diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 10429-0.txt | 5538 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 10429-h/10429-h.htm | 5631 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429-8.txt | 5966 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 90081 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 94395 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429-h/10429-h.htm | 6033 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429.txt | 5966 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10429.zip | bin | 0 -> 90050 bytes |
11 files changed, 29150 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10429-0.txt b/10429-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1f2986 --- /dev/null +++ b/10429-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5538 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10429 *** + +MISS LULU BETT + + +By ZONA GALE + + +1921 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. APRIL + + II. MAY + +III. JUNE + + IV. JULY + + V. AUGUST + + VI. SEPTEMBER + + + + + + + + +I + + +APRIL + +The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, +appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was a +gas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound. + +"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretched +up to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as a +man speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something to +say. + +"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, +eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. In +October he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?" + +"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," she +added, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should say +this so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Could +you leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring a +milkman's heart. + +"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principal +dish benignly. "_Let_ us see," he added, as he served. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that her +little triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remark +produced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped. + +"_What's_ this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "_No_ salmon?" + +"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt her +power, discarded her "sir." + +"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before." + +"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone. + +"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping; + +The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her head +until her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon's +eyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progeny +will not eat? What can be supplied? + +"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread." +One wondered how she thought of it. + +"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affecting +indifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twisted +her head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote. + +There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, +Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home with +us." And that was precisely the case. _They_ were not making her a +home, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden. + +"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon. + +Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, +not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, by +nature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette. + +"Yes!" shouted the child Monona. + +The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. +Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. For +Monona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others to +let her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons were +devoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, +grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, +anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in." The poor child was the +late birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she had +provided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had produced +her at all. + +"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming to +her supper?" + +"Tantrim," said Mrs. Deacon, softly. + +"Oh, ho," said he, and said no more. + +The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of high +vibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind of +self-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims," they +called these occasions. + +"Baked potatoes," said Mr. Deacon. "That's good--that's good. The baked +potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other +way. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it." + +"That's what I always think," said his wife pleasantly. + +For fifteen years they had agreed about this. + +They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicate +crunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touch +of the silver. + +"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed by +both parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyric +outburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost to +Mr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at that +age. That age, in Warbleton. + +A clock struck the half hour. + +"It's curious," Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must be +fully quarter to." He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" he +exclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time." + +"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina. + +"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck," he +reminded her. + +"Twenty-one, I thought." She was tentative, regarded him with arched +eyebrows, mastication suspended. + +This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by the +child Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang. + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to call +just at meal-time?" + +He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. +Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted +finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked +potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate +with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the +hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was +listening. + +A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was +divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with +this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was +notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. +Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper +with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his +hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, +resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and +remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow +wink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did in +the presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and then +drew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. +This was her conjugal rebuking. + +Swedenborg always uses "conjugial." And really this sounds more married. +It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever more +married than they--at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugal +jokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, +suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking _entendre_ in +the most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of her +life. + +And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time upon +the yellow tulip in the centre of his table. + +"Well, _well_!" he said. "What's this?" + +Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple. + +"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired. + +"Ask Lulu," said Mrs. Deacon. + +He turned his attention full upon Lulu. + +"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort of +ruff about the word. + +Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed. + +"It was a quarter," she said. "There'll be five flowers." + +"You _bought_ it?" + +"Yes. There'll be five--that's a nickel apiece." + +His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread. + +"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to +spend, even for the necessities." + +His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and even +flesh. + +Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose the +dogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert--Lulu +isn't strong enough to work. What's the use...." + +She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, the +family beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else. + +"The justice business--" said Dwight Herbert Deacon--he was a justice of +the peace--"and the dental profession--" he was also a dentist--"do not +warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home." + +"Well, but, Herbert--" It was his wife again. + +"No more," he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulu +meant no harm," he added, and smiled at Lulu. + +There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, +num, num-my-num," as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. She +seemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. There +was, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour. + +"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di," said +Ina sighing. + +"Let's see," said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?" + +He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for at +noon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Ina +played his game, always. She informed him, dutifully. + +"Oh, _ho_," said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mind +on these domestic trifles. + +"We told you that this noon," said Lulu. + +He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy. + +"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly--this was one of +his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord. + +His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large +size, small size, present price, former price--she had them all. + +"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?" + +"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon +punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some +question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return +was always automatic: "_Her_bert!" + +"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert." + +She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed +upon her. It was his intention to be a case. + +Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was +not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat. + +"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the +butter-woman or get some creamery?" + +Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the +matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his +home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty +rôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to +turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation. + +"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at +meal-time," he said icily. + +Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now +with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would +look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her +plate. + +"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona. + +"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu. + +"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her +hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked +on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was +apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as +if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an +irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to +his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was +waiting his motion. + +At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her +aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. +Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted +her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active +child," Lulu ventured brightly. + +"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed. + +He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his +lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the +room. + +Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. +Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the half +hour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last night +twenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu did +not talk. + +"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think you +might be useful." + +Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed her +mind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force upon +the chip-pile. + +The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women brought +their work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, +watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She had +eight minutes more--seven--six--five-- + +Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, +groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in its +heap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flat +chest. + +Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun were +as near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus would +burn our sun to nothingness. + + * * * * * + +In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain all +over. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to make +an ordeal. + +Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, also +eighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, aped +him, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. +Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her as +its servant. + +Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. It +was Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, +Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by a +most reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and he +listened for her voice. + +Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, +bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see me +about?"--with a use of the past tense as connoting something of +indirection and hence of delicacy--a nicety customary, yet unconscious. +Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formality +that Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join the +church, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in the +parlour until he could attend at leisure. + +Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planned +deserted him. + +"I thought if you would give me a job," he said defencelessly. + +"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be either +irritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?" +he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistant +dentist--which? + +Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's where +his office was, wasn't there something ... It faded from him, sounded +ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now. + +There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. +Hold on, he said--hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking charge +of the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its own +grass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time after +that which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in his +garden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attention +early next month ... he owned two lots--"of course property _is_ a +burden." If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked ... Bobby +would care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thanked +Mr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, should +not stand in the way of his advancement. + +"Then that is checked off," said Mr. Deacon heartily. + +Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost upon +Di returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's. + +"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?" + +She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying +pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice +there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She +paused on the steps, a lovely figure. + +But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby. + +"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father." + +He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched +about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth +and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without +a glance. + +She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed +loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it. + +"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----" + +"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole +_school_ knows it." + +Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He +entered upon a pretty scene. + +His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child +Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of +making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue +hose, her bracelet, her ring. + +"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper +and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----" + +"Grammar, grammar," spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he +meant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other. + +"Well," said Di positively, "they _were_. Papa, see my favour." + +She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it. + +Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. She +was often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, and +her rôle reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own. + +The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the +"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry _now?_" + +Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through the +room without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processes +her son-in-law's tone inhibited all this. + +"No," she said. "I'm not hungry." + +Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked from +one to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. She +brushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching an +intenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears. + +"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned +quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but +she never had ceased to resent them. + +"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the +situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of +Monona. + +"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea." + +Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her +eyes warmed. + +"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma +Gates now," she added, and went toward the door. + +"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl." + +Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever +the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the +house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates--in lieu of, +say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness +which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life. + +Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission. + +"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina +called after. + +"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation +of his was somehow invested with the paternal. + +"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly. + +On the clock shelf lay a letter. + +"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot." + +"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share +of the blame. + +"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?" + +Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps. + +"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a +letter----" + +This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a +greater importance. + +"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still, +my mail should have more careful----" + +He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his +motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them. + +"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?" + +"Something nice," Ina was sure. + +"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously. + +"But, Dwight--is it _nice?_" from his Ina. + +"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company." + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?" + +"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense. + +"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?" + +"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says." + +"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lips +parted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. South +America, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all." When was he coming +and what was he coming for? + +"To see me," said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don't +know what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker." + +Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge +that she was not a charmer. + +The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's +eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was +their progeny hurt? + +"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to +bed? I'm pretty tired." + +Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and +shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative. + +As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and +snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply: + +"Lulu. One moment!" + +He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his +forehead was a frown. + +"You _picked_ the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously. + +Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne +to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark +stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her +breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child +Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming +the door. + + + + +II + + +MAY + +Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but every +morning it was dusted. By Lulu. + +She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, +and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leather +rocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back a +bit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz pattern +seemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes. + +Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight--in a perpetual +attitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, of +roaring a ready bass. + +And the black fireplace--there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, +fireless, and with a dust of ashes. + +In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pier +glass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. +Natural. + +This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herself +but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large +photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident +eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks--and each of the six were rounded and +convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass +you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands +and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's +brother. + +Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, +had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or +were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, +lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As +she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own +bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture +followed her, and she liked it. + +She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the +house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth +blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu +saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she +carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had +deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south +window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of +criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on +something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine +herself sharing. + +The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking. + +"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till +I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"--the village salutation +signifying kindly attention. + +Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily. + +The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, +and this she now divined, and said absently: + +"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more." + +"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun +of me all the time?" + +At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to +have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and +looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about +you." + +"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, were +they? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion. + +"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I--I never wanted to." Again +the upward look. + +"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything like +that." + +"Of course you didn't." She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyes +full. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you." + +She ran into the house. + +Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise of +some secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She was +thinking: + +"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But _how_ did she do that?" + +Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a manner +of speculation, at the photograph of Ninian. + +Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in his +understanding of the female character was sufficiently developed to +cause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhaps +that was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. +What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedly +toward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he could +return in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but it +was in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which he +seemed to be coöperating without his conscious will. Continually he +glanced toward the house. + +These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobby +were eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt that +sweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more. + +She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take some +out to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?" + +It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill. + +After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to the +Chautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemed +to be that she never went anywhere. + +When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turned +aimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And she +thought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina and +Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the way +that a futurist receives the subjects of his art--forms not vague, but +heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always +motion--motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of all +was that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. The +perfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had her +dream as a saint her sense of heaven. + +"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp." + +She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took one +last look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed on +her Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would be +to-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon would +arrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo +pin.... + +She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not +there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at +her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, +now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and +her ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy of +leisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle. + +"Inie ought to make over her delaine," Mrs. Bett comfortably began. They +talked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear," +said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father." She +described it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They were +individuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to the +Deacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore no +relationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes were +bright. + +Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should have +a lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and a +dish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that she +knew--offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that this +woman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged. + +When she had eaten she grew sleepy--rather cross at the last and +inclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu's +defence, lifted an ancient weapon. + +"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if she +hadn't married?" + +Lulu said nothing. + +"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it. + +Lulu said no more. After a long time: + +"You always was jealous of Inie," said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed. + +As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from its +bracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirt +lifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news of +some other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate only +in her feet and her long hair. + +She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of +Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, +but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was no +possibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which she +made no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what. + +In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across +the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett +was asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother," Lulu had said, as her +mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off +the curse by calling it her "si-esta," long _i_.) Monona was playing +with a neighbour's child--you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as +they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there. + +A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A +long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined. + +"Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but +since I'm here--" + +He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen. + +"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said. + +"I'm her sister," said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last. + +"Well, I'm Bert's brother," said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?" + +He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down +heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair. + +"Oh, yes," said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep." + +"Don't call her, then," said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted." + +He said it absently, hardly looking at her. + +"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin," he added. + +Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing +to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as +heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk. + +"I thought maybe ..." said she, and offered it. + +"Thank _you_!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live," he +observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Ina +had a sister," he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of her +relatives----" + +Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully. + +"He has," she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good deal +of the work." + +"I'll bet you do," said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had +been violated. "What's your name?" he bethought. + +She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, her +hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were +given with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tells +something of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feel +in catastrophe--no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the +thing cannot possibly be happening. + +"You folks expect me?" he went on. + +"Oh, yes," she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for you +every day." + +"'See," he said, "how long have they been married?" + +Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years." + +"And a year before that the first one died--and two years they were +married," he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twenty +years since Bert and I have seen each other." + +"How awful," Lulu said, and flushed again. + +"Why?" + +"To be that long away from your folks." + +Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity of +her present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be so +awful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di--yes, and Ina, for twenty +years? + +"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he's +roamed around on his own." He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around on +his own," he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't know +that." + +"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carved +the crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?" + +"Maybe she does. Do you?" + +"Yes," said Lulu. + +"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamond +ring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years of +galloping about," he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer his +interests from himself to her. + +"Where?" she asked, although she knew. + +"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama." He searched his +memory. "Colombo," he superadded. + +"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desire +to see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But she +wanted passionately to meet her companion's mind. + +"It's the life," he informed her. + +"Must be," Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up. + +"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last. + +By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into a +passion of excitement. + +"Here," she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before +that we lived in the country." + +He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watched +her veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl," he was thinking. + +"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs.?" + +Lulu flushed in anguish. + +"Miss," she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. +Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "From +choice," she said. + +He shouted with laughter. + +"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it." He made his palms +taut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said. + +Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face. + +"Which kind of a Mr. are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutings +redoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her? + +"Never give myself away," he assured her. "Say, by George, I never +thought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married or +not, by his name!" + +"It don't matter," said Lulu. + +"Why not?" + +"Not so many people want to know." + +Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one ever +laughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at _her_. "Go it, old +girl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear. + +The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herself +round the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in the +heel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straight +hair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. She +began to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely +articulate, then in vogue in her group. And, + +"Whose dog?" she shrieked. + +Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished something +that he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, +loose-lipped. + +"I'll bet I'm your uncle," said Ninian. + +Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona was +thrilled by this intelligence. + +"Give us a kiss," said Ninian, finding in the plural some vague +mitigation for some vague offence. + +Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such a +great big tall girl--they would have to put a board on her head. + +"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring. + +"This," said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps a +jewellery shop in heaven." + +The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twenty +other diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when the +sun comes up in the west. Of course--often! Some day he was going to +melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, ever +after. