One sunny October day Juliet found herself going up the walk to the Lester home in Montreal—she had been invited to a tea party that John's mother was throwing. It really was a magnificent home! Juliet sometimes forgot how rich the Lesters were—they had much more money than the Kents, althought Juliet and Douglas had never been lacking for anything. A row of white columns stretched up on either side of the door and the lawn was perfectly manicured. Yes, it was a lawn—such a velvety green jewel-colored patch of grass could never be referred to as a yard.
"But they don't have an apple-barn—or a summer house—or a graveyard," Juliet said to herself as she rang the bell. The thought encouraged her a little, and when she was ushered in to the parlor full of beautifully groomed ladies, she was able to greet them all with a sparkling smile.
"Juliet! Darling!" Doreen and Kate, John's sisters, rushed to embrace her, and Mrs. Lester's formal nod and smile was a bit less stiff than usual.
"How are you today?" quieried Kate.
"I love your dress!" Doreen gushed. "Those little demin bows are so cute."
Then they introduced Juliet to the bevy of ladies. Mrs. Edsall—Mrs. Mayer—Mrs. Jones—and Mrs. Dr. Thompson—the best and brightest gentlewomen that Montreal society had to offer. Juliet felt as if she ought to curtsey—but didn't. That would be ridiculous, of course. People didn't curtsey nowadays. She settled for shaking each one's hand, firmly, with a smile.
They were seated, and a uniformed maid brought in trays of tea and paper-thin sandwiches. Mrs. Lester poured a cup for each one and as the ladies ate and drank the topic of conversation turned to local gossip. Juliet settled back in her chair and listened—she knew none of the names, but the chatter and conspiratorial tones were almost like being home and listening to Mother and Aunt Ilse—almost.
Someone's daughter had had a baby—someone else's had moved to Chicago—many dresses that had been made were described.
"Did you hear that Rachel Wood tried to commit suicide again?" questioned one of the ladies—Mrs. Edsall, Juliet thought—with an aggreived air.
"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Dr. Thompson with the same annoyed tone. "When everyone knows it's just a cry for attention. The last time she nearly died—and that was only six months ago—you'd think that would be enough excitement to last her for the rest of the year, at least."
"The poor woman!" Juliet gasped in real horror.
Seven pairs of eyes were trained on her in astonishment.
"Poor!" Mrs. Mayer said with a nasally laugh. "Robert Wood is the richest man in Montreal—not that you'd know it from the way his wife dresses. But there is a rumour going round that he gives her an allowance. Imagine!"
"How terrible," said Juliet sympathetically. "To have her money parcelled out by her husband."
"Terrible!" Mrs. Mayer lifted one eyebrow. "Dear, it is her husband's money, to do with as he sees fit. Although Rachel has been making noises about getting a job, to supplement her income."
The ladies made clucking noises, to denote that that really was a tragedy.
"Why shouldn't she get a job?" A little imp inside of Juliet made her question.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Thompson. "You don't plan on working outside the home when you're married to John! Do you?"
"She most certainly does not," said Mrs. Lester firmly before Juliet could respond. "But back to Rachel Wood—I'm not surprised. Her aunt committed suicide three times!"
"Wasn't once enough?" The same imp had the words out of Juliet's mouth before she could help herself. The ladies stared at her as if she were a foreign body, set down from outer space in the living room.
"Your mother works for a living, doesn't she, dear?" questioned sweet-faced Mrs. Jones of Juliet. "Writing books, I heard?"
"Yes," said Juliet stirring her tea.
"What kind of books?"
"Well...novels, actually. And poetry, of course."
"Novels!" said Mrs. Thompson in a shocked voice. "Well, well!"
"And your father?" asked Mrs. Mayer, of Juliet—whose face was beginning to redden.
"He's an artist. He owns a studio in town, near New Moon—that's the name of our house."
"Oh yes—you live on a farm, don't you?" Mrs. Thompson made it sound as ridiculous as if Juliet had been raised on the moon.
"It's a very lovely farm," Doreen said, patting Juliet's hand. "John's shown us pictures. There's a lovely cloud of spruce that surrounds it. Oh, Katie, we must go and visit this summer! I've been aching for a real vacation and Papa says we won't be going to the lakes next year after all."
"Yes!" Kate agreed. "We must. The Island is so...quaint! Isn't that the word indeed! But so remote. I am glad that John's decided to stay in the city after you're married, Juliet, aren't you?"
"John—stay in the city?" Juliet placed her cup down on her saucer with trembling hands. "But—he said—I thought he would buy his aunt and uncle's farm in Avonlea?"
