething; very attractive, too, especially in church. And certainly Walliehad been seeing a great deal of her.
She went to the greenhouses, and from there upstairs and into the roomsthat she had planned for Wallie and his bride, when the time came. Shewas more content than she had been for a long time. She was a lonelywoman, isolated by her very grandeur from the neighborliness she craved;when she wanted society she had to ask for it, by invitation. Standinginside the door of the boudoir, her thoughts already at work ondraperies and furniture, she had a vague dream of new young lifestirring in the big house, of no more lonely evenings, of the bustle andactivity of a family again.
She wanted Wallie to settle down. She was tired of paying his bills athis clubs and at various hotels, tired and weary of the days he lay inbed all morning while his valet concocted various things to enable himto pull himself together. He had been four years sowing his wild oats,and now at twenty-five she felt he should be through with them.
The south room could be the nursery.
On Decoration Day, as usual, she did her dutiful best by the community,sent flowers to the cemetery and even stood through a chilly hour therewhile services were read and taps sounded over the graves of those whohad died in three wars. She felt very grateful that Wallie had come backsafely, and that if only now he would marry and settle down all would bewell.
The service left her emotionally untouched. She was one of those womenwho saw in war, politics, even religion, only their reaction onherself and her affairs. She had taken the German deluge as a personalaffliction. And she stood only stoically enduring while the villagesoprano sang "The Star Spangled Banner." By the end of the service shehad decided that Elizabeth Wheeler was the answer to her problem.
Rather under pressure, Wallie lunched with her at the country club, butshe found him evasive and not particularly happy.
"You're twenty-five, you know," she said, toward the end of adiscussion. "By thirty you'll be too set in your habits, too hard toplease."
"I'm not going to marry for the sake of getting married, mother."
"Of course not. But you have a good bit of money. You'll have much morewhen I'm gone. And money carries responsibility with it."
He glanced at her, looked away, rapped a fork on the table cloth.
"It takes two to make a marriage, mother."
He closed up after that, but she had learned what she wanted.
At three o'clock that afternoon the Sayre limousine stopped in front ofNina's house, and Mrs. Sayre, in brilliant pink and a purple hat, gotout. Leslie, lounging in a window, made the announcement.
"Here's the Queen of Sheba," he said. "I'll go upstairs and have aheadache, if you don't mind."
He kissed Nina and departed hastily. He was feeling extremely gentletoward Nina those days and rather smugly virtuous. He considered thathis conscience had brought him back and not a very bad fright, which wasthe fact, and he fairly exuded righteousness.
It was the great lady's first call, and Nina was considerably uplifted.It was for such moments as this one trained servants and put Irish laceon their aprons, and had decorators who stood off with their heads alittle awry and devised backgrounds for one's personality.
"What a delightful room!" said Mrs. Sayre. "And how do you keep a maidas trim as that?"
"I must have service," Nina replied. "The butler's marching in a paradeor something. How nice of you to come and see our little place. It's aband-box, of course."
Mrs. Sayre sat down, a gross disharmony in the room, but a solid and notunkindly woman for all that.
"My dear," she said, "I am not paying a call. Or not only that. I cameto talk to you about something. About Wallace and your sister."
Nina was gratified and not a little triumphant.
"I see," she said. "Do you mean that they are fond of one another?"
"Wallace is. Of course, this talk is between ourselves, but--I'm goingto be frank, Nina. I want Wallie to marry, and I want him to marry soon.You and I know that the life of an unattached man about town is full oftemptations. I want him to settle down. I'm lonely, too, but that's notso important."
Nina hesitated.
"I don't know about Elizabeth. She's fond of Wallie, as who isn't? Butlately--"
"Yes?"
"Well, for the last few days I have been wondering. She doesn't talk,you know. But she has been seeing something of Dick Livingstone."
"Doctor Livingstone! She'd be throwing herself away!"
"Yes, but she's like that. I mean, she isn't ambitious. We've alwaysexpected her to throw herself away; at least I have."
A half hour later Leslie, upstairs, leaned over the railing to see ifthere were any indications of departure. The door was open, and Mrs.Sayre evidently about to take her leave. She was saying:
"It's very close to my heart, Nina dear, and I know you will be tactful.I haven't stressed the material advantages, but you might point them outto her."
A few moments later Leslie came downstairs. Nina was sitting alone,thinking, with a not entirely pleasant look of calculation on her face.
"Well?" he said. "What were you two plotting?"
"Plotting? Nothing, of course."
He looked down at her. "Now see here, old girl," he said, "you keep yourhands off Elizabeth's affairs. If I know anything she's making a damngood choice, and don't you forget it."