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say----He did it all +gravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. This +was no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its own +sake. + +He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, the +braggart, the unbridled, unmodified male. + +Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, +softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In her +listening look, she showed herself a charming child. + +"It strikes me," said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do something +mighty interesting before you die." + +It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keep +something going, but Lulu was all faith. + +She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from her +fingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He was +completely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at his +picture and she was abashed and turned away. + +"Well, I hope so," she said, which had certainly never been true, for +her old formless dreams were no intention--nothing but a mush of +discontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit," she +said. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprising +longing to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "What +would the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mild +sense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance. + +"You're the stuff," he remarked absently. + +She laughed happily. + +The door opened. Ina appeared. + +"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be a +pedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chin +lifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu. + +"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm your +husband's brother. Ain't this Ina?" + +It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him. + +Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. It +gave one hope for the whole species. + +"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double _e_ to +the initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the _y_ sound squinted +in. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun. + +He kissed her. + +"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina's +conception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions--was his +train on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any one +could direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She must +telephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved fling +of her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea--she stood +taut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. How +unfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said. + +The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. +She must, she must participate. + +"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair. + +"Gracious sakes," said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn't +forget to give it to her." + +They adjourned to the porch--Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy was +presented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place." Ina +delightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, +the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m--m," rising inflection, +and the "I see," prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina said +that they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have a +family--but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using her +eyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and she +believed herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly ... + +She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, +banality, guffaw ... good will. + +And Lulu, peeping through the blind. + +When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a light +rain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, were +constrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintly +lustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, +looking in from some other level. + +"The only thing," said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain is +that I'm let off croquet." He rolled his r's, a favourite device of his +to induce humour. He called it "croquette." He had never been more +irrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, the +need to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous little +home--simple and pathetic desire. + +"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce a +little." + +"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, so +faintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form. + +Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing it +and rocking. + +"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man." She +spoke as if he were about the age of Monona. + +Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and human +relationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and she +would have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was she +forbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beast +beneath him. + +The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di and +Jenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, might +be heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been driven +from the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through the +dishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared about +resentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized upon +Monona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Monona +wriggled like a puppy, as hers. + +"Quiet, pettie," said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in her +teeth. + +"Well, sir," said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, but +mother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up." + +Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke of +this foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them through +the graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of her +he became his inner self. + +"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin," he said. + +To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tender +ardour. + +"Little," Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into a +nice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nin +into--say, Nin, what are you, anyway?" + +They laughed. + +"That's the question," said Ninian. + +They laughed. + +"Maybe," Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about his +travels. He is quite a traveller, you know," she said to the Plows. "A +regular Gulliver." + +They laughed respectfully. + +"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon," Mrs. Plow said. "You know we've +never seen _very_ much." + +Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen +them: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For the +populations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soil +mighty poor pickings. And the business--say! Those fellows don't +know--and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian. + +He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He was +equipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts were +negligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninian +had been wrought upon by all his voyaging. + +"Tell you," said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to the +state fair, little did we think--" He told about running away to the +state fair. "I thought," he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might get +over to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not." + +The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there in +Warbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is never +so casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go to +Europe" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight had +somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, and +his Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensively +covered her soft triumph. + +Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first +observation. + +"Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no +more. + +Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But +Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was +company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. + +And it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_-- + +Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed--she +could not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finished +and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. +And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. +She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral. + +Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny +upstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, coming +home with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had +come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying: + +"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I could +never marry just anybody. I'd _smother_." + +Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly to +their greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu. + +Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying." + +Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no." +"Because," she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right." + +But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had not +Lulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem--oh, no! Lulu could not +have heard properly. + +"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them," she thought now, sitting +by the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella. + +She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. +Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, then +resentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air. + +"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed," she thought, and +derived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again. + +Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen. + +Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog had +been fed. + +"I fed him," she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninian +entered. + +"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't you +come in the other room?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along.' +Then I remembered the dishes." He glanced about. "I come to help wipe +dishes." + +"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where she +got it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago." + +"Well then, what are you doing here?" + +"Resting." + +"Rest in there." He bowed, crooked his arm. "Señora," he said,--his +Spanish matched his other assimilations of travel-- + +"Señora. Allow me." + +Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating and +did not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. +But Ina looked up and said: + +"Well!"--in two notes, descending, curving. + +Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched white +skirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim of +white embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetually +she adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, her +long wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. +She was tense. She rocked. + +When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken at +last by Mrs. Bett: + +"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it," +she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forget +about. Monona, get off my rocker." + +Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said +"Darling--quiet!"--chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lower +teeth for the word's completion; and she held it. + +The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if it +would let up raining _at all_. Di and Jenny came whispering into the +room. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside. + +"Miss Lulu," he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, +because I knew how interested you are in travels." + +He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person who +most enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words that +he said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and she +dare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wanted +to hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one hand +to support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for the +rocking. + +Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one was +talking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but at +her. + + + + +III + + +JUNE + +On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said with +his manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?" + +Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-_day?_" + +"First class day, it looks like to me." + +Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, +but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources of +the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the +child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, +elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her +face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has +danced. Di gave a conservative assent--she was at that age--and then +took advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demanded +that Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, +partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little family +and Uncle Ninian would have been so nice," she sighed, with her consent. + +When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porch +and Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in a +blue-cotton house-gown. + +"Look here," said Ninian, "aren't you going?" + +"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no." + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember." + +"But why not?" + +"Oh, I never think of such a thing." + +Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said: + +"Lulu's a regular home body." + +And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like." + +"No," said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you," she added, formally. + +Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlingly +close--just beyond the blind, in fact: + +"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on." + +"Well," said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and you +come along." + +For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as a +possibility. She stared up at Ninian. + +"You can slip on my linen duster, over," Ina said graciously. + +"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know. + +"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one." + +They were having to wait for Di in any case--they always had to wait for +Di--and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was running +to make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down the +wrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linen +duster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair; +she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well. + +They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time in +her life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her and +the little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care what +Ina liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, was +enchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand. + +Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared from +nowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit. + +"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him. + +She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian. + +"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough," was all that she could get +to say. + +They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, across +the river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip of +warm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparable +fires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birth +nor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothing +to do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went and +tried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening the +condensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. +Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Lulu +did all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gone +for water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging her +to the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on their +return Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic. + +"Those who disregard the comfort of other people," he enunciated, "can +not expect consideration for themselves in the future." + +He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but he +delivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with her +teeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like a +little demon. + +As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad had +begun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller in +green fastnesses. He began: + +"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don't +get out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar the +bottle. Nature's tonic--eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See that +water. Could anything be more pleasant?" + +He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. +He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. +But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to +be: + +"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...." + +After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, and +Dwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's use +of that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and his +younger daughter. Ina was timid----not because she was afraid but because +she was congenitally timid--with her this was not a belief or an +emotion, it was a disease. + +"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?" + +Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river. + +"But you're not so very used----" + +Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth if +not he? + +Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in a +permanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, the +child Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. On +this pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. +It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of all +other men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she looked +up to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But let +him take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of any +horse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband by +preference. It was a phenomenon. + +Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody's +way. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and +wished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended not +to see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing to +remain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made no +explanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed. + +And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks and +herds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time. + +The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns +appeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, +the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the time +communicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had not +yet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement in +his presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To him +the air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facile +sympathy. + +"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hard +around here." + +"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished. + +"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you +won't mind my asking." + +"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too." + +"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. You +want it, too. You told me you did--that first day." + +She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she had +never really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted she +knew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of this +rôle. + +"I guess you don't see how it seems," he said, "to me, coming along--a +stranger so. I don't like it." + +He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamond +obediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid air +of the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she was +feeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her. + +"They're very good to me," she said. + +He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never had +anybody really good to you. That's why." + +"But they treat me good." + +"They make a slave of you. Regular slave." He puffed, frowning. "Damned +shame, _I_ call it," he said. + +Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----" + +"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you ever +go anywheres?" + +She said: "This is the first place in--in years." + +"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!" + +"Not so much places like this----" + +"I see. What you want is to get away--like you'd ought to." He regarded +her. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman," he said. + +She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her: + +"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself." + +His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good," he said. +He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it," he mused, +"blamed if I do." + +"How I do what?" + +"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say." + +Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talk +like this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to any +one. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability to +speak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that other +Lulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speak +for her. As now: + +"It's my grand education," she said. + +She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light of +the warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and was +in her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she sat +stiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyes +rather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from her +came these sufficient, insouciant replies. + +"Education," he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too." He spoke a +creed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it." + +"Most folks are happy without an education," said Lulu. + +"You're not very happy, though." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +"Well, sir," said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm here +I'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city." + +"To the city?" + +"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you _one_ good time." + +"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been." + +"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell me +just what you like to eat, and we'll get it----" + +She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cooked +myself." + +He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intensely +experiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that future +merry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness that +he--some one--any one--was planning like this for her. + +Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house and +kept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others was +withdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves to +give off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpowering +personalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wanted +one. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, +frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs for +bait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. +There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone through +before Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged to +say, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with the +same zest with which he had discussed bait. + +"Bobby," said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not wait +for any old money." + +They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grown +from out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both--and +especially Di--so much wanted the experiences of attraction that they +assumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty rôle +required by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time. + +"Would you?" asked Bobby--but in the subjunctive. + +She said: "Yes. I will." + +"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, still +subjunctive. + +"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable." + +"Di," said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me." + +"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man--you know you are." + +Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it--but he passed it over. + +"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, +sparkling. + +Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his big +frame, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin and +full mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope +_now_. + +"I've planned eloping lots of times," she said ambiguously. + +It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he may +not always have been the principal, and he could not be sure ... But +she talked in nothings, and he answered her so. + +Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out of +the strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there sat +Dwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would. + +"Bertie, Bertie--please!" you heard his Ina say. + +Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be +ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew +that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars +with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it." + +"That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger. + +They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyed +crying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as an +echo. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this was +the last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. +Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of him +humour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Ina +kept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. +Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now remembered +it and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant. + +Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the sense +of disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. +Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no idea +how to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in the +river. Even Di ... He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which was +the signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid of +silence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome. + +But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homeward +beside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in her +sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He had +told Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean? +Suppose ... oh no; oh no! + +"Either lay still or get up and set up," Mrs. Bett directed her at +length. + + + + +IV + + +JULY + +When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairs +dressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waist +which she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. And +really, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, and +its wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck look +thinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" and +parted in the middle, puffed high--it was so that hair had been worn in +Lulu's girlhood. + +"_Well_!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, +head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip. + +For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster--the old one. + +Ninian appeared, in a sack coat--and his diamond. His distinctly convex +face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once +more that bold sense of looking--not at him, for then she was shy and +averted her eyes--but at his photograph at which she could gaze as much +as she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Was +he not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were going +because she, Lulu, had brought about this party. + +"Act as good as you look, Lulie," Mrs. Bett called after them. She gave +no instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, +it seemed. + +Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard to +take it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, +now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to the +others with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off her +so-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage. + +The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. On +the train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulu +sat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she too +had been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boy +between them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over her +own, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman lifted +her eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking. + +Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in many +cities--as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in a +strange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown café, then popular +among business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, was +reached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes took +the air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, +changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "What +do you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing the +waiter with painstaking gruffness. + +"Not that they can touch _your_ cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, +settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust. + +Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was +a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his +wife, who now remarked: + +"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff." + +This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear--another mean +advantage. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite--no, over the other +way." + +"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Ina +inquired acidly. + +"I started to and then somebody always said something," said Lulu +humbly. + +Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against any +shadow. + +"Say, but you look tremendous to-night," Dwight observed to her. + +Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yet +flushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought: +"They're feeling sorry for Ina--nobody talking to her." She laughed at +everything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. +"How many folks keep going past," she said, many times. + +At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina's +isolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian's +attention. She therefore talked with him about himself. + +"Curious you've never married, Nin," she said. + +"Don't say it like that," he begged. "I might yet." + +Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this. + +"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't," Dwight +threw in with exceeding rancour. + +They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in the +third person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. It +was inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumed +for the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene about +them. But gradually her cheeks began to burn. + +"She'll cry," Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hat +is so pretty--ever so much prettier than the old one." But Ina said +frostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one. + +"Let us talk," said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down." + +He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardly +heard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her in +this confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his manner +was open to misinterpretation. + +In the nick of time, the lobster was served. + + * * * * * + +Dinner and the play--the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "Peter +Pan," chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at any +theatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortal +soul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all was +over, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurable +excitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more the +irrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident that +she was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon the +little doubling chin. + +They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. The +dog-kennel part--wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with the +rest of the play. + +"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook--he was my style," said +Dwight. + +"Well, there it is again," Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the real +play, either." + +"Oh, well," Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catch +everybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that." + +"And I didn't understand," said Ina, "why they all clapped when the +principal character ran down front and said something to the audience +that time. But they all did." + +Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished that +Monona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty that +she herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliest +light. + +Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I have +said that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemed +to her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening had +been to her a light from heaven--how could she find anything to say? She +sat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look moving +from one to another. At last Ninian looked at her. + +"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?" + +"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well." + +It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she had +not said enough. + +"You could hear everything they said," she added. "It was--" she +dwindled to silence. + +Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkled +dimples. + +"Excellent sauces they make here--excellent," he said, with the frown of +an epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all +laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he +meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this +sort, for an hour. + +"Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance +on the table." + +"Dwightie!" + +"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to read +the funeral service over us." + +"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian. + +In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating to +Dwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisive +endorsement of this proposal. + +"I shouldn't object," said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?" + +Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking at +her. She made an anguished effort to defend herself. + +"I don't know it," she said, "so I can't say it." + +Ninian leaned toward her. + +"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife," he pronounced. +"That's the way it goes!" + +"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those at +the near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood and +motherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu that +way.... + +Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it," he challenged. + +From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes +fought her battles, suddenly spoke out: + +"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband." + +"You will?" Ninian cried. + +"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could +join in, could be as merry as the rest. + +"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't +we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table. + +"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to--holy +things----what's the _matter_, Dwightie?" + +Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet. + +"Say, by George," he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state." + +"A civil wedding? Oh, well--" Ninian dismissed it. + +"But I," said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate." + +They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with the +indeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about and +returned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Ninian +continued to laugh. + +"I never saw one done so offhand," said Dwight. "But what you've said is +all you have to say according to law. And there don't have to be +witnesses ... say!" he said, and sat down again. + +Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showed +dark as she swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again. + +"Don't you let Dwight scare you," she besought Ninian. + +"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you ask +me." + +Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, and +now he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. +Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced her +and left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. It +was exactly like looking at his photograph. + +Dwight had recovered his authentic air. + +"Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, +I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city--no +one'll be the wiser." + +"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand." + +"Are you serious, Nin?" + +"Sure I'm serious." + +Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm. + +"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?" + +Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest," she said. + +"I am in earnest--hope to die," Ninian declared. He was on two legs of +his chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of his +earnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest. + +They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and there +was something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, about +this thing. + +Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre," he +cried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way--" +and was off. + +Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh," she said, "what will +mamma say?" + +Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant. + +"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian. + +For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touched +him. + +"Say," he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over again +somewhere, if you say so." + +"Oh," said Lulu, "if I thought--" + +He leaned and patted her hand. + +"Good girl," he said. + +They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plump +hands. + +Dwight returned. "It's a go all right," he said. He sat down, laughed +weakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the church +could tie you." + +"Good enough," said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?" + +"It's--it's all right, I guess," Lulu said. + +"Well, I'll be dished," said Dwight. + +"Sister!" said Ina. + +Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to trace +the processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of the +devil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhaps +the incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part. + +"I was going to make a trip south this month," he said, "on my way home +from here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and start +right off. You'd like that, wouldn't you--going South?" + +"Yes," said Lulu only. + +"It's July," said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard. + +It was arranged that their trunks should follow them--Ina would see to +that, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return to +Warbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett. + +"Mamma won't mind," said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more." + +They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tables +saw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, +indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime in +deafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march. + + * * * * * + +It was still early next day--a hot Sunday--when Ina and Dwight reached +home. