The Buccaneers by Edith Wharton Read Free Book Online Page A

call you ‘beastly,’ ” she whispered, stealing a hand toward the new governess; and the new governess, clasping the hand, answered with her undaunted smile: “I didn’t hear you call me so, my dear.”

V.
    Mrs. St. George had gone to the races with her husband—an ordeal she always dreaded and yet prayed for. Colonel St. George, on these occasions, was so handsome, and so splendid in his light racing-suit and gray top hat, that she enjoyed a larger repetition of her triumph in the hotel dining-room; but when this had been tasted to the full there remained her dread of the mysterious men with whom he was hail-fellow-well-met in the paddock, and the dreadful painted women in open carriages who leered and beckoned (didn’t she see them?) under the fringes of their sunshades.
    She soon wearied of the show, and would have been glad to be back rocking and sipping lemonade on the hotel verandah; yet, when the Colonel helped her into the carriage, suggesting that if she wanted to meet the new governess it was time to be off, she instantly concluded that the rich widow at the Congress Springs Hotel, about whom there was so much gossip, had made him a secret sign, and was going to carry him off to the gambling-rooms for supper—if not worse. But, when the Colonel chose, his arts were irresistible, and in another moment Mrs. St. George was driving away alone, her heart heavy with this new anxiety superposed on so many others.
    When she reached the hotel all the frequenters of the verandah, gathered between the columns of the porch, were greeting with hysterical laughter a motley group who were pouring out of the familiar vehicle from which Mrs. St. George had expected to see Nan descend with the dreaded and longed-for governess. The party was headed by Teddy de Santos-Dios, grotesquely accoutred in a hotel waiter’s white jacket, and twanging his guitar to the antics of Conchita’s poodle, while Conchita herself, the Elmsworth sisters, and Mrs. St. George’s own two girls danced up the steps surrounding a small soberly garbed figure, whom Mrs. St. George instantly identified as the governess. Mrs. Elmsworth and Mrs. Closson stood on the upper step, smothering their laughter in lace handkerchiefs; but Mrs. St. George sailed past them with set lips, pushing aside a shabby-looking young man in overalls who seemed to form part of the company.
    â€œVirginia—Annabel,” she gasped, “what is the meaning... Oh, Miss Testvalley—what must you think?” she faltered with trembling lips.
    â€œI think it very kind of Annabel’s young friends to have come with her to meet me,” said Miss Testvalley; and Mrs. St. George noted with bewilderment and relief that she was actually smiling, and that she had slipped her arm through Nan’s.
    For a moment Mrs. St. George thought it might be easier to deal with a governess who was already on such easy terms with her pupil; but by the time Miss Testvalley, having removed the dust of travel, had knocked at her employer’s door, the latter had been assailed by new apprehensions. It would have been comparatively simple to receive, with what Mrs. St. George imagined to be the dignity of a duchess, a governess used to such ceremonial; but the disconcerting circumstances of Miss Testvalley’s arrival, and the composure with which she had met them, had left Mrs. St. George with her dignity on her hands. Could it be—? But no; Mrs. Russell Parmore, as well as the Duchess, answered for Miss Testvalley’s unquestionable respectability. Mrs. St. George fanned herself nervously.
    â€œOh, come in. Do sit down, Miss Testvalley.” (Mrs. St. George had expected someone taller, more majestic. She would have thought Miss Testvalley insignificant, could the term be applied to anyone coming from Mrs. Parmore.) “I don’t know how my daughters can have been induced to do anything so—so undignified. Unfortunately,