Somewhere in the House by Elizabeth Daly Read Free Book Online

hardening exercise. Gamadge thought he might be moderately amiable, satisfied with himself, and immovably selfish.
    Miss Cynthia Clayborn was gayer and more raffish. She wore smart tailored clothes, a fur—sable—and a tall, feathered hat. Her shapely feet were shod in high-heeled pumps. She seemed competent and tough.
    She settled herself against the cushions of the sofa and remarked in a harsh voice that it was a nice day. Mrs. Leeder had already poured tea for her uncle, and handed him his cup. Roberts came in with a salver on which stood a stiff highball in a cut-glass tumbler. He set it down on the little table near Miss Clayborn, then lifted Sir Arthur Wilson Cribb out of the way.
    Miss Clayborn snatched the solander from him, opened it, and took out a cigarette. Gamadge lighted it for her. She said: “You’d better have what I’m having, Mr. Gamadge.”
    â€œI refused one, thank you all the same.”
    â€œI need it. Great Heavens, that endless music. Gavan, aren’t you joining me?”
    â€œHad plenty at the club.”
    â€œI bet you did. How was the game?”
    â€œFair, until a man cut in we didn’t know well.”
    â€œWin all your money in the last rubber?”
    â€œNo, and didn’t like losing. Bridge isn’t supposed to be a source of income at that club.”
    â€œOh, come now,” said his sister.
    â€œI said isn’t supposed to be. Membership isn’t watched nowadays.” He turned a casual blue eye towards Gamadge. “Do you find that so where you play?”
    Something had mysteriously told Gavan Clayborn that Gamadge was not poor and not rich; he already knew it, knew it finally, but Gamadge’s reply might establish his rating more accurately. Gamadge obliged: “The stakes we play for wouldn’t do much to our incomes one way or another.”
    â€œMuch better to keep them moderate.” Half a cent, thought Gavan.
    Mrs. Leeder asked: “Was the music so very boring, Aunt?”
    â€œOh, Heavens. I don’t know why Elena or you will never go, and let me off.”
    â€œThey’d rather have you.”
    â€œThere was the usual appeal for funds in the intermission. They won’t get any more from the Clayborns. I hope the man noticed my old fur.”
    â€œHe probably noticed your new hat.”
    Miss Clayborn squinted up at a drooping plume, dyed in shades of mauve, wine colour and purple. “Nobby, isn’t it? You ought to have seen the other ones. Do I look like a woman who would be likely to have pansies on her first autumn hat? They still try to make me do it. When we sell the house I shall have a fur cape.” She addressed Gamadge: “Somebody wants it for a girls’ school, Mr. Gamadge. Perfect, with the garden and the studio.”
    â€œPerfect for you, if you think so,” said Gamadge, “but sad for the rest of us—these changes. Once an old house passes out of a family, anything can happen to it.”
    â€œI should be quite willing to stay on,” said Miss Clayborn, picking up a sandwich and biting into it. She swallowed the bite, and went on: “If I had a million dollars. As it is, how shocking it will seem to pay rent.”
    â€œAs shocking as taxes?” Gamadge smiled. “I’m hanging on to my small old house.”
    Clayborn said: “Much better if you can.”
    â€œI use it as an office too. That makes a difference.”
    Clayborn looked inquiring; but just then a tall, very thin man with dark hair and eyes and a long oval face came slowly into the room. Mrs. Leeder said: “Mr. Gamadge, my cousin Seward.”
    Seward behaved as if he were depressed and tired. He nodded to Gamadge, took a cup of tea from Mrs. Leeder, and walked over to the window at the right of the fireplace. He sat down on the window seat, put his cup on the cushion beside him, and got out a cigarette.
    â€œMr. Gamadge,” said Mrs. Leeder, “has a