think it's unbecoming of me to sing 'Miss Hooligan'? I've often sang it and no harm thought, but I wouldn't for the world bring discredit on ma office. I did think of gettin' up 'Bonnie Mary o' Argyle.' It would mebbe have been more wise-like."
"No, no, Taylor; I was only joking. 'Miss Hooligan's' fine. I like it better every time I hear it. There's no ill in it. I'm sorry I spoke."
Meantime Jessie was trying to explain away Mr. Taylor to the Simpsons, who continued to look disgusted. Elizabeth Seton, standing near, came to her aid.
"Isn't Mr. Taylor delicious?" she said. "Quite as good as Harry Lauder, and you know"—she turned to Miss Muriel Simpson—"what colossal sums people in London pay Harry Lauder to sing at their parties."
Miss Muriel knew little of London and nothing of London parties, but she liked Elizabeth's assuming she did, so she replied with unction, "That is so."
"Well," said Miss Gertrude, "I never can see why people rave about Harry Lauder. I see nothing funny in vulgarity myself, but look at the crowds!"
"Perhaps," said Elizabeth, "the crowd has a vulgar mind. I wouldn't wonder;" and she turned away, to find Stewart Stevenson at her elbow.
"I say, Miss Seton," he said, "I wonder if you would care to see that old ballad-book I was telling you about?"
"I would, very much," said Elizabeth heartily. "Bring it, won't you, some afternoon? I am in most afternoons about half-past four."
"Thanks very much—I would like to.... Well, good night."
It seemed to strike everyone at the same moment that it was time to depart. There was a general exodus, and a filing upstairs by the ladies to the best bedroom for wraps, and to the parlour on the part of the men, for overcoats and goloshes, or snow-boots as the case might be.
Elizabeth stood in the lobby waiting for her cab, and watched the scene.
As Miss Waterston tripped downstairs in a blue cashmere cloak with a rabbit fur collar Mr. Inverarity emerged from the parlour, with his music sticking out of his coat-pocket.
Together they said good night to Mr. and Mrs. Thomson and told Jessie how much they had enjoyed the party. "We've just had a lovely evening, Jessie," said Miss Waterston.
"Awfully jolly, Miss Thomson," said Mr. Inverarity.
"Not at all," was Jessie's reply; and the couple departed together, having discovered that they both lived "West."
The Simpsons, clad in the smartest of evening cloaks, were addressing a few parting remarks to Jessie, when Mr. and Mrs. Taylor took, so to speak, the middle of the stage. Mrs. Taylor had turned up her olive-green silk skirt and pinned it in a bunch round her waist. Over this she wore a black circular waterproof from which emerged a pair of remarkably thin legs ending in snow-boots. An aged black bonnet—"my prayer-meeting bonnet" she would have described it—crowned her head.
They advanced arm in arm till they stood right in front of their host and hostess, then Mr. Taylor made a speech.
"A remarkably successful evenin', Mrs. Thomson, as I'm sure everybody'll admit. You've entertained us well; you've fed us sumptuous; you've——"
"Now, Mr. Taylor," Mrs. Thomson interrupted, "you'll fair affront us. It's you we've to thank for coming, and singing, and I'm sure I hope you'll be none the worse of all—there, there, are you really going? Well, good night. I'm sure it's real nice to see you and Mrs. Taylor always so affectionate—isn't it, Papa?"
"That's so," agreed Mr. Thomson.
"Mrs. Thomson," said Mr. Taylor solemnly, "me and my spouse are sweethearts still."
Mrs. Taylor looked coyly downwards, murmuring what sounded like "Aay-he"; then, with her left hand (her right hand being held by her lover-like husband), she seized Mrs. Thomson's hand and squeezed it. "I'll hear on Sabbath if ye're the worse of it," she said hopefully. "It's been real nice, but I sneezed twice in the bedroom, so I doubt I've got a tich of cold. But I'll go home and steam my head, and that'll mebbe take it in time."
"Yer cab has came," Annie, the servant, whispered hoarsely to Elizabeth.
"Thank you," said Elizabeth. Then a thought struck her: "Mrs. Taylor, won't you let me drive you both home? I pass your door. Do let me."
"I'm sure, Miss Seton, you're very kind," said Mrs. Taylor.
"Thoughtful, right enough," said her husband; and, amid a chorus of good nights, Elizabeth and the Taylors went out into the night.
Half an hour later the exhausted Thomson family sat in their dining-room. They had not been idle, for Mrs. Thomson believed in doing at once things that had to be done. Mr. Thomson and Robert had carried away the intruding chairs, and taken the "leaf" out of the table. Jessie had put all the left-over cakes into a tin box, and folded away the tablecloth and d'oyleys. Mrs. Thomson had herself carefully counted and arranged her best cups and saucers in their own cupboard, and was now busy counting the fruit knives and forks and teaspoons.
"Only twenty-three! Surely Annie's niver let a teaspoon go down the sink."
"Have a sangwich, Mamma," said her husband. "The spoon'll turn up."
Mrs. Thomson took a sandwich and sat down on a chair. "Well," she said slowly, "we've had them, and we'll not need to have them for a long time again."
"It's been a great success," said Mr. Thomson, taking a mouthful of lemonade. "Eh, Jessie?"
"It was very nice," said Jessie, "and as you say, Mamma, we'll not need to have another for a long time. Mr. Taylor's the limit," she added.
"He enjoyed himself," said her father.
"He's an awful man to eat," said Mrs. Thomson. "It's not the thing to make remarks about guests' appetites, I know, but he fair surpassed himself to-night. However, Mrs. Taylor, poor body, 's quite delighted with him."
"He sang well," said Mr. Thomson. "I never heard 'Miss Hooligan' better. Quite a lot of talent we had to-night, and Miss Seton's a treat. Nobody can sing like her, to my mind."
"That's true," said his wife. "Mr. Stevenson seems a nice young man, Jessie. What does he do?"
"He's an artist," said Jessie. "I met him at the Shakespeare Readings. Muriel Simpson thinks he's awfully good-looking."
"Muriel Simpson's not, anyway," said Alick. "She's a face like a scone, and it's all floury too, like a scone."
"Alick," said his father, "it's high time you were in bed, my boy. We'll be hearing about this in the morning. What about your lessons?"
"Lessons!" cried Alick shrilly. "How could I learn lessons and a party goin' on?"
"Quite true," said Mr. Thomson. "Well, it's only once in a while. Rubbert"—to his son who was standing up yawning—"you're no great society man."
Robert shook his head.
"I haven't much use for people at any time," he said, "but I fair hate them at a party."
And Mr. Thomson laughed in an understanding way as he went to lift in the mat and lock the front door, and make Jeanieville safe for the night.