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch. + +"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett. + +They told. + +Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched their +faces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her first +question was: + +"Who's going to do your work?" + +Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest. + +"Oh," she said, "you and I'll have to manage." + +Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning. + +"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts," she said. "I +can't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you." + +"We've had our breakfasts," Ina escaped from this dilemma. + +"Had it up in the city, on expense?" + +"Well, we didn't have much." + +In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu. + +"I should think," she said, "I should think Lulie might have had a +little more gratitude to her than this." + +On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left the +house some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company with +Bobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, so +young, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication. + +"That child," said Ina, "_must_ not see so much of that Larkin boy. +She's just a little, little girl." + +"Of course she mustn't," said Dwight sharply, "and if _I_ was her +mother--" + +"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps. + +To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Ina +announced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brother +Ninian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro_man_tic ... spoken +with that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey. + + + + +V + + +AUGUST + +Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim," brought on by nothing definable. +Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallen +silent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was ready +and Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from the +room and closed her bedroom door until it echoed. + +"She's got one again," said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go." + +He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside his +mother-in-law's door and knocked. + +No answer. + +"Mother, come and have some supper." + +No answer. + +"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever." + +No answer. + +"Come on--I had something funny to tell you and Ina." + +He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by this +woman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him away +unsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, +at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwight +made a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their evening +meal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceeding +facetiousness inquired how Bobby was. + +Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going to +tease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. It +depended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. She +now groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going to +take her and Jenny for ice cream that night. + +Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood. + +"I won't have you downtown in the evening," she said. + +"But you let me go last night." + +"All the better reason why you should not go to-night." + +"I tell you," cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have ice +cream...." He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconciling +element in his home. + +"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, +her parted lips. + +"You too, certainly." Dwight could not do enough for every one. + +Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let me +go." + +"That's why papa's going to take you this time," Ina said. + +These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another: + +"But," she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can _not_ go." + +"I don't want any more." Monona's look was honest and piteous. + +"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick." + +"No!" + +"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl." + +Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewing +high, and slowly. + +"See? She can eat if she will eat," Ina said to Dwight. "The only +trouble is, she will _not_ take the time." + +"She don't put her mind on her meals," Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, +bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter. + +Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths. + +"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired. + +"Certainly. The whole party." + +"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I." + +"Me, darling," said Ina patiently, punctiliously--and less punctiliously +added: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party." + +"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement." + +"Well," said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside--that important +engagement. I think we just will." + +"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I--" + +"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of your +grammar or shall I speak to you again?" + +"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than--than--than--" she looked +resentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evident +to her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to be +ashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, +frowning, put-upon. + +"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at one +impulse. Ina saw only the empty plate. + +"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child. + +The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulously +applied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this little +family. But there was no one to apply them. + + * * * * * + +When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked: + +"Nothing new from the bride and groom?" + +"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last." + +"See--where were they then?" + +He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Ina +played his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said. + +"I don't understand," she added, "why they should go straight to Oregon +without coming here first." + +Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly +in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs. + +"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters," Ina proceeded. "They're +so--so--" + +"You haven't had but two, have you?" + +"That's all--well, of course it's only been a month. But both letters +have been so--" + +Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had the +blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter +go at that. + +"I don't think it's fair to mamma--going off that way. Leaving her own +mother. Why, she may never see mamma again--" Ina's breath caught. Into +her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she +sometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten to +put some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in her +face as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from her +tantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. +In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love. + +Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of +the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. +Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett," but she shook +her head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived +to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jenny +arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, +and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside +her, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" cried +Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense +and living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett +left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the +old cripple, Grandma Gates. + +"Inie sha'n't have 'em," the old woman thought. + +And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom +she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom +she tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour had +gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to +have her come in. + +Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family +returned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny. + +"Look here," said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has _ice_ +cream put in her lap, like a queen?" + +"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice. + +"Vanilly sets better," Mrs. Bett said. + +They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creaking +board. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirt +over her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but the +warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its +particles. + +The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it was +Lulu. + + * * * * * + +"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Ina +cried out something. + +"How did you know?" Lulu asked. + +"Know! Know what?" + +"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma." + +She passed the others, and kissed her mother. + +"Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' +cream." + +"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you +talking?" + +"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked. + +"Not a word." Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you--the +last from Savannah, Georgia." + +"Savannah, Georgia," said Lulu, and laughed. + +They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with a +little tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wise +upset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement. + +"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't he +here? Where is he?" + +"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time," Lulu said. + +"Oregon!" + +"You see," said Lulu, "he had another wife." + +"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly. + +"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. +But he isn't sure." + +"Nonsense," said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so." + +"I had to be sure," said Lulu. + +At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs to +bed at once." + +"It's only quarter to," said Monona, with assurance. + +"Do as mamma tells you." + +"But--" + +"Monona!" + +She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. +Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walking +slowly backward. + +"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was your +husband married?" + +"Yes," Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother." + +"Mercy," said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family." + +"Well, go on--go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it." + +Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation: + +"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out to +California and up the coast." On this she paused and sighed. "Well, then +at Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So he +told me." + +"Yes--well, what did he _say_?" Dwight demanded irritably. + +"Cora Waters," said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in San +Diego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him." + +"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did," said Dwight. + +"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, after +two years, she ran away again. That's all he knows." + +"That's a pretty story," said Dwight contemptuously. + +"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. And +she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is," Lulu +said again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure." + +"Well, but mercy," said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?" + +"It might take a long time," said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want to +stay and not know." + +"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted. + +"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said he +thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course +that'd been hard--wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead." + +"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes were +simple. + +"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a +curious emphasis. + +"I thought that, just at first," Lulu said, "but only just at first. Of +course that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me my +choice." + +"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed. + +"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice when +he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia." + +"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwight +asked. + +"Why, he'd got to thinking about it," she answered. + +A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street. + +"The only thing," she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish he +hadn't told me till we got to Oregon." + +"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said. + +Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to +understand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her +body. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee. + +"He felt bad too," Lulu said. + +"He!" said Dwight. "He must have." + +"It's you," Ina sobbed. "It's you. _My_ sister!" + +"Well," said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, +or I wouldn't have come home. I knew," she added, "it'd make Dwight feel +bad. I mean, it was his brother--" + +"Thank goodness," Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it." + +Lulu regarded her, without change. + +"Oh, yes," she said in her monotone. "People will have to know." + +"I do not see the necessity." Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too he +said "do not," always with Dwight betokening the finalities. + +"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled. + +"What difference does it make what they think?". + +"Why," said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like--you see they might--why, +Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them." + +"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something +the whole town will have to know about?" + +Lulu looked at him with parted lips. + +"Say," she said, "I never thought about it being that." + +Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, +pray?" + +"Ninian's," said Lulu. + +"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feel +sorry for you. But the disgrace--that'd reflect on me. See?" + +"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?" + +Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leaves +her husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all." + +"I should hate that," said Lulu. + +"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you." + +"Dwight, Dwight," said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'll +hear--" + +As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve. + +"Lulie," she said, "was his other wife--was she _there_?" + +"No, no, mother. She wasn't there." + +Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad," +she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out." + +"No," Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother." + +Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, +but the large issues left her blank. + +Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, the +Deacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burner +and faced about, saying: + +"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, to +make your home with us in the future, on the old terms." + +"Well--" + +"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?" + +"No. He didn't give me any money--only enough to get home on. And I +kept my suit--why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken any +money!" + +"That means," said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to live +here--on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. +Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition--on condition that +this disgraceful business is kept to ourselves." + +She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, +quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing. + +"Truly, Lulu," said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. +But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd be +about all of us." + +Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth." + +Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu," he said, "are you _sure_ of +that?" + +"Sure?" + +"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?" + +"Proofs?" + +"Letters--documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was +speaking the truth?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu. "Proofs--no. He told me." + +"He told you!" + +"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him to +have to do. What proofs--" She stopped, puzzled. + +"Didn't it occur to you," said Dwight, "that he might have told you that +because he didn't want to have to go on with it?" + +As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, +looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightly +fallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust she +began to rub at that. + +"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side. + +"I may as well tell you," he said, "that I myself have no idea that +Ninian told you the truth. He was always imagining things--you saw +that. I know him pretty well--have been more or less in touch with him +the whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever married +before." + +Lulu continued to rub at her skirt. + +"I never thought of that," she said. + +"Look here," Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had some +little tiff when he told you?" + +"No--no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina." + +She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile. + +"Evidently not," Dwight said drily. + +Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress--and my shoes--and my +hat. And another dress, too." She found the pins and took off her hat. +"He liked the red wing," she said. "I wanted black--oh, Dwight! He did +tell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mute +witness. + +Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too. + +"Even if it is true," said he, "I desire that you should keep silent +and protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts to +you for your own profit." + +"My own profit!" + +She said no more, but rose and moved to the door. + +"Lulu--you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't have +this known--even if it was so." + +"You have it in your hands," said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, for +anything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You also +have it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. That +is not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctly +unpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself." + +Lulu went on, into the passage. + +"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly. + +"Mamma," said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes--Dwight thinks +she's married all right now--and that it's all right, all the time." + +"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes," said Mrs. Bett, and left the room +with her daughter. + +Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice: + +"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?" + + * * * * * + +When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready. + +"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times." + +Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to the +table. + +"Lulu's the only one in _this_ house can cook the bacon so's it'll +chew," Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and held +contentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right. + +"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festive +toaster." He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, became +breezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well +back and gently shaken. + +Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that +she, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to +anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, +which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. She +stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly. + +Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. +Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her old +offices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested +milk toast and went to make it. + +"Mamma," Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Ninian +coming too?" + +"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions." + +"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?" + +"_No_. Don't say anything at all about her." + +"But, mamma. What has she done?" + +"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?" + +Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. But +now Dwight said: + +"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?" + +"I don't know," said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me like +a little girl now." + +"Shame, Di," said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the +side of Di. + +"I'm eighteen," Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school." + +"Then act so," boomed her father. + +Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and there +imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to +questions skilfully shaped. + +When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief," displayed a +hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed +him: + +"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address." + +"Well?" + +"Well, I wish you'd give it to me." + +Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem," he said, "that +you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu." + +"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?" + +"Certainly I have it." + +"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paper +and a pencil stump. + +"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not be sensible and leave +this alone? No good can come by--" + +"But why shouldn't I have his address?" + +"If everything is over between you, why should you?" + +"But you say he's still my husband." + +Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as +I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch +with him again." + +"You won't give it to me?" + +"My dear Lulu, in all kindness--no." + +His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different coloured +borders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she had +embroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her. + + * * * * * + +They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs. + +"_Where_ are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing that +Lulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, what +you so dressed up for?" + +Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, and +wore the tilting hat with the red wing. + +"Ninian bought me this," said Lulu only. + +"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well--out of +sight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her. + +"Why?" Lulu asked. + +"Why set people wondering till we have to?" + +"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned," said Lulu, and went +down the walk. + +Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her life +before," she said. + +She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down the +street. + +"That gives me the funniest feeling," said Ina, "as if Lulu had on +clothes bought for her by some one that wasn't--that was--" + +"By her husband who has left her," said Dwight sadly. + +"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she was +there; had been there the greater part of the day--most of the time +staring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu. + +"That's what it is, my little girl," said Dwight, and shook his head. + +"Well, I think it's a shame," said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninian +is a slunge." + +"Di!" + +"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to tell +everybody." + +"There is," said Dwight, "no need for secrecy--now." + +"Dwight!" said Ina--Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but it +must have been her lashes that looked so startled. + +"No need whatever for secrecy," he repeated with firmness. "The truth +is, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it." + +"But, Dwight--how awful for Lulu...." + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "has us to stand by her." + +Lulu, walking down the main street, thought: + +"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebody +behind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've got +to speak to her...." + +One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her some +version of: + +"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it _isn't_ Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, +what are you doing here? I thought...." + +"I'm back to stay," she said. + +"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, +but we were surprised! You're the sly one--" + +"My--Mr. Deacon isn't here." + +"Oh." + +"No. He's West." + +"Oh, I see." + +Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could +invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away. + +She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at the +post-office--with only one or two there had she to go through her +examination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a +new ordeal. + +To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a +slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling. + +"Excuse me," said Lulu faintly. + +The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper +which he held. + +"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?" + +"Let's see--you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?" + +"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he might +have given you his address--" she dwindled away. + +"Wait a minute," said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don't +you send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist." + +"I'll do that," Lulu said absurdly, and turned away. + +She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them +all. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But when +she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her +reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure. + +"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner. + +Abruptly her confidence rose. + +Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. They +were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with +Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly +singing. + +Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't we +look like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. +Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Ina +looked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate +cardamom seeds. + +"Whom did you see?" Ina asked. + +Lulu named them. + +"See them to talk to?" from Dwight. + +Oh, yes. They had all stopped. + +"What did they say?" Ina burst out. + +They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more. + +Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women that +cock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all over +town. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out--should do so, in +fact. Still the story would be all over town. + +"Dwight," said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address." + +"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously. + +"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted." + +"My dear Lulu," Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. +Have you no delicacy?" + +Lulu smiled--a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner of +her mouth. + +"Yes," she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'm +married or not." + +Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use his +shoulders for the purpose. + +"I myself will take this up with my brother," he said. "I will write to +him about it." + +Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him _now_!" she cried. + +"Really," said Dwight, lifting his brows. + +"Now--now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materials +from their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before him +and stood by him. "Write to him now," she said again. + +"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd." + +She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight--and they didn't know whether +he had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him--oh, don't you +see? Help me." + +Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor even +to stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was to +look to her own male merely. + +"Well," she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his own +way? Wouldn't that be better?" + +She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, +wouldn't that be better? + +"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. +Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked +away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance. + +"Lulie," she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?" + +Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before. + +"You write that letter to Ninian," she said, "and you make him tell you +so you'll understand. _I_ know he spoke the truth. But I want you to +know." + +"M--m," said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it all +over town--as soon as you have the proofs." + +"I'm going to tell it all over town," said Lulu, "just as it is--unless +you write to him now." + +"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't." + +"I would," said Lulu. "I will." + +Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But then +he sneered. + +"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?" + +"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!" + +"I would," said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it." + +"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, +"unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now." + +"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked. + +"Leave everything," said Lulu. + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not +say in what particulars, but Dwight knew. + +Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of +peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw. + +He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the +inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather +than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do +anything." + +He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in +secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it. + +"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu. + +Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows. + +"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." +He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's +nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. +He hummed a bar. + +"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked. + +Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too +dry," she said. + + * * * * * + +In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu. + +"I saw," said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything to +avoid having a scene--you know that." His glance swept a little +anxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired. + +"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it," she +now dared to say. "It's--it's not a nice position for Lulu." + +"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?" + +"Why, Ninian," said Ina. + +Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself," he said. "To tell you the truth, +I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in that +restaurant." + +"Why, but, Dwight--" + +"Brazen," he said. "Oh, it was brazen." + +"It was just fun, in the first place." + +"But no really nice woman--" he shook his head. + +"Dwight! Lulu _is_ nice. The idea!" + +He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know. + +Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, +was silent. + +"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I +should never think of you as sisters." + +"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life +behind her--but this was sweet and she could not resist. + +"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position +she's in--married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order +to get free. Now, no really nice woman--" + +"No really nice man--" Ina did say that much. + +"Ah," said Dwight, "but _you_ could never be in such a position. No, no. +Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere." + +Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as +might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed. + +"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with +ladylike feelings." + +It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until +ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young +voices. + +"Bobby," Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me as +if you really wanted to kiss me, to-night." + + + + +VI + + +SEPTEMBER + +The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality +(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above a +store which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, and +had suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies served +lunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months of +disuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to a +music man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired. + +The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his window +with sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissed +their hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, Dwight +Herbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door of +the new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, was +rubbing at the face of a piano. + +"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?" + +"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can," Dwight replied. +"Or," said he, "I might marry you free, either one." + +On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, the +idle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip. + +"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked him +once. