Murders in, Volume 2 by Elizabeth Daly Page A

front of the house, and entered a large sitting room; its ebonized and gilded furniture was upholstered in peacock-blue plush, and the black-marble mantel-piece upheld an ormolu clock and vases, all under glass domes.
    A very old lady with an egg-shaped head sat beside the farther window. She wore purple foulard, white-spotted, and was swathed in a white shawl. A clover-shaped table, covered with blue plush and fringed, stood beside her; there was a large rosewood box on it.
    â€œWell, young man,” said Mrs. Dykinck in a deep, hoarse voice, “here I am, all ready for you; but I don’t see how I can help you about your book. Posy, give Mr. Gamadge a chair.”
    Gamadge took a bamboo rocker from Miss Dykinck, saw her disposed on an ottoman, and sat down. Mrs. Dykinck observed him through steel-rimmed spectacles.
    â€œI was quite touched to get a note from Angela Morton,” she said, with considerable dryness. “They have quite dropped us.”
    â€œNow, Mamma!” Miss Dykinck’s upper lip drew away from her teeth in her characteristic smile. “You dropped Mrs. Morton for ages—after she first went on the stage.”
    â€œIt wasn’t done at that time. Nowadays, we make compromises. How does she wear, Mr. Gamadge? Those big women usually age so fast, I always think.”
    â€œShe is still vital and impressive, Mrs. Dykinck.”
    Mrs. Dykinck laughed hoarsely. “She was always a wild, bold girl. From the nursery. They say she has gone in for spiritualism.”
    â€œNot spiritualism, Mamma; the Chandors are not spiritualists.”
    â€œSome trickery of the kind, at all events.”
    â€œOh, no, Mamma; the Chandors are not like that t’all. I met Chandor at a tea, once; he was really very charming. We had quite a discussion on—what is it?—New Soul.”
    â€œHe should never have been introduced to you; and if he had been, by some oversight, you should not have talked to him. You are not only a lady—you are a Churchwoman.”
    â€œOh, he was quite harmless; and New Soul is not so very heretical.”
    â€œI wonder if Angela Morton still dabbles in that kind of thing. She used to go in for astrology.”
    â€œI believe she has dropped it all, for the time being,” said Gamadge.
    â€œAnd how are the boy and girl turning out? Posy met them at a wedding, not so long ago, and she was not very well impressed.”
    â€œI thought their manners poor, that’s all,” said Miss Dykinck. “Clara Dawson was too much occupied to waste time on anyone not in her set, and the boy was offhand. The husband,” continued Miss Dykinck, smirking humorously, “struck me as an agreeable sort of person.”
    â€œBut rather old” ventured Gamadge. They exchanged a mirthful glance. Mrs. Dykinck again protested:
    â€œMy daughter Rose is far too democratic socially, Mr. Gamadge. She will talk to every Tom, Dick, and Harry at these functions.”
    â€œYou know very well that you wouldn’t like it if I came back from them without any gossip for you,” retorted Miss Dykinck gamely. “Dick Vauregard is getting to look quite like his father, only much bigger and nicer.”
    â€œI hope he has not too much of his father in him!” rumbled the old lady. “Cyril Vauregard spent all his share of the money before he died; threw it out of the window. What we used to call a man about town, Mr. Gamadge.”
    â€œThey call them playboys now.”
    â€œHorrid expression.”
    â€œCameron Payne was at the wedding,” said Miss Dykinck. “Did I mention him, Mamma?”
    â€œYou did, Posy, several times.”
    â€œI sat beside him for half an hour. The poor boy was quite by himself on his sofa. I could have cried.”
    â€œHe is able to walk about, I believe,” said Mrs. Dykinck peevishly.
    â€œBut not for long, they say. He has become very spiritual since his accident. Witty, though;