III
As the earth with a final leap and twist settled abruptly into peace, the
streets filled suddenly with people, many in their nightclothes, but
more in dressing-gowns, opera cloaks, and overcoats. All were silent and
apparently self-possessed. Whence came that long wail no one ever knew.
Alexina, remembering her own attire, sprang to her feet and ran through the
little side door and up the stair, praying that her mother, with her usual
monumental poise, would have disdained to rise. She had never been known to
leave her room before eight.
But as Alexina ran along the upper hall she became only too aware that Mrs.
Groome had surrendered to Nature, for she was pounding on her door and in a
haughty but quivering voice demanding to be let out.
Alexina tiptoed lightly to the threshold of her room and called out
sympathetically:
"What is the matter, mother dear! Has your door sprung?"
"It has. Tell James to come here at once and bring a crow-bar if
necessary."
"Yes, darling."
Alexina let down her hair and tore off her evening gown, kicking it into a
closet, then threw on a bathrobe and ran over to the servants' quarters in
an extension behind the house. They were deserted, but wild shrieks and
gales of unseemly laughter arose from the yard. She opened a window and saw
the cook, a recent importation, on the ground in hysterics, the housemaid
throwing water on her, and the inherited butler calmly lighting his pipe,
"James," she called.
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