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural--never +entered my head to be anything else. But _pianos_--" + +The music man--his name was Neil Cornish--threw up his chin in a boyish +fashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down the +Warbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound the +same. "I'm studying law when I get the chance," said Cornish, as one who +makes a bid to be thought of more highly. + +"I see," said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb. + +Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a little +inheritance some day--not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel a +certain confidence.... + +"_Don't_ it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew. + +Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never compared +Warbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively at +lunch: + +"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these +nights?" + +"Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it." + +"What if I brought him up to-night?" + +Up went Ina's eyebrows. _To-night_? + +"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," +Lulu contributed. + +Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. +This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight's +informal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, +now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guest +replied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved in +some pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness. + +They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the time +with a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was one +of the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked the +people--they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, already +liked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. +She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Come +to supper, all." Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. +Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgot +to introduce her. + +"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is never +anywhere." + +A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, grace +was to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a generic +appeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. And +there was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stages +of men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial of +taking food to nourish life--and more. + +At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh upon +her--perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, +crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear," she +said audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring." + +The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jests +about everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbleton +happenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish tried +hard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. +He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some more +stories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiously +pinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth and +thereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if it +could be from _that_. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping a +second time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed on +Di about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, first +thing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughed +heartily and lifted her glass of water. + +"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelated +effort to lift the talk to musical levels. + +"Well, do you know," said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don't +know a black note from a white one." + +"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily," said Di's mother. "But then +how can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried. + +"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales." For the first time it +occurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm really +studying law," he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, +from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them to +try over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out of +practice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Di +made one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, so +intolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be found +wanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who had +ensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think? + +Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, +"Don't you play, Miss--?" He had not caught her name--no stranger ever +did catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett," he explained +with loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu had +usually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons and +she had stopped "taking"--a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. +This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But now +Lulu was heard to say serenely: + +"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert--two weeks +ago." + +They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having had +experiences of which they did not know. + +"Yes," she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia." She flushed, and lifted +her eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course," she said, "I don't +know the names of all the different instruments they played, but there +were a good many." She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. +"They had some lovely tunes," she said. She knew that the subject was +not exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large," she +superadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it was +too warm." + +"I see," said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That he +too had been in Savannah, Georgia. + +Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and she +caught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?" +she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of the +provincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance to +maintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in that +town and that he was there for two hours. + +"I was there for a week." Lulu's superiority was really pretty. + +"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next. + +Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings--but at her "we" she +flushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. This +was the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life. + +After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try to +escape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate in +his insistence on the third person--"She loves it, we have to humour +her, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"--and more +of the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who looked +uncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paid +no attention to anybody that night, not because she had not been +introduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely as +another form of "tantrim." A self-indulgence. + +They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow and +Bobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended to +have forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She met +the objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, +set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company," +at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousness +she said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than ever +because she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to be +distinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was as +primitive as pollen. + +Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should have +outgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown none +of these things. + +"That just spoils croquet," she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have a +real game." + +From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among the +waterproofs, Lulu stepped forth. + +"I'll play a game," she said. + + * * * * * + +When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Ina +turned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. And +Ina's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, +primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert's +late wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood into +the functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. +Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, +strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that a +moral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. But +of course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verb +should be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or the +minister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never be +transitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But it +is. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to her +husband her incredible responsibility. + +"You know, Herbert," said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here _very_ +much, what we may expect." + +"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply. + +Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, +pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when she +didn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even play +her games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not to +understand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina _had_ to +please him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to please +nobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historical +home forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community. + +"He'll fall in love with Di," said Ina. + +"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in love +with her, _I_ should say." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?" + +"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of." + +"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight--a stranger so." + +"On the other hand," said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal about +him." + +With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about this +stranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a number +of stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks. + +"He has a little inheritance coming to him--shortly," Dwight wound up. + +"An inheritance--really? How much, Dwight?" + +"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?" + +"I _thought_ he was from a good family," said Ina. + +"My mercenary little pussy!" + +"Well," she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did really +accept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older +man pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?" + +Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he left +all such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetual +rehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience. + +A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was something +overpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of his +negligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For he +looked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in the +street as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines of +his life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And a +preposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos near +the front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridors +of the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, and +furnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity in +phrasing, but how mean that little room would look--cot bed, washbowl +and pitcher, and little mirror--almost certainly a mirror with a wavy +surface, almost certainly that. + +"And then, you know," he always added, "I'm reading law." + +The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, +Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing. + +Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat of +her emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, the +beloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the rôle of +womanly little girl. + +"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried. + +As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish +instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with +another lamp. + +"Do you need this?" she asked. + +They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this +Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's +photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed +the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands. + +"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only +to those who--presumably--loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had +shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return. + +She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had +bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly +about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called: + +"See here! Aren't _you_ going to sing?" + +"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? _Lulu_?" + +She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at +being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album +of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she +struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking +rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. +The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a +little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's +picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows +and watched Lulu. + +When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said +"ba-ird." + +"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!" + +"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted. + +Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to +him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal. + +"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you." + +It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law. + +Cornish was bending over Di. + +"What next do you say?" he asked. + +She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, +lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down. + +"You like sacred music?" + +She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said: +"I love it." + +"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece," Cornish +declared. + +Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face. + +"Give _me_ ragtime," he said now, with the effect of bursting out of +somewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly. + +Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smile +for him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look. + +"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge,'" Cornish suggested. "That's got up real +attractive." + +Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the very +one she had been hoping to hear him sing. + +They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge." + +"Oh," cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such a +perfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it. + +"Lulu is," said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have to +hear herself sing." + +It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About that +photograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, called +attention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing them +all. Everybody must have understood--excepting the Plows. These two +gentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and at +the melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from another +world. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetrating +plane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite of +earth, say, flowers and fire and music. + +Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ran +badly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running. + +"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them. + +"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I mean +that I'd know how to do? A job for money.... I mean a job...." + +She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them. + + * * * * * + +Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. She +heard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be right +there." + +Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he ran +down the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours that +night, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and she +could fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about two +hours of sleep the whole night long. + +Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought up +Dwight--"made him what he was," he often complacently accused her. It +was a note on a postal card--she had often written a few lines on a +postal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina get +her some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say that +she was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her while +she was still able to visit? If he was not too busy.... + +Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it up +by the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before they +left, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned the +postal card. + +And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight--you can't tell how long you'll +be gone?" + +"Of course not. How should I tell?" + +"No. And that letter might come while you're away." + +"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!" + +"Dwight--I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it--" + +"Opened it?" + +"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly--" + +"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly." + +"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?" + +"But you say you know what'll be in it." + +"So I did know--till you--I've got to see that letter, Dwight." + +"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you know +how I hate having my mail interfered with." + +She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that." She said +nothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousand +injunctions. + +"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu--if it occurs to her +to have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You might +ask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watch +Monona's handkerchief--the child will never take a clean one if I'm not +here to tell her...." + +She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus. + +In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward: + +"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threw +back his head and lifted his eyebrows. + +In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife. + +"Ina," he said. "It's _ma_. And she's going to die. It can't be...." + +Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there with +her." + +It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind of +fresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speak +through him and minister. + +Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came. + +Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that +evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and +she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She +passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were +telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than +they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and +spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster +mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed. + +Cornish stepped down and overtook her. + +"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two--" + +She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night--could you--" It +was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease. + +Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed. + +"Come for supper," Lulu said. + +Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance. + +He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the +country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return. + +Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at +ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It +became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was +_there_. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had +picked flowers for the table--a task coveted by her but usually +performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a +vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made +ice-cream. + +"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like +asking you under false--" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended +without it. + +Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said +contentedly. + +"Kind of a relief, _I_ think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from +the fulness of something or other. + +"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile. + +"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and +chitters." + +Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight +face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly. + +"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so _very_ much in love." And again +she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks +Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty +that this was not so. + +By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu and +Cornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leaf +side-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she need +not see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisement +of dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferently +fingering both. + +"Monona," Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!" + +Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive," he said--it +was his formula of praise for his music. + +"But we can't try it over," Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come." + +"Well, say," said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of Old +Favourites here. Some of them we know by heart." + +Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something," she said, "there's some of these +I can play with one hand--by ear. Maybe--" + +"Why sure!" said Cornish. + +Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the +nights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality of +being Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In +her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it +looked even more abundant--but she had not dared to try it so until +to-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin +hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped +and strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud +pedal--the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "How +Can I Leave Thee," and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, +Long Ago," and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay." Beyond open doors, +Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers +ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar. + +"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: +"You're quite a musician." + +"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I've +never done this in front of anybody," she owned. "I don't know what +Dwight and Ina'd say...." She drooped. + +They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred and +quickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, +and poured this forth, even thus trampled. + +"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to," said +Cornish. + +"Oh, no," Lulu said again. + +"Sing and play and cook--" + +"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something." But this she +had not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened. + +"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought." + +"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work." + +"I see," said Cornish. "I never thought of that," he added. She caught +his speculative look--he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, +as who in Warbleton had not heard? + +"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. +This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned in +her an unspeakable relief. + +"Oh, no," Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked. + +"Yes, you are," she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'd +like 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell." + +Cornish frowned, trying to understand. + +"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair." + +"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have." + +"Oh, that--" said Cornish. "That's not right." + +"No. But there it is. It puts me--you see what it does to me. They +think--they all think my--husband left me." + +It was curious to hear her bring out that word--tentatively, +deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant. + +Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well...." + +Before she willed it, she was telling him: + +"He didn't. He didn't leave me," she cried with passion. "He had another +wife." Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself. + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news of +her state where there would be neither hardness nor censure. + +"We were in Savannah, Georgia," she said. "We were going to leave for +Oregon--going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he was +going out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I was +sitting the same as there. He opened the door again--the same as here. I +saw he looked different--and he said quick: 'There's something you'd +ought to know before we go.' And of course I said, 'What?' And he said +it right out--how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years she +ran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. +So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me." + +"No, no. Of course he didn't," Cornish said earnestly. "But Lord +sakes--" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable +and sat down. + +"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell--he thinks it isn't true. He +thinks--he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted--" Lulu +looked up at him. + +"You see," she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me." + +"But why don't you make your--husband--I mean, why doesn't he write to +Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth--" Cornish burst out. + +Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare +sweetness. + +"He has written," she said. "The letter's there." + +He followed her look, scowled at the two letters. + +"What'd he say?" + +"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he +comes back." + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted +it with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You--you--you're +too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't." + +To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she +could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy. + +"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can +do." + +And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his +face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so +fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, +ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the +time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, +he was there, and she could talk to him. + +"It's--it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just _could_ +know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she's +dead." + +This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand. + +"Sure you would," he said briefly. + +"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And +she never heard of me." + +"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss. + +In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"I scraped up everything," she remarked, "and left the dishes set." + +"That's right, mamma," Lulu said. "Come and sit down." + +Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected +of her. + +"I don't hear any more playin' and singin'," she remarked. "It sounded +real nice." + +"We--we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma." + +"I use' to play on the melodeon," Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and +examined her right hand. + +"Well!" said Cornish. + +She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, when +she was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. She +rehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at old +fears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen--a +tragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At the +end she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she had +been telling the story of some one else. + +"Give us one more piece," she said. + +"Can we?" Cornish asked. + +"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old,'" Lulu said. + +"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish. + +They sang it, to Lulu's right hand. + +"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie," +cried, Mrs. Bett. + +Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then. + +Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. +Cornish rose to go. + +"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice was +sharp. + +"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything I +could do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?" + +That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her to +feel no intrusion. + +"Oh, thank you," she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel--" + +"Of course it is," said Cornish heartily. + +They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamour +from the grass, tiny voices, insisting. + +"Of course," said Lulu, "of course you won't--you wouldn't--" + +"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not," he repeated, "for +dollars." + +"But I knew you wouldn't," she told him. + +He took her hand. "Good-night," he said. "I've had an awful nice time +singing and listening to you talk--well, of course--I mean," he cried, +"the supper was just fine. And so was the music." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +Mrs. Bett came into the hall. + +"Lulie," she said, "I guess you didn't notice--this one's from Ninian." + +"Mother--" + +"I opened it--why, of course I did. It's from Ninian." + +Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and a +yellowed newspaper clipping. + +"See," said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hall +singer--married last night to Ninian Deacon--' Say, Lulie, that must be +her...." + +Lulu threw out her hands. + +"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He _was_ married to her, just like he +said!" + + * * * * * + +The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually at +the side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wanted +to see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking with +a troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like the +hair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruit +and honey upon the table seemed her only possible food. + +"You look troubled, Lulu," Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?" + +"No," said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask--quite a lot of places. I +guess the bakery is going to let me make cake." + +"I knew it would come to you," Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought that +this was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after the +cakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright and +quiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwight +never read from a book at table. + +"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know what +she wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceived +none. + +"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, +Lulu thought. + +"Well," said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me about +last night." + +"Last night?" + +"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where did +you go?" She turned to Jenny. + +Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across the +river and carried supper and then we came home." + +"What time did you get home?" + +"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was." + +Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed there +at Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on account +of Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To which +Lulu said an "of course," but first she stared at Jenny and so impaired +the strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go. + +"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers. + +Lulu wanted to say: "My husband _was_ married before, just as he said he +was." But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, +and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony. + +"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Lulu +spoke formally and her rehearsals were evident. + +Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her." + +With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at her +helplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually: + +"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yard +sitting in the hammock till all hours." + +Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on: + +"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't say +a word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters.' So I left her stay where +she was." + +"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone." + +"I forgot it," Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all--" She +talked of Ninian's letter. + +Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu's +softness and laxness. + +"I don't know what your mother'll say," said Lulu, "and I don't know +what people'll think." + +"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway," said Di, +and left the room. + +Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she was +anxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwight +and Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought of +Di's girlish folly, her irritating independence--"and there," Lulu +thought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew." Her mind dwelt +too on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. But +when all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She must +leave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him that +she had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to _do_? +The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof. + +Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight and +flat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about these +things. