Miss Royal, gently: "Oh, no; not at all."
Emily, consulting note-book: "Do you find many changes in Shrewsbury?"
Miss Royaclass="underline" "I find a good many changes in the people. The younger generation does not impress me favourably."
(Emily writes this down. Chu-Chin again reappears, evidently having chased the cat through a fresh mud puddle, and resumes his repast of the tidy, under the piano.)
Emily shut her note-book and rose. Not for any number of Mr. Towers would she prolong this interview. She looked like a young angel, but she was thinking terrible things. And she hated Miss Royal... oh, how she hated her!
"Thank you, that will be all," she said, with a haughtiness quite equal to Miss Royal's. "I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time. Good-afternoon."
She bowed slightly and went out to the hall. Miss Royal followed her to the parlour door.
"Hadn't you better take your dog, Miss Starr?" she asked sweetly.
Emily paused in the act of shutting the outer door and looked at Miss Royal.
"Pardon me."
"I said, hadn't you better take your dog?"
"My DOG?"
"Yes. He hasn't quite finished the tidy, to be sure, but you might take it along. It won't be much good to Aunt Angela now."
"He... he... isn't MY dog," gasped Emily.
"Not your dog? Whose dog is he then?" said Miss Royal.
"I... I thought he was yours... your chow," said Emily.
CHAPTER 23. AN OPEN DOOR
Miss Royal looked at Emily for a moment. Then she seized her wrist, shut the door, drew her back to the parlour, and firmly pushed her down into the morris chair. This done, Miss Royal threw herself on the muddy davenport and began to laugh... long and helplessly. Once or twice she rocked herself forward, gave Emily's knee two wild whacks, then rocked back and continued to laugh. Emily sat, smiling faintly. Her feelings had been too deeply harrowed to permit of Miss Royal's convulsions of mirth, but already there was glimmering in her mind a sketch for her Jimmy- book. Meanwhile, the white dog, having chewed the tidy to tatters, spied the cat again, and again rushed after her.
Finally Miss Royal sat erect and wiped her eyes.
"Oh, this is priceless, Emily Byrd Starr... priceless! When I'm eighty I'll recall this and howl over it. Who will write it up, you or I? But WHO does own that brute?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Emily demurely. "I never saw him in my life before."
"Well, let's shut the door before he can return. And now, dear thing, sit here beside me... there's one clean spot here under the cushion. We're going to have our real talk now. Oh, I was so beastly to you when you were trying to ask me questions. I was TRYING to be beastly. Why didn't you throw something at me, you poor insulted darling?"
"I wanted to. But now I think you let me off very easily, considering the behaviour of my supposed dog."
Miss Royal went off in another convulsion.
"I don't know if I can forgive you for thinking that horrid curly white creature was my glorious red-gold chow. I'll take you up to my room before you go and you shall apologize to him. He's asleep on my bed. I locked him there to relieve dear Aunt Angela's mind about her cat. Chu-Chin wouldn't hurt the cat... he merely wants to play with her, and the foolish old thing runs. Now, you know, when a cat runs, a dog simply can't help chasing her. As Kipling tells us, he wouldn't be a proper dog if he didn't. If only that white fiend had confined himself to chasing the cat!"
"It is too bad about Mrs. Royal's begonia," said Emily, regretfully.
"Yes, that IS a pity. Aunt Angela's had it for years. But I'll get her a new one. When I saw you coming up the walk with that dog frisking around you, of course I concluded he was yours. I had put on my favourite dress because it really makes me look almost beautiful... and I wanted you to love me; and when the beast muddied it all over and you never said a word of rebuke or apology, I simply went into one of my cold rages. I DO go into them... I can't help it. It's one of my little faults. But I soon thaw out if no fresh aggravation occurs. In this case fresh aggravation occurred every minute. I vowed to myself that if you did not even try to make your dog behave I would not suggest that you should. And I suppose YOU were indignant because I calmly let MY dog spoil your violets and eat your manuscripts?"
"I was."
"It's too bad about the manuscripts. Perhaps we can find them... he can't really have swallowed them, but I suppose he has chewed them to bits."
"It doesn't matter. I have other copies at home."
"And your questions! Emily, you were too delicious. Did you really write down my answers?"
"Word for word. I meant to print them just so, too. Mr. Towers had given me a list of questions for you, but of course I didn't mean to fire them off point-blank like that. I meant to weave them artfully into our conversation as we went along. But here comes Mrs. Royal."
Mrs. Royal came in, smiling. Her face changed as she saw the begonia. But Miss Royal interposed quickly.
"Dearest Aunty, don't weep or faint... at least not before you've told me who around here owns a white, curly, utterly mannerless, devilish dog?"
"Lily Bates," said Mrs. Royal in a tone of despair. "Oh, has she let that creature out again? I had a most terrible time with him before you came. He's really just a big puppy and he CAN'T behave. I told her finally if I caught him over here again I'd poison him. She's kept him shut up since then. But now... oh, my lovely rex.
"Well, this dog came in with Emily. I supposed he was her dog. Courtesy to a guest implies courtesy to her dog... isn't there an old proverb that expresses it more concisely? He embraced me fervently upon his entrance, as my dearest dress testifies. He marked up your davenport... he tore off Emily's violets... he chased your cat... he overturned your begonia... he broke your vase... he ran off with our chicken... ay, groan, Aunt Angela, he did!... and yet I, determinedly composed and courteous, said not a word of protest. I vow my behaviour was worthy of New Moon itself... wasn't it, Emily?"
"You were just too mad to speak," said Mrs. Royal ruefully, fingering her wrecked begonia.
Miss Royal stole a sly glance at Emily.
"You see, I can't put anything over on Aunt Angela. She knows me too well. I admit I was not my usual charming self. But, Aunty darling, I'll get you a new vase and a new begonia... think of all the fun you'll have coaxing it along. Anticipation is always so much more interesting than realization."
"I'll settle Lily Bates," said Mrs. Royal, going out of the room to look for a dustpan.
"Now, dear thing. Let's gab," said Miss Royal, snuggling down beside Emily.
THIS was the Miss Royal of the letter. Emily found no difficulty in talking to HER. They had a jolly hour and at the end of it Miss Royal made a proposition that took away Emily's breath.
"Emily, I want you to come back to New York with me in July. There's a vacancy on the staff of The Ladies' Own... no great thing in itself. You'll be sort of general handy-man, and all odd jobs will be turned over to you... but you'll have a chance to work up. And you'll be in the centre of things. You can write... I, realized that the moment I read The Woman Who Spanked the King. I know the editor of Roche's and I found out who you were and where you lived. That's really why I came down this spring... I wanted to get hold of you. You mustn't waste your life here... it would be a crime. Oh, of course, I know New Moon is a dear, quaint, lovely spot... full of poetry and steeped in romance, it was just the place for you to spend your childhood in. But you must have a chance to grow and develop and be yourself. You must have the stimulus of association with great minds... the training that only a great city can give. Come with me. If you do, I promise you that in ten years' time Emily Byrd Starr will be a name to conjure with among the magazines of America."