"Oh yes, of course," laughed Doreen. "As a summer home, perhaps. But you didn't expect him to live there year round, did you? Papa will most likely build you two a house—quite near here, I expect. Mama can't have John too far away. She simply couldn't live without him!"
This revelation shocked Juliet into silence for the rest of the tea. When the clock struck four she rose and faced the assembly of ladies.
"I've got to be going, Mrs. Lester," she said. "The last train back to campus leaves at four-thirty. But thank you for having me to tea. I've had—a delightful time."
She took her coat from the maid who appeared like magic and fairly flew out of the door.
"How terrible that was!" she said as she hustled to the station.
When she was halfway there, Juliet's hand flew to her head in surprise. Her hat! She'd been in such a hurry to leave that she'd forgotten it! Juliet knew she could have John get it for her the next time she was home—but it was such a nice hat—a midnight blue velvet—and she did so want to wear it to church services on Sunday! Perhaps—if she hurried—she could get it?
Juliet ran all the way back to the Lesters' house. By the time she got there her hair had escaped from its clasp and her face was red. She was huffing and puffing and waited a moment before ringing the bell—she wanted to catch her breath.
"Poor dear," a voice came from the open window out onto the front step. "She really thought John would stay on the Island after they were married! You could see on her face how devestated she was."
"She must really love her home," Mrs. Jones's kind voice floated out on the air. "I've been to New Moon—Elizabeth Murray and I were friends in our girlhood—and it was a lovely place. I can see why she doesn't want to leave it."
Juliet started—they were talking about her! She stayed very still. Mrs. Lester's voice rang out next.
"Juliet Kent is a bit common," she sighed. "I wouldn't have picked her for my son. We all hoped John would marry Mary Ann Marsh. Her father is a judge. But he threw her over when he heard Juliet had been jilted."
"I've always thought it was very dangerous to take up with a girl who'd been jilted," Mrs. Mayer said thoughtfully. "I mean, there's a reason the other fellow didn't want her!"
The ladies laughed jovially.
"She's not a pretty girl—but I suppose John sees something in her," Mrs. Lester admitted. "There is something bewitching about her—even I cannot deny it. But—I don't believe she cares anything for John!"
"And oh, Doris, I do believe she intends to work once she is married!" Mrs. Thompson maoned to Mrs. Lester. "What if she writes novels—like her Mother? They say she's submitted stories to the literary magazine—but Juliet might outgrow that. It is too bad that John's infatuated with her. I always hoped he'd take my Sarah."
"Did you see what she was wearing, Mama?" Doreen laughed nastily. "That dress—with those ridiculous little bows—it looked positively home-made!"
This barb pierced Juliet's armor and her pride smarted. She'd really liked pretty, fun, Doreen—and she'd thought Doreen had liked her, too. Juliet didn't bother ringing the bell—she opened the door and burst into the hallway, and from there stepped into the parlor.
"Juliet! You're back!" laughed Kate in fright. "We—didn't—hear the doorbell."
"I often forget to ring it," said Juliet loftily. "Being as common as I am. I suppose the doorbell is too modern for someone as provincial as I."
If her words had left any doubt that she had heard what the ladies said, the black look on her face put the finally nail in the coffin. Juliet had never used it before but now she was quite sure that the Murray look blazed out from her face. She grabbed her hat and started again for the door.
"Won't you—stay—for dinner?" asked Mrs. Lester, her usually composed brow wrinkling. "You're not going to be able to get back to your train tonight."
"I'll call a friend to pick me up," Juliet said, staring the older woman down. "Besides," she said impishly. "I've got work at campus that I simply must attend to. I'm in the middle of a novel—"
And then she was gone. She ran to the train station and was able to hop on just as it was pulling out.
"Now I can think this over," said Juliet to herself as the train hurtled through the falling twilight. "I suppose I am common compared to them—but I don't think so—I think I'm richer than all of them are. And I'm proud of Mother—and Father—and I don't write novels! And I thought my dress was cute—but it is home-made. What's wrong with that, though? Oh, well. You can't please everyone at once."
She leaned her chin on her hand and stared out at the moving landscape.
"I don't want to be like them," she murmured. "Will I be like those old bats in twenty years if I marry John? And could he really be planning on staying in the city? Perhaps that is just a case of our wires getting crossed—but I can't live away from the Island! And I'd like to work—to earn my own keep—even when I am a missus. What's wrong with that? What hurts the most is that one thing Mrs. Lester said was at least partly true," Juliet lamented. "I do care for John—but I don't love him. And I never will. And—I don't think I can marry him, after all."