The Price She Paid [17]
of satisfaction. ``Yes, he'll want you,'' he said. ``You'll strike him as just the show piece he needs. And he's too shrewd not to be aware that his choice is limited.''
``You can't frighten me,'' said Mildred, with a radiant, coquettish smile--for practice. ``Nothing could frighten me.''
``I'm not trying,'' replied Presbury. ``Nor will Siddall frighten you. A woman who's after a bill-payer can stomach anything.''
``Or a man,'' said Mildred.
``Oh, your mother wasn't as bad as all that,'' said Presbury, who never lost an opportunity.
Mrs. Presbury, seated beside her daughter in the cab, gave an exclamation of rage. ``My own daughter insulting me!'' she said.
``Such a thought did not enter my head,'' protested Mildred. ``I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular.''
``Let's not quarrel now,'' said Presbury, with unprecedented amiability. ``We must give Bill a spectacle of the happy family.''
The cab entered the porte-cochere of a huge palace of white stone just off Fifth Avenue. The house was even grander than they had anticipated. The wrought- iron fence around it had cost a small fortune; the house itself, without reference to its contents, a large fortune. The massive outer doors were opened by two lackeys in cherry-colored silk and velvet livery; a butler, looking like an English gentleman, was waiting to receive them at the top of a short flight of marble steps between the outer and the inner entrance doors. As Mildred ascended, she happened to note the sculpturing over the inner entrance--a reclining nude figure of a woman, Cupids with garlands and hymeneal torches hovering about her.
Mildred had been in many pretentious houses in and near New York, but this far surpassed the grandest of them. Everything was brand new, seemed to have been only that moment placed, and was of the costliest- statuary, carpets, armor, carved seats of stone and wood, marble staircase rising majestically, tapestries, pictures, drawing-room furniture. The hall was vast, but the drawing-room was vaster. Empty, one would have said that it could not possibly be furnished. Yet it was not only full, but crowded-chairs and sofas, hassocks and tete-a-tetes, cabinets, tables, pictures, statues, busts, palms, flowers, a mighty fireplace in which, behind enormous and costly andirons, crackled enormous and costly logs. There was danger in moving about; one could not be sure of not upsetting something, and one felt that the least damage that could be done there would be an appallingly expensive matter.
Before that cavernous fireplace posed General Siddall. He was a tiny mite of a man with a thin wiry body supporting the head of a professional barber. His black hair was glossy and most romantically arranged. His black mustache and imperial were waxed and brilliantined. There was no mistaking the liberal use of dye, also. From the rather thin, very sharp face looked a pair of small, muddy, brown-green eyes --dull, crafty, cold, cruel. But the little man was so insignificant and so bebarbered and betailored that one could not take him seriously. Never had there been so new, so carefully pressed, so perfectly fitting evening clothes; never a shirt so expensively got together, or jeweled studs, waistcoat buttons and links so high priced. From every part of the room, from every part of the little man's perfumed and groomed person, every individual article seemed to be shrieking, ``The best is not too good for Bill Siddall!''
Mildred was agreeably surprised--she was looking with fierce determination for agreeable surprises-- when the costly little man spoke, in a quiet, pleasant voice with an elusive, attractive foreign accent.
``My, but this is grand--grand, General Siddall!'' said Presbury in the voice of the noisy flatterer. ``Princely! Royal!''
Mildred glanced nervously at Siddall. She feared that Presbury had taken the wrong tone. She saw in the unpleasant eyes a glance of gratified vanity. Said he:
``Not so bad, not so bad. I saw the house in Paris, when I was taking a walk one day. I
``You can't frighten me,'' said Mildred, with a radiant, coquettish smile--for practice. ``Nothing could frighten me.''
``I'm not trying,'' replied Presbury. ``Nor will Siddall frighten you. A woman who's after a bill-payer can stomach anything.''
``Or a man,'' said Mildred.
``Oh, your mother wasn't as bad as all that,'' said Presbury, who never lost an opportunity.
Mrs. Presbury, seated beside her daughter in the cab, gave an exclamation of rage. ``My own daughter insulting me!'' she said.
``Such a thought did not enter my head,'' protested Mildred. ``I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular.''
``Let's not quarrel now,'' said Presbury, with unprecedented amiability. ``We must give Bill a spectacle of the happy family.''
The cab entered the porte-cochere of a huge palace of white stone just off Fifth Avenue. The house was even grander than they had anticipated. The wrought- iron fence around it had cost a small fortune; the house itself, without reference to its contents, a large fortune. The massive outer doors were opened by two lackeys in cherry-colored silk and velvet livery; a butler, looking like an English gentleman, was waiting to receive them at the top of a short flight of marble steps between the outer and the inner entrance doors. As Mildred ascended, she happened to note the sculpturing over the inner entrance--a reclining nude figure of a woman, Cupids with garlands and hymeneal torches hovering about her.
Mildred had been in many pretentious houses in and near New York, but this far surpassed the grandest of them. Everything was brand new, seemed to have been only that moment placed, and was of the costliest- statuary, carpets, armor, carved seats of stone and wood, marble staircase rising majestically, tapestries, pictures, drawing-room furniture. The hall was vast, but the drawing-room was vaster. Empty, one would have said that it could not possibly be furnished. Yet it was not only full, but crowded-chairs and sofas, hassocks and tete-a-tetes, cabinets, tables, pictures, statues, busts, palms, flowers, a mighty fireplace in which, behind enormous and costly andirons, crackled enormous and costly logs. There was danger in moving about; one could not be sure of not upsetting something, and one felt that the least damage that could be done there would be an appallingly expensive matter.
Before that cavernous fireplace posed General Siddall. He was a tiny mite of a man with a thin wiry body supporting the head of a professional barber. His black hair was glossy and most romantically arranged. His black mustache and imperial were waxed and brilliantined. There was no mistaking the liberal use of dye, also. From the rather thin, very sharp face looked a pair of small, muddy, brown-green eyes --dull, crafty, cold, cruel. But the little man was so insignificant and so bebarbered and betailored that one could not take him seriously. Never had there been so new, so carefully pressed, so perfectly fitting evening clothes; never a shirt so expensively got together, or jeweled studs, waistcoat buttons and links so high priced. From every part of the room, from every part of the little man's perfumed and groomed person, every individual article seemed to be shrieking, ``The best is not too good for Bill Siddall!''
Mildred was agreeably surprised--she was looking with fierce determination for agreeable surprises-- when the costly little man spoke, in a quiet, pleasant voice with an elusive, attractive foreign accent.
``My, but this is grand--grand, General Siddall!'' said Presbury in the voice of the noisy flatterer. ``Princely! Royal!''
Mildred glanced nervously at Siddall. She feared that Presbury had taken the wrong tone. She saw in the unpleasant eyes a glance of gratified vanity. Said he:
``Not so bad, not so bad. I saw the house in Paris, when I was taking a walk one day. I