The Tryst (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill
that they are impeding progress. Indifferently she recognized that these were mansions where her kind condescended to spend a few days or weeks now and then when business or pleasure caused them to alight briefly from their flitting pursuit of pleasure. What if she should walk up to one of them and demand employment? Well, why not? The next one she came to perhaps – but the next one was still with closed shutters and an air of not having waked up for winter yet, and her feet strayed farther. Another stone mansion loomed ahead, with carved gateways in a high and ornate stone fencing about a velvet patch of grass and flaunting autumn flowers. The big plate-glass doors in their heavy iron grills had just been closed with that subdued thud of perfect mechanism, and a luxurious electric car was rolling out the gateway as Patty came to its crossing. She glanced up and saw a lady sitting within, rich furs about her shoulders, and a painted haggard look upon her face that reminded her of her mother; the look of a woman who was frantically trying to have a good time and being bored to death by it. Patty knew it well and it did not interest her. She would not have looked again, and would have passed on, but just then the glass doors shivered themselves open with a little gasp of haste and a liveried person hurried out and made some sign that attracted the attention of the chauffeur, who stopped the car on the sidewalk directly before her, so that she had to pause and wait until it was out of the way.
The liveried person came breathlessly to the car and spoke to the lady who looked annoyed:
“Mrs. Horliss-Cole, Miss Marjorie says some one has just telephoned from a hospital that Miss Morris has met with an accident on the way here, and has broken her leg. She says you’ll have to get someone else to take her place.”
The lady in the limousine rumpled her thin forehead peevishly and uttered an exclamation of dismay:
“How tiresome! Well, Rogers, why didn’t you tell Banely to telephone and arrange for someone else?”
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but Banely went out for the afternoon an hour ago. She said you told her you would not need her.”
“Oh, yes, of course! Well, I suppose I must come back and phone, Miss Sylvia is so particular——! Well, Parke, you'll have to back in again. Rogers, you might call up the agency on the library phone. I'll come right in."
The car rolled noiselessly hack again to the great doors and the lady got out and went into the house. Patty walked on, but her mind was full of what she had just heard. Suddenly she stopped short in the way, almost upsetting a little man who was racing breathlessly down town and hadn't counted on her being there when he got there.
Patty's cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, and she felt as if he could see the guilty thought that had stopped her written all over her face as he lifted his hat with a hasty apology and hurried on. She made a beeline for the tall granite fence that separated a strip of velvet green in front of another stately mansion from the sidewalk, and leaning against it tried to steady herself. Should she do it? Ought she? Why not? Perhaps it was the very opportunity for which she was looking! It seemed that way. Was there a chance in the world she would get it, she a stranger without recommendations? And what should she call herself? It would not do to use the family name, both for the sake of her father and also because it might lead to her family finding out where she was. Assumed names were not nice things, however, and it troubled her to even entertain the thought of one. But she turned swiftly now that the impulse had become a resolve, and walked back the block and a half she had come since passing the lady. The last half block she almost ran, for the terrible thought came to her that perhaps the lady was already through with her ’phoning and she might miss the only opportunity New York had for her.
But a glance through the handsome iron grill work showed the car still standing under the ample porte cochere, and she turned in with a wildly beating heart and cheeks that resembled lovely roses. She was so afraid that her courage would fail her now before she got in, and she must see that woman and try to get the position. Oh, she hoped it was something she could do! Yet how did she know it was a position? Perhaps it was a dressmaker, or an entertainer, or even a dinner guest. Well, what of it? She had heard of hired dinner guests. At least it could do no harm to try. And the lady had mentioned an agency. Perhaps it was a cook she wanted. No! Nobody would call their cook “Miss Morris.” Nor even a waitress! And how wonderful that she should have overheard the woman's name! It was so much easier to ask for a person at the door by her name. Without it she would probably have been unable to gain audience.
With hasty feet she mounted the broad stone steps and stood within the shadow of the arching pillars with her hand on the bell. She could catch the reflection of the bright coral knot of velvet in her hat and suddenly she felt so strange and queer and out of place, she who had been accustomed to enter such homes as an honored guest; begging entrance to ask for a chance to earn her living! Almost it seemed as if she must go back in a panic to the street and be lost in the throng again. Only – what should she do to-night if she failed to get anything anywhere? Panic stayed her feet while panic also drove her away, and between the two emotions she wavered, setting her firm little lips and trying to keep from trembling as she saw the liveried person coming down some inner white marble steps with stately tread. Oh, crazy, crazy thought! Why had she followed it? What excuse could she find now to get gracefully away, she the daughter of an honored family, sneaking her way into the front door of a Fifth Avenue mansion to get a job to earn her living! Appalling thought! And she had actually planned it and come back to carry it off! How could she possibly face this grave-faced servant?
Then the plate-glass door opened with a stately sweep and the cold-eyed servant stood surveying her critically from the knot of coral on her hat to the tip of her gray suede boot. He evidently recognized that her attire was altogether correct, and with a second glance at her exquisitely fitting suede gloves, he opened the door an inch further and looked at her enquiringly. Then she opened her cold little lips and heard her own voice from very far away, saying over the charmed words like a lesson she had learned:
“I want to see Mrs. Horliss-Cole for just a moment on very important business.”
The man noticed the shade of anxiety in her tone and glanced at her shoes and her gloves once more to reassure himself before he replied hesitatingly:
“Mrs. Horliss-Cole is very busy this morning. She was just going out and was called to the telephone ——!”
“Yes, I know,” broke in Patty breathlessly, “but I won't keep her a minute. I think perhaps she'll want to see me ——!”
The man hesitated, and looked her over once more far a fraction of a second, appraising her garments doubtfully:
“Not from the agency, are you? Beg pardon, ma'am but Miss Morris didn't send you, did she?”
Patty nodded engagingly:
"It’s about that,” she admitted eagerly.
“One moment, Miss,” he said, his dubious deference changing almost imperceptibly, “I’ll speak to Mrs. Horliss-Cole”
He departed and Patty found that suddenly she had all that she could do to control a violent trembling which had seized her whole body, and was absurdly manifest in her upper lip. Now, what should she say if she got a chance to speak to this grand lady?
CHAPTER IV
Somehow Patty's heart seemed all at once to have gone up in her throat, and a frightened mist was getting before her vision. Why had she come to this awful house anyway, and what should she do when that woman appeared – if she really did appear, which seemed doubtful? If she could only get out without passing that servant again! She cast a wild look toward the door, and measured the distance. Then she saw a maid cross the hall and look toward her appraisingly and disappear again. Presently the man-servant appeared and walked toward her more deferentially:
“Sit down, Miss. Madam will see you in a moment.” He drew a chair and Patty sank into it. Then she really had gained an audience! The sparkle came into her eyes once more. At least it was an interesting adventure. She