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one in +distress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strong +and swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu with +dragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative than +she had ever been. + +Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then humming +an air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through the +kitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on the +elm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden block +pavement. + +"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, like +the burden of a comic song. + +"Hush, mother," Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflicting +with her honesty. + +"Speak the truth and shame the devil," Mrs. Bett contended. + +When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Lulu +had heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectation +that she would join them. + +"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time," she thought, and for a time +said nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'd +better put her plate in the oven." + +Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating a +baked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting a +profile of passionate absorption. + +"Why, Di went off," she said. + +"Went off!" + +"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk." + +"She must have gone to Jenny's," said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do that +without telling me." + +Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" she +cried in sisterly enjoyment. + +It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at the +table that Mrs. Bett observed: + +"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel." + +"Her satchel?" + +"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it." + +"Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a +satchel?" + +"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I +didn't think Inie--" + +"Mother! Which way did she go?" + +Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen +her." + +Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railway +station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for +shopping, would be just about leaving. + +"Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. +Mother, you keep her--" + +Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton +dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she was +still two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty +"pulling out." + +She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, +her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and to +the ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains and +perturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her: + +"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?" + +"Sure she did," said Lenny. + +"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now. + +"He went in on the Local," said Lenny, and his eyes widened. + +"Where?" + +"See." Lenny thought it through. "Millton," he said. "Yes, sure. +Millton. Both of 'em." + +"How long till another train?" + +"Well, sir," said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. +Seventeen was late this morning--she'll be along, jerk of a lamb's +tail." + +"Then," said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without me +paying till after--and you got to lend me two dollars." + +"Sure thing," said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railway +system at her feet. + +"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny's +signal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow express +slowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbed +aboard. + +Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do? +Millton! She had been there but once, years ago--how could she ever +find anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriff +or somebody--no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight and +Ina were going to be angry now! And Di--little Di. As Lulu thought of +her she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di to +sew. + +In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. +She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands to +her hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She was +pulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train. + +"Could you tell me," she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotel +in Millton?" + +Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia. + +The conductor looked curiously at her. + +"Why, the Hess House," he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meet +you?" he asked, kindly. + +"No," said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks--" Her voice trailed +away. + +"Beats all," thought the conductor, using his utility formula for the +universe. + +In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. +Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be a +new servant there. + +"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobby +entrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?" + +The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, it +seemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, +but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end of +the office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her. + +"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on your +book." + +Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, +showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names and +strange writing presented themselves there, he said: + +"Tried the parlour?" + +And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pen +divorced from his ear for the express purpose. + +In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's most +pressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers in +the Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of the +intensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-coloured +chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone. + +Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started +up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the +first thing that occurred to her: + +"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel." + +"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "My +goodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?" + +"For you," said Lulu. "You--you--you'd ought not to be here, Di." + +"What's that to you?" Di cried. + +"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----" + +Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she to +go on? "Di," she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why not +let us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this sounded +as if she were talking about a tea-party. + +"Who said we wanted to be married?" + +"Well, he's here." + +"Who said he's here?" + +"Isn't he?" + +Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu," she said, "you're a funny person to be +telling _me_ what to do." + +Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was married +happy, in a home." + +"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as I +think best." + +Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to find +something to say. "What do people say to people," she wondered, "when +it's like this?" + +"Getting married is for your whole life," was all that came to her. + +"Yours wasn't," Di flashed at her. + +Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. She +must deal with this right--that was what her manner seemed to say. And +how should she deal? + +"Di," she cried, "come back with me--and wait till mamma and papa get +home." + +"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one." + +"Well, but how young that is!" + +"It is to you." + +"Di! This is wrong--it _is_ wrong." + +"There's nothing wrong about getting married--if you stay married." + +"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know." + +"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And I +won't stay at home--I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten years +old." + +Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding. + +"Why, Di," she said, "do you feel that way too?" + +Di missed this. She went on: + +"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowed +to do a thing I feel. I want to be away--I will be away!" + +"I know about that part," Lulu said. + +She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di was +suffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had not +thought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, +so--asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House at +Millton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were let +alone? + +"You don't know what it's like," Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughed +at and paid no attention to, everything you say." + +"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?" + +She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If _this_ was why Di was +leaving home.... + +"But, Di," she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?" + +By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody," she said, "and +it might as well be him." + +"But is it him?" + +"Yes, it is," said Di. "But," she added, "I know I could love almost +anybody real nice that was nice to me." And this she said, not in her +own right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, or +else the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke through +her, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned its +face to be recognised. + +"Di!" she cried. + +"It's true. You ought to know that." She waited for a moment. "You did +it," she added. "Mamma said so." + +At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive its +truth. + +"I know what I want to do, I guess," Di muttered, as if to try to cover +what she had said. + +Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understood +Di, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Di +actually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that they +were both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were two +women. And she must make Di know that she understood her. + +"Di," Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. +Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you--" + +She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtue +of that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said: + +"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!" + +Lulu glanced down. "I know," she said, "but I guess you'll have to put +up with me." + +The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those who +examine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. +These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di kept +silence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing to +do with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "What +do you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply. + +"I mean I'm going to stay with you." + +Di laughed scornfully--she was again the rebellious child. "I guess +Bobby'll have something to say about that," she said insolently. + +"They left you in my charge." + +"But I'm not a baby--the idea, Aunt Lulu!" + +"I'm going to stay right with you," said Lulu. She wondered what she +should do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that bright +lobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. +And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in her +agonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes. + +Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, and +looked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing more +to say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive. + +They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room. + +Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession. + +The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, +came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glanced +sidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease. + +The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on an +importance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby--a Bobby who +wished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in the +Hess House at Millton. + +The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no less +than overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure upon +which he found himself. + +The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobby +into whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief. + +Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her rôle, +ignored Lulu. + +"Bobby! Is it all right?" + +Bobby looked over her head. + +"Miss Lulu," he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu." + +He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug. + +"Bobby," said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but she +can't. I've told her so." + +"She don't have to stop us," quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped." + +"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctive +in her melodrama. + +Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out. + +"We're minors," said he. + +"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that." + +"No. They knew _I_ was." + +"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?" + +"But I am." + +Di stared. "For pity sakes," she said, "don't you know how to do +anything?" + +"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head held +very stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin. + +"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we're +responsible--that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny...." + +"You wanted me to lie?" he said. + +"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib." + +"Well, but this--" he stared at her. + +"I never heard of such a thing," Di cried accusingly. + +"Anyhow," he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've told +our ages. We've got to have our folks in on it." + +"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded. + +"What else?" + +"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and be +married there." + +"Di," said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go." + +Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He replied +stonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her little +hand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulu +sitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge," Di +cried, and rose. + +Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don't +know what I can say." Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I've +told Di," she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. +Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take me +along, I guess." She spoke in a manner of distinct apology. + +At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at the +carpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation in +the eternal query: How did I get into it? + +"Bobby," said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?" + +This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di had +counted. He said loudly: + +"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you or +any other girl." + +Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like a +man in a story," she said, "as--as papa is." + +The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time to +stay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between the +lovers. + +"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, and +swallowed. + +"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out--" said Di. + +"I don't want to back out," Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but I +won't--" + +"Come on, Aunt Lulu," said Di grandly. + +Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought up +the rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Heads +turned to look at her. They passed into the street. + +"You two go ahead," said Lulu, "so they won't think--" + +They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, and +thought of her broken shoes. + +At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, he +said, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. And +Lulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all. + +"Aunt Lulu," said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. You +look as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here." + +"All right, Di," said Lulu humbly. + + * * * * * + +It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bett +stood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron. + +"Surprise for you!" she called brightly. + +Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall. + +"Darling!" + +She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw the +travelling bag. + +"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?" + +In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. She +now laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs. + +Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen. + +"Well, where have _you_ been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw such +a family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tell +anything." + +"Mamma knows a-plenty," snapped Mrs. Bett. + +Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down. + +"You'll catch it--you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill general +warning. + +Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about her +bag and now she says I don't know nothing," she complained. "There I +knew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her and +spoil her gettin' home." She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a good +notion not to eat a mouthful o' supper," she announced. + +"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've got +enough to get through to-night." + +Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him the +mysterious circumstance of the bag, could hear the exaggerated air of +the casual with which he always received the excitement of another, and +especially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, +and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pity +for Di, as if she herself were about to face them. + +There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cotton +dress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered the +dining-room. + +"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown." + +She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression--almost +as if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye. + +"_That_ shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, +aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!" + +Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head was +moving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought better +of it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on another +dress?" + +Lulu sat down in her place. "No," she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, +Dwight." + +"It seems to me--" he began. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, +who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly: + +"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulu +been with mamma's new bag?" + +"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, that +alters it." + +"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly. + +"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt," said Dwight Herbert, "events +begin to event." + +"Come, Di, let's hear," said Ina. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? How +is----" + +Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his face +dropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes. + +"She'll never be any better," he said. "I know we've said good-bye to +her for the last time." + +"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu. + +"She knew it too," he said. "It--it put me out of business, I can tell +you. She gave me my start--she took all the care of me--taught me to +read--she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened his +eyes wide on account of their dimness. + +"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there," said +Ina, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of the +journey. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that +he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, +told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, +"Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow. + +"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she +went on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. About +the bag." + +"Oh, mamma," said Di, "let me eat my supper." + +"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first what +you've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?" + +"Yes," said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu. + +But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Di +would say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again. + +"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her--where in the world had you +been? Why, but you couldn't have been with her--in that dress. And yet +I saw you come in the gate together." + +"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly did +not so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?" + +"It's a good dress," Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's a +good dress. Lulie wore it on the street--of course she did. She was gone +a long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and _then_ she hadn't come." + +"Well," said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where were +you both?" + +One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, +identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacy +was incredible. + +"Put an end to this, Lulu," he commanded. "Where were you two--since you +make such a mystery?" + +Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father was +now clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herself +temporising, for the moment making common cause with Di. + +"Oh," she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if we +want one?" + +"Upon my word," Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don't +know about your secrets, Lulu." + +Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed to +bleed. + +"I'm glad for my dinner," remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me." +On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best to +make her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burst +in. + +"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there--come. I can't stand +it. What am I going to do?" + +"Di, dear," said Lulu. "Tell your mother--you must tell her." + +"She'll cry," Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa--and he'll never stop +talking about it. I know him--every day he'll keep it going. After he +scolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die--I'll die, Aunt Lulu." + +Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about? +I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting...." + +"Let's go out on the porch," said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, +Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way that +she knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in this +world.... + +Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress. + +"A bridal robe," said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu--what are _you_ wearing +a bridal robe for--eh?" + +She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, she +reflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour--had +not yet asked for his mail. + +It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the village +street came in--laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Lights +starred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on the +board walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish. + +Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the time +broken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clock +strike reassuring dawn. + +"Lulu," said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!" + +Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse," she said. + +Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sick +woman--and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Di +was curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply and +directly--the rarest of Di's manners, in fact not Di's manner at all. +Lulu spoke not at all--it was enough to have this respite. + +After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besetting +fear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived. + +And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, +recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobby +was plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. +It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And it +was no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully to +pierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know the +kind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her own +pride--you know how they do that?" + +"Well," said Ina, "my part, I think _the_ most awful thing is to have +somebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbed +and spiteful with such treatment." + +"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say my +prayers!" + +Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, +but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear +devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two +divided channels. + +She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed +the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in +Mrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour. + +"Don't you help me," Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I can +help myself yet awhile." + +She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, she +said clearly: + +"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkin +eloped off together to-day. _He_!" The last was a single note of +laughter, high and brief. + +The silence fell. + +"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily. + +But Ina said tensely: "_Is_ it nonsense? Haven't I been trying and +trying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!" + +Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false. + +"Listen to that, Bobby," she said. "Listen!" + +"That won't do, Di," said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't you +try!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authentic +anxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity of +the moment by her indignation. + +"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manly +before them all. + +But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Here +was something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like a +mask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as if +the sound shattered a thousand filaments--where? + +"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened among +them. + +"Yes, papa," said Di, very small. + +"Answer your mother. Answer _me_. Is there anything to this absurd +tale?" + +"No, papa," said Di, trembling. + +"Nothing whatever?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?" + +"No, papa." + +"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this report +repeated, send them to _me_." + +"Well, but that satchel--" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less as +a function than as a leech. + +"One moment," said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the child +has said." + +There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had not +instinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she saw +Dwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself a +child in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as was +Dwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. She +burned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. She +threw up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this. + +"If you cannot settle this with Di," said Lulu, "you cannot settle it +with me." + +"A shifty answer," said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresenting +facts, you know, Lulu." + +"Bobby wanted to say something," said Ina, still troubled. + +"No, Mrs. Deacon," said Bobby, low. "I have nothing--more to say." + +In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. +It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everything +now. + +"Bobby," she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?" + +He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, +blurring. + +"And anyhow," said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We _didn't_ elope, did we?" + +"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby. + +The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. +But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take his +regret that they had not gone on. + +"Well, I came for one thing," said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn't +stand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di--I hate a lie. And now +to-night--" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather," he said, +"they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the way +I've lost you now." + +"Bobby!" + +"It's true. We mustn't talk about it." + +"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all." + +"You can't go back," said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that." + +She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turned +toward the house, and met Cornish leaving. + +"Miss Di," he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, remember +it's with me!" + +Her defence was ready--her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobby +might hear. + +She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a little +white thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains. + +"If," she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with Bobby +Larkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times a +day." + +"Really, darling?" cried Ina. + +"Really and truly," said Di, "and he knows it, too." + +Lulu listened and read all. + +"I wondered," said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see that +Bobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!" + +When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajoling +confidence: + +"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "_why_ did you and Di have the +black bag?" + +So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually: +"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?" + +"There are two letters on the parlour table," Lulu answered. To Ina she +added: "Let's go in the parlour." + +As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs to +bed--when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched her +extremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she were +half minded to claim the protection so long lost. + +Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little," said +he, tirelessly. + +Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, +said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement of +dental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he said +again, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "An +epistle from my dear brother Ninian." The words failed, as he saw the +unsealed flap. + +"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he had +no climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used on +small occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeper +horror than "You picked the flower"--once put to Lulu. + +She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly at +some one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horror +and sympathy, a nice half and half. + +"Your sister has been opening my mail," he said. + +"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian--" + +"It is _my_ mail," he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might open +it. Of course I told her no." + +"Well," said Ina practically, "what does he say?" + +"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is this +disregard of my wishes." His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, +devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be more +effectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?" + +Lulu was not looking at him. "None," she said--not defiantly, or +ingratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None." + +"Why did you do it?" + +She smiled faintly and shook her head. + +"Dwight," said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. +Hurry up." + +"She is," said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman." + +He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts. + +"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for a +month, you find that you were _not_ married to him." + +Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph. + +"You see, Dwight," she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. He +didn't just leave me." + +Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerably +worse off than if he had." + +"Oh, no," Lulu said serenely. "No. Why," she said, "you know how it all +came about. He--he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If he +hadn't--hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don't +you?" + +Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked. + +She said nothing. + +"Look here, Lulu," he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you say +about it the better, for all our sakes--_you_ see that, don't you?" + +"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the +truth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs ..." + +"Tell who?" + +"Tell everybody. I want them to know." + +"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?" + +She looked at him now. "Your feeling?" + +"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?" + +"But it's me--it's me." + +"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'll +drop." + +"I want the people to know the truth," Lulu said. + +"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intend +to sue Ninian?" + +"Sue him? Oh no!" + +"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter." + +Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands +awkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of her +ear, she kept swallowing. + +"Tell you, Lulu," said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests are +the same in this thing--only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing to +you now. Is he?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu in surprise. + +"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell this +disgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What do +you say, Ina--considering Di and all?" + +"Oh, goodness," said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll never +get away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds." + +Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her straying +hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic. + +"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plump +hands. "Oh, Dwight--when I think of it: What have I done--what have _we_ +done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband--be so protected, +so loved, when other women.... Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near to +Lulu. "You _know_ how sorry I am--we all are...." + +Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands were +stiffly joined. + +"Then," she said, "give me the only thing I've got--that's my pride. My +pride--that he didn't want to get rid of me." + +They stared at her. "What about _my_ pride?" Dwight called to her, as +across great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know my +brother did a thing like that?" + +"You can't help that," said Lulu. + +"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won't +shame us like this before all our friends." + +"You want me to promise what?" + +"I want you--I ask you," Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me that +you will keep this, with us--a family secret." + +"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!" + +It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out her +hands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't you +understand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life--on your +money. I've not been strong enough to work, they say--well, but I've +been strong enough to be a hired girl in your house--and I've been glad +to pay for my keep.... But there wasn't anything about it I liked. +Nothing about being here that I liked.... Well, then I got a little +something, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went off +on the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. And +then it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here and +went into your kitchen again--I don't know why I came back. I s'pose +because I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more--but +what have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to me +having folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'em +all wonder.... I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't...." + +"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?" +Dwight sneered. + +"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know--maybe he wanted me only just +because he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won't +have folks think he went and left me." + +"That," said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity." + +"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?" + +"And bring disgrace on us all." + +"It's me--it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terrible +tribal sense, was shattered by it. + +"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di." + +"_Di?_" He had Lulu's eyes now. + +"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking," said Dwight. + +"How would it hurt Di?" + +"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'd +hurt her?" + +"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?" + +"Why, it would shame her--embarrass her--make people wonder what kind of +stock she came from--oh," Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!" + +"Hurt her prospects, of course," said Dwight. "Anybody could see that." + +"I s'pose it would," said Lulu. + +She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, +her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt. + +"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina and +shuddered. + +"I'm talked about now!" + +"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn't +help that." This misstep was Dwight's. + +"No," Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his other +wife, either." + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "that's a crime." + +"I've done no crime," said Lulu. + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches." + +"Even Di," Lulu said. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let this +thing rest with us three?" + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu quietly. + +"You will?" + +"I s'pose so." + +Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything." + +Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is." Aloud she said: +"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell." + +"I'll see to that," Dwight graciously offered. + +"Goodness," Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said no +more. + +"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu," said Dwight. + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu. + +Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, her +trim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton. + +"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister," she murmured. + +"Oh stop that!" Lulu said. + +Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now," he said, +"overlook the matter of the letter." + +Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and cried +out. + +"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the whole +thing happened!" + + * * * * * + +Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that it +was popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the six +copies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words," looked +wistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased. + +"Got up quite attractive," he thought, and fastened the six copies in +the window of his music store. + +It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floor +and sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. +He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book. + +For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, +stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he really +getting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Of +late when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting. + +The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a dark +sateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was in +there, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blur +of his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realistic +illusion of personal loneliness. + +It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usually +attacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall and +the faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; or +when he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerful +and wonted--the question had not before attacked him among his red and +blue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshiny +morning. + +A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell a +piano. + +"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor. + +It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat. + +"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anything +else. