THE COLLECTED WORKS OF CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN: Short Stories, Novels, Poems & Essays. Charlotte Perkins Gilman
you like it here?" she continued kindly.
"Oh yes, ma'am!" said Ilda. "That is—" she stopped, blushed, and continued bravely. "I like to work for you, ma'am."
"Thank you, Ilda. Will you ask Mrs. Halsey to come to me—at once, please."
Ilda went, more impressed than ever with the desirability of her new place, and mistress.
As she was about to pass the door of Mr. Matthew Weatherstone, that young gentleman stepped out and intercepted her. "Whither away so fast, my dear?" he amiably inquired.
"Please let one pass, sir! I'm on an errand. Please, sir?"
"You must give me a kiss first!" said he—and since there seemed no escape and she was in haste, she submitted. He took six—and she ran away half crying.
Mrs. Halsey, little accustomed to take orders from her real mistress, and resting comfortably in her room, had half a mind to send an excuse.
"I'm not dressed," she said to the maid.
"Well she is!" replied Ilda, "dressed splendid. She said 'at once, please.'"
"A pretty time o' day!" said the housekeeper with some asperity, hastily buttoning her gown; and she presently appeared, somewhat heated, before Mrs. Weatherstone.
That lady was sitting, cool and gracious, her long ivory paper-cutter between the pages of a new magazine.
"In how short a time could you pack, Mrs. Halsey?" she inquired.
"Pack, ma'am? I'm not accustomed to doing packing. I'll send one of the maids. Is it your things, ma'am?"
"No," said Mrs. Weatherstone. "It is yours I refer to. I wish you to pack your things and leave the house—in an hour. One of the maids can help you, if necessary. Anything you cannot take can be sent after you. Here is a check for the following month's wages."
Mrs. Halsey was nearly a head taller than her employer, a stout showy woman, handsome enough, red-lipped, and with a moist and crafty eye. This was so sudden a misadventure that she forgot her usual caution. "You've no right to turn me off in a minute like this!" she burst forth. "I'll leave it to Madam Weatherstone!"
"If you will look at the terms on which I engaged you, Mrs. Halsey, you will find that a month's warning, or a month's wages, was specified. Here are the wages—as to the warning, that has been given for some months past!"
"By whom, Ma'am?"
"By yourself, Mrs. Halsey—I think you understand me. Oscar will take your things as soon as they are ready."
Mrs. Halsey met her steady eye a moment—saw more than she cared to face—and left the room.
She took care, however, to carry some letters to Madam Weatherstone, and meekly announced her discharge; also, by some coincidence, she met Mr. Matthew in the hall upstairs, and weepingly confided her grievance to him, meeting immediate consolation, both sentimental and practical.
When hurried servants were sent to find their young mistress they reported that she must have gone out, and in truth she had; out on her own roof, where she sat quite still, though shivering a little now and then from the new excitement, until dinner time.
This meal, in the mind of Madam Weatherstone, was the crowning factor of daily life; and, on state occasions, of social life. In her cosmogony the central sun was a round mahogany table; all other details of housekeeping revolved about it in varying orbits. To serve an endless series of dignified delicious meals, notably dinners, was, in her eyes, the chief end of woman; the most high purpose of the home.
Therefore, though angry and astounded, she appeared promptly when the meal was announced; and when her daughter-in-law, serene and royally attired, took her place as usual, no emotion was allowed to appear before the purple footman who attended.
"I understood you were out, Viva," she said politely.
"I was," replied Viva, with equal decorum. "It is charming outside at this time in the evening—don't you think so?"
Young Matthew was gloomy and irritable throughout the length and breadth of the meal; and when they were left with their coffee in the drawing room, he broke out, "What's this I hear about Mrs. Halsey being fired without notice?"
"That is what I wish to know, Viva," said the grandmother. "The poor woman is greatly distressed. Is there not some mistake?"
"It's a damn shame," said Matthew.
The younger lady glanced from one to the other, and wondered to see how little she minded it. "The door was there all the time!" she thought to herself, as she looked her stepson in the eye and said, "Hardly drawing-room language, Matthew. Your grandmother is present!"
He stared at her in dumb amazement, so she went on, "No, there is no mistake at all. I discharged Mrs. Halsey about an hour before dinner. The terms of the engagement were a month's warning or a month's wages. I gave her the wages."
"But! but!" Madam Weatherstone was genuinely confused by this sudden inexplicable, yet perfectly polite piece of what she still felt to be in the nature of 'interference' and 'presumption.' "I have had no fault to find with her."
"I have, you see," said her daughter-in-law smiling. "I found her unsatisfactory and shall replace her with something better presently. How about a little music, Matthew? Won't you start the victrolla?"
Matthew wouldn't. He was going out; went out with the word. Madam Weatherstone didn't wish to hear it—had a headache—must go to her room—went to her room forthwith. There was a tension in the atmosphere that would have wrung tears from Viva Weatherstone a week ago, yes, twenty-four hours ago.
As it was she rose to her feet, stretching herself to her full height, and walked the length of the great empty room. She even laughed a little. "It's open!" said she, and ordered the car. While waiting for it she chatted with Mrs. Porne awhile over the all-convenient telephone.
Diantha sat at her window, watching the big soft, brilliant moon behind the eucalyptus trees. After the close of the strenuous meeting, she had withdrawn from the crowd of excited women anxious to shake her hand and engage her on the spot, had asked time to consider a number of good opportunities offered, and had survived the cold and angry glances of the now smaller but far more united Home and Culture Club. She declined to talk to the reporters, and took refuge first in an open car. This proved very unsatisfactory, owing to her sudden prominence. Two persistent newspaper men swung themselves upon the car also and insisted on addressing her.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, "I am not acquainted with you."
They eagerly produced their cards—and said they were "newspaper men."
"I see," said Diantha, "But you are still men? And gentlemen, I suppose? I am a woman, and I do not wish to talk with you."
"Miss Bell Declines to Be Interviewed," wrote the reporters, and spent themselves on her personal appearance, being favorably impressed thereby.
But Miss Bell got off at the next corner and took a short cut to the house where she had rented a room. Reporters were waiting there, two being women.
Diantha politely but firmly declined to see them and started for the stairs; but they merely stood in front of her and asked questions. The girl's blood surged to her cheeks; she smiled grimly, kept absolute silence, brushed through them and went swiftly to her room, locking the door after her.
The reporters described her appearance—unfavorably this time; and they described the house—also unfavorably. They said that "A group of adoring-eyed young men stood about the doorway as the flushed heroine of the afternoon made her brusque entrance." These adorers consisted of the landlady's Johnny, aged thirteen, and two satellites of his, still younger. They did look at Diantha admiringly; and she was a little hurried in her entrance—truth must be maintained.
Too irritated and tired to go out for dinner, she ate an orange or two, lay down awhile, and then eased her mind by writing a long letter to