CHAPTER IV

After the dinner party domestic matters seemed to run even more smoothly than before, but there was a difference, far below the surface, in Mrs. Salisbury’s attitude toward the new maid.  The mistress found herself incessantly looking for flaws in Justine’s perfectness; for things that Justine might easily have done, but would not do.

In this Mrs. Salisbury was unconsciously aided and abetted by her sister, Mrs. Otis, a large, magnificent woman of forty-five, who had a masterful and assured manner, as became a very rich and influential widow.  Mrs. Otis had domineered Mrs. Salisbury throughout their childhood; she had brought up a number of sons and daughters in a highly successful manner, and finally she kept a houseful of servants, whom she managed with a firm hand, and managed, it must be admitted, very well.  She had seen the Treasure many times before, but it was while spending a day in November with her sister that she first expressed her disapproval of Justine.

“You spoil her, Sarah,” said Mrs. Otis.  “She’s a splendid cook, of course, and a nice-mannered girl.  But you spoil her.”

“I?  I have nothing to do with it,” Mrs. Salisbury asserted promptly.  “She does exactly what the college permits; no more and no less.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Otis said largely, genially.  And she exchanged an amused look with Sandy.

The three ladies were in the little library, after luncheon, enjoying a coal fire.  The sisters, both with sewing, were in big armchairs.  Sandy, idly turning the pages of a new magazine, sat at her mother’s feet.  The first heavy rain of the season battered at the windows.

“Now, that darning, Sally,” Mrs. Otis said, glancing at her sister’s sewing.  “Why don’t you simply call the girl and ask her to do it?  There’s no earthly reason why she shouldn’t be useful.  She’s got absolutely nothing to do.  The girl would probably be happier with some work in her hands.  Don’t encourage her to think that she can whisk through her lunch dishes and then rush off somewhere.  They have no conscience about it, my dear.  You’re the mistress, and you are supposed to arrange things exactly to suit yourself, no matter if nobody else has ever done things your way from the beginning of time!”

“That’s a lovely theory, Auntie,” said Alexandra, “but this is an entirely different situation.”

For answer Mrs. Otis merely compressed her lips, and flung the pink yarn that she was knitting into a baby’s sacque steadily over her flashing needles.

“Where’s Justine now?” she asked, after a moment.

“In her room,” Mrs. Salisbury answered.

“No; she’s gone for a walk, Mother,” Sandy said.  “She loves to walk in the rain, and she wanted to change her library book, and send a telegram or something—­”

“Just like a guest in the house!” Mrs. Otis observed, with fine scorn.  “Surely she asked you if she might go, Sally?”