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it. + +"You're out early," said he, participating in the village chorus of this +bright challenge at this hour. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu. + +He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, +leaned to see it the better. + +"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had +not thought to say it before. + +"All right, thank you," said Lulu. + +"Was he--about the letter, you know?" + +"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added, +"not to say anything about what was in the letter?" + +"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody +know now?" + +"No," Lulu said. + +At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, +dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible +specks. + +"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said. + +"_Good-bye!_" + +"Yes. I'm going off--for a while. My satchel's in the bakery--I had my +breakfast in the bakery." + +"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything _wasn't_ all right last +night?" + +"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight +forgave me." + +"Forgave you!" + +She smiled, and trembled. + +"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about +this." + +He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast +area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a +piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the +comfort of his kindly indignation. + +"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any +more. I can't do that." + +"Then what are you going to do?" + +"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the +hotel--they wanted a chambermaid." + +"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said +Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw +you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag--" He stopped, stared. + +"You brought her back!" he deduced everything. + +"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no--I mean--" + +"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just +what you did--you brought her back." + +"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!" + +"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean +about your going after her?" + +"No." + +"You never told!" + +"They don't know she went." + +"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her +folks--I mean, right off. Before last night...." + +"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that--he'd _joke_ her +about it after a while." + +"But it seems--" + +"Ina'd talk about disgracing _her_. They wouldn't know what to do. +There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father," Lulu +said. + +Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu's +reality he could grasp. + +"You're a trump anyhow," he affirmed. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu modestly. + +Yes, she was. He insisted upon it. + +"By George," he exclaimed, "you don't find very many _married_ women +with as good sense as you've got." + +At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to the +truth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in some +amusement, and said nothing. + +"You've been a jewel in their home all right," said Cornish. "I bet +they'll miss you if you do go." + +"They'll miss my cooking," Lulu said without bitterness. + +"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there--" + +"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude which +lighted her eyes. + +"You made the whole place," said Cornish. + +"You don't mean just the cooking?" + +"No, no. I mean--well, that first night when you played croquet. I felt +at home when you came out." + +That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look of +loveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I never +had but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking." She seemed to +feel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair up +nice." She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how the +ladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs." + +"Well, well," said Cornish only. + +"Well," said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye to +you--and there's one or two other places...." + +"I hate to have you go," said Cornish, and tried to add something. "I +hate to have you go," was all that he could find to add. + +Lulu rose. "Oh, well," was all that she could find. + +They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to the +door. He had begun on "Look here, I wish ..." when Lulu said +"good-bye," and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would have +said. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going." + +"So do I," said Lulu, and went, still laughing. + +Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her +head averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of all +proportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more--it +assailed him, absorbed him. + +He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting of +which he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down the +store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there was +the green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated that +green curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time it +occurred to him that he hated Warbleton. + +He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, +chin on chest, regarding it. No ... no escape that way.... + +A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, her +face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter. + +"See," she said. "At the office was this...." + +She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read: + +" ... Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard from +her, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer +wrote to me.... I've never been any good--Dwight would tell you that if +his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain't +anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this.... I s'pose you +couldn't understand and I don't myself.... Only the sixteen years +keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so +downright good, that's what was the worst ... do you see what I want to +say ..." + + +Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyes +there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. +Incredible dignity. + +"He didn't lie to get rid of me--and she was alive, just as he thought +she might be," she said. + +"I'm glad," said Cornish. + +"Yes," said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him +out." + +It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking. + +"Now you're free," he said. + +"Oh, that ..." said Lulu. + +She replaced her letter in its envelope. + +"Now I'm really going," she said. "Good-bye for sure this time...." + +Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm. + +"Don't say good-bye," he said. + +"It's late," she said, "I--" + +"Don't you go," said Cornish. + +She looked at him mutely. + +"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?" + +"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word. + +He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybe +you've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. +Well, it's only five hundred dollars." + +His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying. + +"That little Warden house--it don't cost much--you'd be surprised. Rent, +I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, but +then I didn't think--" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost near +as much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos--" + +He was startled by that "we," and began again: + +"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me." + +"But," said Lulu. "You _know_! Why, don't the disgrace--" + +"What disgrace?" asked Cornish. + +"Oh," she said, "you--you----" + +"There's only this about that," said he. "Of course, if you loved him +very much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But I +didn't think--" + +"You didn't think what?" + +"That you did care so very much--about him. I don't know why." + +She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what I +done. I know that now." + +"I figured that way," said Cornish. + +They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he saw +that she should know. + +"Look here," he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm--I'm awful lonesome +myself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reason +why I want to get married. I want some kind of a home." + +He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason. + +"Of course," she said. + +"I ain't never lived what you might say private," said Cornish. + +"I've lived too private," Lulu said. + +"Then there's another thing." This was harder to tell her. "I--I don't +believe I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law." + +"I don't see," said Lulu, "how anybody does." + +"I'm not much good in a business way," he owned, with a faint laugh. +"Sometimes I think," he drew down his brows, "that I may never be able +to make any money." + +She said: "Lots of men don't." + +"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I've +seen," he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I--I was +engaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd be +willing to try me, we would get along." + +Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you--" + +"Miss Di? Why," said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And," he added, +"she's a little liar." + +"But I'm going on thirty-four." + +"So am I!" + +"Isn't there somebody--" + +"Look here. Do you like me?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Well enough--" + +"It's you I was thinking of," said Lulu. "I'd be all right." + +"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +"And now," said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. +I've got something on." + +He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di was +not there. + +"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked. + +"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?" + +"Well, but, Dwight--we've got to do something." + +"As I told you this morning," he observed, "we shall do nothing. Your +sister is of age--I don't know about the sound mind, but she is +certainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where she +will." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where--" + +"You are a question-box," said Dwight playfully. "A question-box." + +Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm and +nursed it. + +"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long," she +remarked. + +"You should be sufficient unto your little self," said Dwight. + +"That's all right," said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner." + +"I want some crust coffee," announced Monona firmly. + +"You'll have nothing of the sort," said Ina. "Drink your milk." + +"As I remarked," Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry." + +"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked. + +She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing to +play his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she _was_ hot. + +"I am going," said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, +for an hour." + +"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?" + +"Borrowed it from the railroad company," said Dwight, with the triumph +peculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can't +imagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I can +remember--saw it every time I took the train--and yet I never once +thought of grandma." + +"My, Dwight," said Ina, "how good you are!" + +"Nonsense!" said he. + +"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, you +take Grandma Gates a baked apple--no. You shan't go till you drink your +milk." + +"I don't want it." + +"Drink it or mamma won't let you go." + +Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran. + +"The apple isn't very good," said Ina, "but it shows my good will." + +"Also," said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness for +others." + +"That's what I always think," his Ina said. + +"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired. + +"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try," Ina +confessed. + +"You didn't have to try," Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming when +I got rested up." + +She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie," she said, and the +corners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased in +vague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the front +door opened. + +"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common," Mrs. Bett +complained. + +But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish. + +"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward. + +"Well!" said Ina, in replica. + +"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughter +and put her hands upon her. + +"We wanted to tell you first," Cornish said. "We've just got married." + +"For _ever_ more!" said Ina. + +"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried with +hope. + +"No," Cornish said soberly. "We're married--just now. Methodist +parsonage. We've had our dinner," he added hastily. + +"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason. + +"The bakery," Cornish replied, and flushed. + +"In the dining-room part," Lulu added. + +Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation. + +"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in a +bakery--" + +No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted the +fuss of a wedding. + +Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all," +he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way." + +Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie," she said, "why, Lulie. You +ain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?" + +"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett," Dwight cried. "She wasn't married +that first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!" + +Ina's little shriek sounded. + +"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have to +tell about Ninian now--and his other wife!" + +Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lulu +looked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face a +horrified realisation. + +"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You _will_ have to tell now, won't you? Why I +never thought of that." + +At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give Grandma +Gates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patient +kindness to tuck her in. + +The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, +no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. and +Mrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10429 *** diff --git a/10429-h/10429-h.htm b/10429-h/10429-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f93529 --- /dev/null +++ b/10429-h/10429-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5631 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale</title> + +<STYLE type="text/css"> +BODY { + MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +P { + TEXT-ALIGN: justify +} +BLOCKQUOTE { + TEXT-ALIGN: justify +} +H1 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H2 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H3 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H4 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H5 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H6 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +PRE { + FONT-SIZE: 0.7em +} +HR { + WIDTH: 50%; TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +UNKNOWN { + MARGIN-LEFT: 25%; WIDTH: 50%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 25% +} +HR.full { + WIDTH: 100% +} +UNKNOWN { + MARGIN-LEFT: 0%; WIDTH: 100%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0% +} +.note { + FONT-SIZE: 0.9em; MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +.footnote { + FONT-SIZE: 0.9em; MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +.greek { + CURSOR: help +} +.poem { + MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10%; TEXT-ALIGN: left +} +.poem .stanza { + MARGIN: 1em 0em +} +.poem P { + PADDING-LEFT: 3em; MARGIN: 0px; TEXT-INDENT: -3em +} +.poem P.i2 { + MARGIN-LEFT: 2em +} +.poem P.i4 { + MARGIN-LEFT: 4em +} + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} +</STYLE> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10429 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook,<br> + Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale</h1> +<br> +<br> + +<hr class="full"> + + + + +<br><br> +<h1>MISS LULU BETT</h1> + + + +<br><br> +<h2>By ZONA GALE</h2> + + + +<br><br> +<h4>1921</h4> + + + +<br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="CONTENTS"></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br> + +<h3>CHAPTER</h3> + +<h4><a href="#I">I. APRIL</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#II">II. MAY</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#III">III. JUNE</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#IV">IV. JULY</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#V">V. AUGUST</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#VI">VI. SEPTEMBER</a></h4> + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="I"></a><h2>I</h2> +<br> + +<p>APRIL</p> + +<p>The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, +appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was a +gas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound.</p> + +<p>"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretched +up to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as a +man speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something to +say.</p> + +<p>"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, +eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. In +October he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?"</p> + +<p>"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," she +added, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should say +this so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Could +you leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring a +milkman's heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principal +dish benignly. "<i>Let</i> us see," he added, as he served.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona.</p> + +<p>The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that her +little triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remark +produced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped.</p> + +<p>"<i>What's</i> this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "<i>No</i> salmon?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt her +power, discarded her "sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone.</p> + +<p>"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping;</p> + +<p>The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her head +until her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon's +eyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progeny +will not eat? What can be supplied?</p> + +<p>"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread." +One wondered how she thought of it.</p> + +<p>"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affecting +indifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twisted +her head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote.</p> + +<p>There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, +Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home with +us." And that was precisely the case. <i>They</i> were not making her a +home, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden.</p> + +<p>"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, +not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, by +nature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" shouted the child Monona.</p> + +<p>The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. +Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. For +Monona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others to +let her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons were +devoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, +grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, +anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in." The poor child was the +late birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she had +provided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had produced +her at all.</p> + +<p>"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming to +her supper?"</p> + +<p>"Tantrim," said Mrs. Deacon, softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho," said he, and said no more.</p> + +<p>The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of high +vibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind of +self-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims," they +called these occasions.</p> + +<p>"Baked potatoes," said Mr. Deacon. "That's good—that's good. The baked +potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other +way. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it."</p> + +<p>"That's what I always think," said his wife pleasantly.</p> + +<p>For fifteen years they had agreed about this.</p> + +<p>They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicate +crunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touch +of the silver.</p> + +<p>"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed by +both parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyric +outburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost to +Mr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at that +age. That age, in Warbleton.</p> + +<p>A clock struck the half hour.</p> + +<p>"It's curious," Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must be +fully quarter to." He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" he +exclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time."</p> + +<p>"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina.</p> + +<p>"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck," he +reminded her.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one, I thought." She was tentative, regarded him with arched +eyebrows, mastication suspended.</p> + +<p>This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by the +child Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to call +just at meal-time?"</p> + +<p>He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. +Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted +finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked +potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate +with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the +hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was +listening.</p> + +<p>A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was +divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with +this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was +notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. +Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper +with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his +hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, +resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and +remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow +wink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did in +the presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and then +drew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. +This was her conjugal rebuking.</p> + +<p>Swedenborg always uses "conjugial." And really this sounds more married. +It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever more +married than they—at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugal +jokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, +suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking <i>entendre</i> in +the most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of her +life.</p> + +<p>And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time upon +the yellow tulip in the centre of his table.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>well</i>!" he said. "What's this?"</p> + +<p>Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple.</p> + +<p>"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired.</p> + +<p>"Ask Lulu," said Mrs. Deacon.</p> + +<p>He turned his attention full upon Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort of +ruff about the word.</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed.</p> + +<p>"It was a quarter," she said. "There'll be five flowers."</p> + +<p>"You <i>bought</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There'll be five—that's a nickel apiece."</p> + +<p>His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread.</p> + +<p>"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to +spend, even for the necessities."</p> + +<p>His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and even +flesh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose the +dogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert—Lulu +isn't strong enough to work. What's the use...."</p> + +<p>She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, the +family beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else.</p> + +<p>"The justice business—" said Dwight Herbert Deacon—he was a justice of +the peace—"and the dental profession—" he was also a dentist—"do not +warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home."</p> + +<p>"Well, but, Herbert—" It was his wife again.</p> + +<p>"No more," he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulu +meant no harm," he added, and smiled at Lulu.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, +num, num-my-num," as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. She +seemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. There +was, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour.</p> + +<p>"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di," said +Ina sighing.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?"</p> + +<p>He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for at +noon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Ina +played his game, always. She informed him, dutifully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>ho</i>," said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mind +on these domestic trifles.</p> + +<p>"We told you that this noon," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy.</p> + +<p>"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly—this was one of +his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord.</p> + +<p>His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large +size, small size, present price, former price—she had them all.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon +punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some +question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return +was always automatic: "<i>Her</i>bert!"</p> + +<p>"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert."</p> + +<p>She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed +upon her. It was his intention to be a case.</p> + +<p>Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was +not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat.</p> + +<p>"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the +butter-woman or get some creamery?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the +matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his +home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty +rôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to +turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation.</p> + +<p>"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at +meal-time," he said icily.</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now +with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would +look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her +plate.</p> + +<p>"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her +hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked +on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was +apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as +if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an +irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to +his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was +waiting his motion.</p> + +<p>At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her +aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. +Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted +her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active +child," Lulu ventured brightly.</p> + +<p>"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed.</p> + +<p>He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his +lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the +room.</p> + +<p>Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. +Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the half +hour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last night +twenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu did +not talk.</p> + +<p>"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think you +might be useful."</p> + +<p>Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed her +mind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force upon +the chip-pile.</p> + +<p>The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women brought +their work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, +watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She had +eight minutes more—seven—six—five—</p> + +<p>Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, +groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in its +heap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flat +chest.</p> + +<p>Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun were +as near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus would +burn our sun to nothingness.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain all +over. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to make +an ordeal.</p> + +<p>Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, also +eighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, aped +him, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. +Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her as +its servant.</p> + +<p>Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. It +was Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, +Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by a +most reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and he +listened for her voice.</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, +bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see me +about?"—with a use of the past tense as connoting something of +indirection and hence of delicacy—a nicety customary, yet unconscious. +Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formality +that Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join the +church, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in the +parlour until he could attend at leisure.</p> + +<p>Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planned +deserted him.</p> + +<p>"I thought if you would give me a job," he said defencelessly.</p> + +<p>"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be either +irritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?" +he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistant +dentist—which?</p> + +<p>Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's where +his office was, wasn't there something ... It faded from him, sounded +ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now.</p> + +<p>There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. +Hold on, he said—hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking charge +of the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its own +grass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time after +that which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in his +garden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attention +early next month ... he owned two lots—"of course property <i>is</i> a +burden." If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked ... Bobby +would care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thanked +Mr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, should +not stand in the way of his advancement.</p> + +<p>"Then that is checked off," said Mr. Deacon heartily.</p> + +<p>Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost upon +Di returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?"</p> + +<p>She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying +pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice +there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She +paused on the steps, a lovely figure.</p> + +<p>But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father."</p> + +<p>He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched +about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth +and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without +a glance.</p> + +<p>She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed +loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it.</p> + +<p>"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----"</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole +<i>school</i> knows it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He +entered upon a pretty scene.</p> + +<p>His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child +Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of +making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue +hose, her bracelet, her ring.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper +and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----"</p> + +<p>"Grammar, grammar," spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he +meant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Di positively, "they <i>were</i>. Papa, see my favour."</p> + +<p>She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it.</p> + +<p>Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. She +was often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, and +her rôle reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own.</p> + +<p>The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared.</p> + +<p>"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the +"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry <i>now?</i>"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through the +room without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processes +her son-in-law's tone inhibited all this.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I'm not hungry."</p> + +<p>Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked from +one to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. She +brushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching an +intenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears.</p> + +<p>"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned +quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but +she never had ceased to resent them.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the +situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of +Monona.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her +eyes warmed.</p> + +<p>"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma +Gates now," she added, and went toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl."</p> + +<p>Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever +the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the +house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates—in lieu of, +say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness +which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life.</p> + +<p>Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission.</p> + +<p>"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina +called after.</p> + +<p>"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation +of his was somehow invested with the paternal.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly.</p> + +<p>On the clock shelf lay a letter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot."</p> + +<p>"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share +of the blame.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?"</p> + +<p>Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps.</p> + +<p>"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a +letter----"</p> + +<p>This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a +greater importance.</p> + +<p>"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still, +my mail should have more careful----"</p> + +<p>He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his +motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them.</p> + +<p>"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Something nice," Ina was sure.</p> + +<p>"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously.</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight—is it <i>nice?</i>" from his Ina.</p> + +<p>"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?"</p> + +<p>"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense.</p> + +<p>"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says."</p> + +<p>"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lips +parted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. South +America, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all." When was he coming +and what was he coming for?</p> + +<p>"To see me," said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don't +know what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker."</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge +that she was not a charmer.</p> + +<p>The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's +eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was +their progeny hurt?</p> + +<p>"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to +bed? I'm pretty tired."</p> + +<p>Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and +shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative.</p> + +<p>As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and +snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply:</p> + +<p>"Lulu. One moment!"</p> + +<p>He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his +forehead was a frown.</p> + +<p>"You <i>picked</i> the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne +to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark +stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her +breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child +Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming +the door.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="II"></a><h2>II</h2> +<br> + +<p>MAY</p> + +<p>Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but every +morning it was dusted. By Lulu.</p> + +<p>She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, +and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leather +rocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back a +bit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz pattern +seemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes.</p> + +<p>Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight—in a perpetual +attitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, of +roaring a ready bass.</p> + +<p>And the black fireplace—there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, +fireless, and with a dust of ashes.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pier +glass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. +Natural.</p> + +<p>This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herself +but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large +photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident +eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks—and each of the six were rounded and +convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass +you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands +and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's +brother.</p> + +<p>Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, +had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or +were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, +lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As +she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own +bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture +followed her, and she liked it.</p> + +<p>She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the +house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth +blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu +saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she +carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had +deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south +window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of +criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on +something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine +herself sharing.</p> + +<p>The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till +I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"—the village salutation +signifying kindly attention.</p> + +<p>Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily.</p> + +<p>The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, +and this she now divined, and said absently:</p> + +<p>"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun +of me all the time?"</p> + +<p>At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to +have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and +looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about +you."</p> + +<p>"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, were +they? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion.</p> + +<p>"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I—I never wanted to." Again +the upward look.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything like +that."</p> + +<p>"Of course you didn't." She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyes +full. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you."</p> + +<p>She ran into the house.</p> + +<p>Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise of +some secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She was +thinking:</p> + +<p>"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But <i>how</i> did she do that?"</p> + +<p>Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a manner +of speculation, at the photograph of Ninian.</p> + +<p>Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in his +understanding of the female character was sufficiently developed to +cause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhaps +that was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. +What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedly +toward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he could +return in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but it +was in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which he +seemed to be coöperating without his conscious will. Continually he +glanced toward the house.</p> + +<p>These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobby +were eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt that +sweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more.</p> + +<p>She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take some +out to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?"</p> + +<p>It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill.</p> + +<p>After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to the +Chautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemed +to be that she never went anywhere.</p> + +<p>When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turned +aimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And she +thought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina and +Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the way +that a futurist receives the subjects of his art—forms not vague, but +heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always +motion—motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of all +was that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. The +perfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had her +dream as a saint her sense of heaven.</p> + +<p>"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp."</p> + +<p>She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took one +last look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed on +her Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would be +to-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon would +arrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo +pin....</p> + +<p>She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not +there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at +her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, +now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and +her ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy of +leisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle.</p> + +<p>"Inie ought to make over her delaine," Mrs. Bett comfortably began. They +talked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear," +said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father." She +described it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They were +individuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to the +Deacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore no +relationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes were +bright.</p> + +<p>Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should have +a lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and a +dish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that she +knew—offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that this +woman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged.</p> + +<p>When she had eaten she grew sleepy—rather cross at the last and +inclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu's +defence, lifted an ancient weapon.</p> + +<p>"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if she +hadn't married?"</p> + +<p>Lulu said nothing.</p> + +<p>"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it.</p> + +<p>Lulu said no more. After a long time:</p> + +<p>"You always was jealous of Inie," said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed.</p> + +<p>As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from its +bracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirt +lifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news of +some other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate only +in her feet and her long hair.</p> + +<p>She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of +Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, +but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was no +possibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which she +made no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what.</p> + +<p>In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across +the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett +was asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother," Lulu had said, as her +mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off +the curse by calling it her "si-esta," long <i>i</i>.) Monona was playing +with a neighbour's child—you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as +they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there.</p> + +<p>A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A +long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but +since I'm here—"</p> + +<p>He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I'm her sister," said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm Bert's brother," said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?"</p> + +<p>He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down +heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep."</p> + +<p>"Don't call her, then," said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted."</p> + +<p>He said it absently, hardly looking at her.</p> + +<p>"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin," he added.</p> + +<p>Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing +to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as +heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk.</p> + +<p>"I thought maybe ..." said she, and offered it.</p> + +<p>"Thank <i>you</i>!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live," he +observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Ina +had a sister," he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of her +relatives----"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully.</p> + +<p>"He has," she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good deal +of the work."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you do," said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had +been violated. "What's your name?" he bethought.</p> + +<p>She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, her +hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were +given with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tells +something of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feel +in catastrophe—no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the +thing cannot possibly be happening.</p> + +<p>"You folks expect me?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for you +every day."</p> + +<p>"'See," he said, "how long have they been married?"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years."</p> + +<p>"And a year before that the first one died—and two years they were +married," he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twenty +years since Bert and I have seen each other."</p> + +<p>"How awful," Lulu said, and flushed again.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"To be that long away from your folks."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity of +her present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be so +awful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di—yes, and Ina, for twenty +years?</p> + +<p>"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he's +roamed around on his own." He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around on +his own," he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't know +that."</p> + +<p>"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carved +the crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe she does. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamond +ring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years of +galloping about," he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer his +interests from himself to her.</p> + +<p>"Where?" she asked, although she knew.</p> + +<p>"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama." He searched his +memory. "Colombo," he superadded.</p> + +<p>"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desire +to see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But she +wanted passionately to meet her companion's mind.</p> + +<p>"It's the life," he informed her.</p> + +<p>"Must be," Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up.</p> + +<p>"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into a +passion of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Here," she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before +that we lived in the country."</p> + +<p>He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watched +her veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl," he was thinking.</p> + +<p>"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs.?"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed in anguish.</p> + +<p>"Miss," she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. +Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "From +choice," she said.</p> + +<p>He shouted with laughter.</p> + +<p>"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it." He made his palms +taut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said.</p> + +<p>Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face.</p> + +<p>"Which kind of a Mr. are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutings +redoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her?</p> + +<p>"Never give myself away," he assured her. "Say, by George, I never +thought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married or +not, by his name!"</p> + +<p>"It don't matter," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Not so many people want to know."</p> + +<p>Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one ever +laughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at <i>her</i>. "Go it, old +girl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear.</p> + +<p>The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herself +round the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in the +heel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straight +hair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. She +began to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely +articulate, then in vogue in her group. And,</p> + +<p>"Whose dog?" she shrieked.</p> + +<p>Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished something +that he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, +loose-lipped.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet I'm your uncle," said Ninian.</p> + +<p>Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona was +thrilled by this intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Give us a kiss," said Ninian, finding in the plural some vague +mitigation for some vague offence.</p> + +<p>Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such a +great big tall girl—they would have to put a board on her head.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring.</p> + +<p>"This," said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps a +jewellery shop in heaven."</p> + +<p>The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twenty +other diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when the +sun comes up in the west. Of course—often! Some day he was going to +melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, ever +after. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say——He did it all +gravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. This +was no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its own +sake.</p> + +<p>He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, the +braggart, the unbridled, unmodified male.</p> + +<p>Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, +softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In her +listening look, she showed herself a charming child.</p> + +<p>"It strikes me," said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do something +mighty interesting before you die."</p> + +<p>It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keep +something going, but Lulu was all faith.</p> + +<p>She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from her +fingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He was +completely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at his +picture and she was abashed and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so," she said, which had certainly never been true, for +her old formless dreams were no intention—nothing but a mush of +discontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit," she +said. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprising +longing to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "What +would the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mild +sense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance.</p> + +<p>"You're the stuff," he remarked absently.</p> + +<p>She laughed happily.</p> + +<p>The door opened. Ina appeared.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be a +pedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chin +lifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm your +husband's brother. Ain't this Ina?"</p> + +<p>It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him.</p> + +<p>Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. It +gave one hope for the whole species.</p> + +<p>"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double <i>e</i> to +the initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the <i>y</i> sound squinted +in. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun.</p> + +<p>He kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina's +conception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions—was his +train on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any one +could direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She must +telephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved fling +of her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea—she stood +taut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. How +unfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said.</p> + +<p>The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. +She must, she must participate.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair.</p> + +<p>"Gracious sakes," said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn't +forget to give it to her."</p> + +<p>They adjourned to the porch—Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy was +presented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place." Ina +delightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, +the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m—m," rising inflection, +and the "I see," prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina said +that they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have a +family—but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using her +eyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and she +believed herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly ...</p> + +<p>She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, +banality, guffaw ... good will.</p> + +<p>And Lulu, peeping through the blind.</p> + +<p>When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a light +rain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, were +constrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintly +lustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, +looking in from some other level.</p> + +<p>"The only thing," said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain is +that I'm let off croquet." He rolled his r's, a favourite device of his +to induce humour. He called it "croquette." He had never been more +irrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, the +need to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous little +home—simple and pathetic desire.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce a +little."</p> + +<p>"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, so +faintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form.</p> + +<p>Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing it +and rocking.</p> + +<p>"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man." She +spoke as if he were about the age of Monona.</p> + +<p>Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and human +relationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and she +would have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was she +forbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beast +beneath him.</p> + +<p>The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di and +Jenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, might +be heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been driven +from the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through the +dishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared about +resentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized upon +Monona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Monona +wriggled like a puppy, as hers.</p> + +<p>"Quiet, pettie," said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in her +teeth.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, but +mother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up."</p> + +<p>Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke of +this foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them through +the graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of her +he became his inner self.</p> + +<p>"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin," he said.</p> + +<p>To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tender +ardour.</p> + +<p>"Little," Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into a +nice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nin +into—say, Nin, what are you, anyway?"</p> + +<p>They laughed.</p> + +<p>"That's the question," said Ninian.</p> + +<p>They laughed.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about his +travels. He is quite a traveller, you know," she said to the Plows. "A +regular Gulliver."</p> + +<p>They laughed respectfully.</p> + +<p>"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon," Mrs. Plow said. "You know we've +never seen <i>very</i> much."</p> + +<p>Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen +them: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For the +populations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soil +mighty poor pickings. And the business—say! Those fellows don't +know—and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian.</p> + +<p>He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He was +equipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts were +negligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninian +had been wrought upon by all his voyaging.</p> + +<p>"Tell you," said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to the +state fair, little did we think—" He told about running away to the +state fair. "I thought," he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might get +over to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not."</p> + +<p>The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there in +Warbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is never +so casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go to +Europe" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight had +somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, and +his Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensively +covered her soft triumph.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first +observation.</p> + +<p>"Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no +more.</p> + +<p>Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But +Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was +company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private.</p> + +<p>And it wasn't fair, it wasn't <i>fair</i>—</p> + +<p>Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed—she +could not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finished +and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. +And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. +She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral.</p> + +<p>Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny +upstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, coming +home with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had +come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying:</p> + +<p>"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I could +never marry just anybody. I'd <i>smother</i>."</p> + +<p>Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly to +their greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu.</p> + +<p>Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying."</p> + +<p>Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no." +"Because," she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right."</p> + +<p>But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had not +Lulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem—oh, no! Lulu could not +have heard properly.</p> + +<p>"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them," she thought now, sitting +by the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella.</p> + +<p>She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. +Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, then +resentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air.</p> + +<p>"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed," she thought, and +derived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again.</p> + +<p>Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog had +been fed.</p> + +<p>"I fed him," she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninian +entered.</p> + +<p>"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't you +come in the other room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along.' +Then I remembered the dishes." He glanced about. "I come to help wipe +dishes."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where she +got it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago."</p> + +<p>"Well then, what are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"Resting."</p> + +<p>"Rest in there." He bowed, crooked his arm. "Señora," he said,—his +Spanish matched his other assimilations of travel—</p> + +<p>"Señora. Allow me."</p> + +<p>Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating and +did not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. +But Ina looked up and said:</p> + +<p>"Well!"—in two notes, descending, curving.</p> + +<p>Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched white +skirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim of +white embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetually +she adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, her +long wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. +She was tense. She rocked.</p> + +<p>When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken at +last by Mrs. Bett:</p> + +<p>"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it," +she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forget +about. Monona, get off my rocker."</p> + +<p>Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said +"Darling—quiet!"—chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lower +teeth for the word's completion; and she held it.</p> + +<p>The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if it +would let up raining <i>at all</i>. Di and Jenny came whispering into the +room. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu," he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, +because I knew how interested you are in travels."</p> + +<p>He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person who +most enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words that +he said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and she +dare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wanted +to hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one hand +to support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for the +rocking.</p> + +<p>Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one was +talking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but at +her.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="III"></a><h2>III</h2> +<br> + +<p>JUNE</p> + +<p>On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said with +his manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-<i>day?</i>"</p> + +<p>"First class day, it looks like to me."</p> + +<p>Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, +but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources of +the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the +child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, +elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her +face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has +danced. Di gave a conservative assent—she was at that age—and then +took advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demanded +that Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, +partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little family +and Uncle Ninian would have been so nice," she sighed, with her consent.</p> + +<p>When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porch +and Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in a +blue-cotton house-gown.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Ninian, "aren't you going?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember."</p> + +<p>"But why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I never think of such a thing."</p> + +<p>Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said:</p> + +<p>"Lulu's a regular home body."</p> + +<p>And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like."</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you," she added, formally.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlingly +close—just beyond the blind, in fact:</p> + +<p>"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and you +come along."</p> + +<p>For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as a +possibility. She stared up at Ninian.</p> + +<p>"You can slip on my linen duster, over," Ina said graciously.</p> + +<p>"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one."</p> + +<p>They were having to wait for Di in any case—they always had to wait for +Di—and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was running +to make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down the +wrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linen +duster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair; +she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well.</p> + +<p>They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time in +her life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her and +the little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care what +Ina liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, was +enchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand.</p> + +<p>Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared from +nowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit.</p> + +<p>"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him.</p> + +<p>She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian.</p> + +<p>"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough," was all that she could get +to say.</p> + +<p>They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, across +the river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip of +warm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparable +fires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birth +nor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothing +to do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went and +tried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening the +condensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. +Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Lulu +did all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gone +for water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging her +to the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on their +return Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic.</p> + +<p>"Those who disregard the comfort of other people," he enunciated, "can +not expect consideration for themselves in the future."</p> + +<p>He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but he +delivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with her +teeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like a +little demon.</p> + +<p>As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad had +begun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller in +green fastnesses. He began:</p> + +<p>"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don't +get out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar the +bottle. Nature's tonic—eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See that +water. Could anything be more pleasant?"</p> + +<p>He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. +He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. +But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to +be:</p> + +<p>"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...."</p> + +<p>After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, and +Dwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's use +of that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and his +younger daughter. Ina was timid——not because she was afraid but because +she was congenitally timid—with her this was not a belief or an +emotion, it was a disease.</p> + +<p>"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?"</p> + +<p>Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river.</p> + +<p>"But you're not so very used----"</p> + +<p>Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth if +not he?</p> + +<p>Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in a +permanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, the +child Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. On +this pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. +It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of all +other men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she looked +up to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But let +him take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of any +horse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband by +preference. It was a phenomenon.</p> + +<p>Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody's +way. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and +wished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended not +to see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing to +remain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made no +explanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed.</p> + +<p>And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks and +herds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time.</p> + +<p>The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns +appeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, +the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the time +communicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had not +yet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement in +his presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To him +the air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facile +sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hard +around here."</p> + +<p>"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you +won't mind my asking."</p> + +<p>"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. You +want it, too. You told me you did—that first day."</p> + +<p>She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she had +never really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted she +knew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of this +rôle.</p> + +<p>"I guess you don't see how it seems," he said, "to me, coming along—a +stranger so. I don't like it."</p> + +<p>He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamond +obediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid air +of the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she was +feeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her.</p> + +<p>"They're very good to me," she said.</p> + +<p>He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never had +anybody really good to you. That's why."</p> + +<p>"But they treat me good."</p> + +<p>"They make a slave of you. Regular slave." He puffed, frowning. "Damned +shame, <i>I</i> call it," he said.</p> + +<p>Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----"</p> + +<p>"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you ever +go anywheres?"</p> + +<p>She said: "This is the first place in—in years."</p> + +<p>"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!"</p> + +<p>"Not so much places like this----"</p> + +<p>"I see. What you want is to get away—like you'd ought to." He regarded +her. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman," he said.</p> + +<p>She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her:</p> + +<p>"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself."</p> + +<p>His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good," he said. +He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it," he mused, +"blamed if I do."</p> + +<p>"How I do what?"</p> + +<p>"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say."</p> + +<p>Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talk +like this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to any +one. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability to +speak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that other +Lulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speak +for her. As now:</p> + +<p>"It's my grand education," she said.</p> + +<p>She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light of +the warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and was +in her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she sat +stiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyes +rather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from her +came these sufficient, insouciant replies.</p> + +<p>"Education," he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too." He spoke a +creed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it."</p> + +<p>"Most folks are happy without an education," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"You're not very happy, though."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm here +I'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city."</p> + +<p>"To the city?"</p> + +<p>"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you <i>one</i> good time."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been."</p> + +<p>"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell me +just what you like to eat, and we'll get it----"</p> + +<p>She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cooked +myself."</p> + +<p>He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intensely +experiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that future +merry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness that +he—some one—any one—was planning like this for her.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house and +kept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others was +withdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves to +give off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpowering +personalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wanted +one. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, +frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs for +bait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. +There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone through +before Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged to +say, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with the +same zest with which he had discussed bait.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not wait +for any old money."</p> + +<p>They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grown +from out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both—and +especially Di—so much wanted the experiences of attraction that they +assumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty rôle +required by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" asked Bobby—but in the subjunctive.</p> + +<p>She said: "Yes. I will."</p> + +<p>"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, still +subjunctive.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"Di," said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me."</p> + +<p>"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man—you know you are."</p> + +<p>Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it—but he passed it over.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, +sparkling.</p> + +<p>Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his big +frame, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin and +full mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope +<i>now</i>.</p> + +<p>"I've planned eloping lots of times," she said ambiguously.</p> + +<p>It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he may +not always have been the principal, and he could not be sure ... But +she talked in nothings, and he answered her so.</p> + +<p>Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out of +the strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there sat +Dwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would.</p> + +<p>"Bertie, Bertie—please!" you heard his Ina say.</p> + +<p>Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be +ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew +that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars +with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it."</p> + +<p>"That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger.</p> + +<p>They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyed +crying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as an +echo. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this was +the last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. +Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of him +humour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Ina +kept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. +Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now remembered +it and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant.</p> + +<p>Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the sense +of disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. +Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no idea +how to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in the +river. Even Di ... He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which was +the signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid of +silence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome.</p> + +<p>But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homeward +beside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in her +sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He had +told Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean? +Suppose ... oh no; oh no!</p> + +<p>"Either lay still or get up and set up," Mrs. Bett directed her at +length.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="IV"></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br> + +<p>JULY</p> + +<p>When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairs +dressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waist +which she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. And +really, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, and +its wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck look +thinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" and +parted in the middle, puffed high—it was so that hair had been worn in +Lulu's girlhood.</p> + +<p>"<i>Well</i>!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, +head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip.</p> + +<p>For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster—the old one.</p> + +<p>Ninian appeared, in a sack coat—and his diamond. His distinctly convex +face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once +more that bold sense of looking—not at him, for then she was shy and +averted her eyes—but at his photograph at which she could gaze as much +as she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Was +he not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were going +because she, Lulu, had brought about this party.</p> + +<p>"Act as good as you look, Lulie," Mrs. Bett called after them. She gave +no instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, +it seemed.</p> + +<p>Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard to +take it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, +now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to the +others with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off her +so-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage.</p> + +<p>The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. On +the train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulu +sat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she too +had been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boy +between them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over her +own, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman lifted +her eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking.</p> + +<p>Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in many +cities—as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in a +strange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown café, then popular +among business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, was +reached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes took +the air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, +changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "What +do you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing the +waiter with painstaking gruffness.</p> + +<p>"Not that they can touch <i>your</i> cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, +settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust.</p> + +<p>Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was +a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his +wife, who now remarked:</p> + +<p>"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff."</p> + +<p>This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear—another mean +advantage.</p> + +<p>"Ina," said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite—no, over the other +way."</p> + +<p>"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Ina +inquired acidly.</p> + +<p>"I started to and then somebody always said something," said Lulu +humbly.</p> + +<p>Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against any +shadow.</p> + +<p>"Say, but you look tremendous to-night," Dwight observed to her.</p> + +<p>Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yet +flushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought: +"They're feeling sorry for Ina—nobody talking to her." She laughed at +everything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. +"How many folks keep going past," she said, many times.</p> + +<p>At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina's +isolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian's +attention. She therefore talked with him about himself.</p> + +<p>"Curious you've never married, Nin," she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't say it like that," he begged. "I might yet."</p> + +<p>Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this.</p> + +<p>"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't," Dwight +threw in with exceeding rancour.</p> + +<p>They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in the +third person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. It +was inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumed +for the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene about +them. But gradually her cheeks began to burn.</p> + +<p>"She'll cry," Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hat +is so pretty—ever so much prettier than the old one." But Ina said +frostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one.</p> + +<p>"Let us talk," said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down."</p> + +<p>He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardly +heard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her in +this confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his manner +was open to misinterpretation.</p> + +<p>In the nick of time, the lobster was served.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Dinner and the play—the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "Peter +Pan," chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at any +theatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortal +soul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all was +over, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurable +excitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more the +irrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident that +she was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon the +little doubling chin.</p> + +<p>They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. The +dog-kennel part—wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with the +rest of the play.</p> + +<p>"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook—he was my style," said +Dwight.</p> + +<p>"Well, there it is again," Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the real +play, either."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catch +everybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that."</p> + +<p>"And I didn't understand," said Ina, "why they all clapped when the +principal character ran down front and said something to the audience +that time. But they all did."</p> + +<p>Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished that +Monona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty that +she herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliest +light.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I have +said that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemed +to her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening had +been to her a light from heaven—how could she find anything to say? She +sat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look moving +from one to another. At last Ninian looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well."</p> + +<p>It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she had +not said enough.</p> + +<p>"You could hear everything they said," she added. "It was—" she +dwindled to silence.</p> + +<p>Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkled +dimples.</p> + +<p>"Excellent sauces they make here—excellent," he said, with the frown of +an epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all +laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he +meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this +sort, for an hour.</p> + +<p>"Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance +on the table."</p> + +<p>"Dwightie!"</p> + +<p>"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to read +the funeral service over us."</p> + +<p>"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian.</p> + +<p>In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating to +Dwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisive +endorsement of this proposal.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't object," said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?"</p> + +<p>Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking at +her. She made an anguished effort to defend herself.</p> + +<p>"I don't know it," she said, "so I can't say it."</p> + +<p>Ninian leaned toward her.</p> + +<p>"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife," he pronounced. +"That's the way it goes!"</p> + +<p>"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those at +the near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood and +motherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu that +way....</p> + +<p>Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it," he challenged.</p> + +<p>From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes +fought her battles, suddenly spoke out:</p> + +<p>"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband."</p> + +<p>"You will?" Ninian cried.</p> + +<p>"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could +join in, could be as merry as the rest.</p> + +<p>"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't +we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table.</p> + +<p>"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to—holy +things——what's the <i>matter</i>, Dwightie?"</p> + +<p>Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet.</p> + +<p>"Say, by George," he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state."</p> + +<p>"A civil wedding? Oh, well—" Ninian dismissed it.</p> + +<p>"But I," said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate."</p> + +<p>They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with the +indeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about and +returned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Ninian +continued to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I never saw one done so offhand," said Dwight. "But what you've said is +all you have to say according to law. And there don't have to be +witnesses ... say!" he said, and sat down again.</p> + +<p>Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showed +dark as she swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again.</p> + +<p>"Don't you let Dwight scare you," she besought Ninian.</p> + +<p>"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you ask +me."</p> + +<p>Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, and +now he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. +Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced her +and left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. It +was exactly like looking at his photograph.</p> + +<p>Dwight had recovered his authentic air.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, +I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city—no +one'll be the wiser."</p> + +<p>"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand."</p> + +<p>"Are you serious, Nin?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I'm serious."</p> + +<p>Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm.</p> + +<p>"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?"</p> + +<p>Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest," she said.</p> + +<p>"I am in earnest—hope to die," Ninian declared. He was on two legs of +his chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of his +earnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest.</p> + +<p>They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and there +was something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, about +this thing.</p> + +<p>Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre," he +cried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way—" +and was off.</p> + +<p>Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh," she said, "what will +mamma say?"</p> + +<p>Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant.</p> + +<p>"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian.</p> + +<p>For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touched +him.</p> + +<p>"Say," he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over again +somewhere, if you say so."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Lulu, "if I thought—"</p> + +<p>He leaned and patted her hand.</p> + +<p>"Good girl," he said.</p> + +<p>They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plump +hands.</p> + +<p>Dwight returned. "It's a go all right," he said. He sat down, laughed +weakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the church +could tie you."</p> + +<p>"Good enough," said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"It's—it's all right, I guess," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be dished," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"Sister!" said Ina.</p> + +<p>Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to trace +the processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of the +devil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhaps +the incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part.</p> + +<p>"I was going to make a trip south this month," he said, "on my way home +from here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and start +right off. You'd like that, wouldn't you—going South?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu only.</p> + +<p>"It's July," said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard.</p> + +<p>It was arranged that their trunks should follow them—Ina would see to +that, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return to +Warbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>"Mamma won't mind," said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more."</p> + +<p>They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tables +saw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, +indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime in +deafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>It was still early next day—a hot Sunday—when Ina and Dwight reached +home. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch.</p> + +<p>"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>They told.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched their +faces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her first +question was:</p> + +<p>"Who's going to do your work?"</p> + +<p>Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "you and I'll have to manage."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning.</p> + +<p>"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts," she said. "I +can't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you."</p> + +<p>"We've had our breakfasts," Ina escaped from this dilemma.</p> + +<p>"Had it up in the city, on expense?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we didn't have much."</p> + +<p>In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I should think," she said, "I should think Lulie might have had a +little more gratitude to her than this."</p> + +<p>On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left the +house some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company with +Bobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, so +young, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication.</p> + +<p>"That child," said Ina, "<i>must</i> not see so much of that Larkin boy. +She's just a little, little girl."</p> + +<p>"Of course she mustn't," said Dwight sharply, "and if <i>I</i> was her +mother—"</p> + +<p>"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps.</p> + +<p>To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Ina +announced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brother +Ninian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro<i>man</i>tic ... spoken +with that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="V"></a><h2>V</h2> +<br> + +<p>AUGUST</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim," brought on by nothing definable. +Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallen +silent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was ready +and Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from the +room and closed her bedroom door until it echoed.</p> + +<p>"She's got one again," said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go."</p> + +<p>He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside his +mother-in-law's door and knocked.</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Mother, come and have some supper."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Come on—I had something funny to tell you and Ina."</p> + +<p>He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by this +woman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him away +unsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, +at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwight +made a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their evening +meal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceeding +facetiousness inquired how Bobby was.</p> + +<p>Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going to +tease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. It +depended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. She +now groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going to +take her and Jenny for ice cream that night.</p> + +<p>Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood.</p> + +<p>"I won't have you downtown in the evening," she said.</p> + +<p>"But you let me go last night."</p> + +<p>"All the better reason why you should not go to-night."</p> + +<p>"I tell you," cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have ice +cream...." He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconciling +element in his home.</p> + +<p>"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, +her parted lips.</p> + +<p>"You too, certainly." Dwight could not do enough for every one.</p> + +<p>Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let me +go."</p> + +<p>"That's why papa's going to take you this time," Ina said.</p> + +<p>These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another:</p> + +<p>"But," she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can <i>not</i> go."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any more." Monona's look was honest and piteous.</p> + +<p>"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl."</p> + +<p>Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewing +high, and slowly.</p> + +<p>"See? She can eat if she will eat," Ina said to Dwight. "The only +trouble is, she will <i>not</i> take the time."</p> + +<p>"She don't put her mind on her meals," Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, +bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter.</p> + +<p>Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. The whole party."</p> + +<p>"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I."</p> + +<p>"Me, darling," said Ina patiently, punctiliously—and less punctiliously +added: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party."</p> + +<p>"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside—that important +engagement. I think we just will."</p> + +<p>"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I—"</p> + +<p>"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of your +grammar or shall I speak to you again?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than—than—than—" she looked +resentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evident +to her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to be +ashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, +frowning, put-upon.</p> + +<p>"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at one +impulse. Ina saw only the empty plate.</p> + +<p>"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child.</p> + +<p>The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulously +applied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this little +family. But there was no one to apply them.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked:</p> + +<p>"Nothing new from the bride and groom?"</p> + +<p>"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last."</p> + +<p>"See—where were they then?"</p> + +<p>He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Ina +played his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she added, "why they should go straight to Oregon +without coming here first."</p> + +<p>Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly +in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters," Ina proceeded. "They're +so—so—"</p> + +<p>"You haven't had but two, have you?"</p> + +<p>"That's all—well, of course it's only been a month. But both letters +have been so—"</p> + +<p>Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had the +blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter +go at that.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's fair to mamma—going off that way. Leaving her own +mother. Why, she may never see mamma again—" Ina's breath caught. Into +her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she +sometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten to +put some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in her +face as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from her +tantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. +In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love.</p> + +<p>Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of +the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. +Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett," but she shook +her head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived +to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jenny +arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, +and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside +her, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" cried +Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense +and living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett +left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the +old cripple, Grandma Gates.</p> + +<p>"Inie sha'n't have 'em," the old woman thought.</p> + +<p>And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom +she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom +she tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour had +gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to +have her come in.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family +returned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has <i>ice</i> +cream put in her lap, like a queen?"</p> + +<p>"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded.</p> + +<p>"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Vanilly sets better," Mrs. Bett said.</p> + +<p>They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creaking +board. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirt +over her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but the +warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its +particles.</p> + +<p>The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it was +Lulu.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Ina +cried out something.</p> + +<p>"How did you know?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Know! Know what?"</p> + +<p>"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma."</p> + +<p>She passed the others, and kissed her mother.</p> + +<p>"Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' +cream."</p> + +<p>"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you +talking?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Not a word." Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you—the +last from Savannah, Georgia."</p> + +<p>"Savannah, Georgia," said Lulu, and laughed.</p> + +<p>They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with a +little tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wise +upset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement.</p> + +<p>"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't he +here? Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Oregon!"</p> + +<p>"You see," said Lulu, "he had another wife."</p> + +<p>"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. +But he isn't sure."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so."</p> + +<p>"I had to be sure," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs to +bed at once."</p> + +<p>"It's only quarter to," said Monona, with assurance.</p> + +<p>"Do as mamma tells you."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Monona!"</p> + +<p>She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. +Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walking +slowly backward.</p> + +<p>"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was your +husband married?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother."</p> + +<p>"Mercy," said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on—go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation:</p> + +<p>"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out to +California and up the coast." On this she paused and sighed. "Well, then +at Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So he +told me."</p> + +<p>"Yes—well, what did he <i>say</i>?" Dwight demanded irritably.</p> + +<p>"Cora Waters," said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in San +Diego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him."</p> + +<p>"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, after +two years, she ran away again. That's all he knows."</p> + +<p>"That's a pretty story," said Dwight contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. And +she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is," Lulu +said again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure."</p> + +<p>"Well, but mercy," said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?"</p> + +<p>"It might take a long time," said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want to +stay and not know."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted.</p> + +<p>"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said he +thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course +that'd been hard—wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead."</p> + +<p>"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes were +simple.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a +curious emphasis.</p> + +<p>"I thought that, just at first," Lulu said, "but only just at first. Of +course that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me my +choice."</p> + +<p>"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice when +he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia."</p> + +<p>"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwight +asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, he'd got to thinking about it," she answered.</p> + +<p>A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street.</p> + +<p>"The only thing," she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish he +hadn't told me till we got to Oregon."</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said.</p> + +<p>Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to +understand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her +body. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee.</p> + +<p>"He felt bad too," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"He!" said Dwight. "He must have."</p> + +<p>"It's you," Ina sobbed. "It's you. <i>My</i> sister!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, +or I wouldn't have come home. I knew," she added, "it'd make Dwight feel +bad. I mean, it was his brother—"</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness," Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu regarded her, without change.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she said in her monotone. "People will have to know."</p> + +<p>"I do not see the necessity." Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too he +said "do not," always with Dwight betokening the finalities.</p> + +<p>"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled.</p> + +<p>"What difference does it make what they think?".</p> + +<p>"Why," said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like—you see they might—why, +Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them."</p> + +<p>"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something +the whole town will have to know about?"</p> + +<p>Lulu looked at him with parted lips.</p> + +<p>"Say," she said, "I never thought about it being that."</p> + +<p>Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, +pray?"</p> + +<p>"Ninian's," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feel +sorry for you. But the disgrace—that'd reflect on me. See?"</p> + +<p>"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?"</p> + +<p>Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leaves +her husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all."</p> + +<p>"I should hate that," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you."</p> + +<p>"Dwight, Dwight," said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'll +hear—"</p> + +<p>As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "was his other wife—was she <i>there</i>?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, mother. She wasn't there."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad," +she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out."</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, +but the large issues left her blank.</p> + +<p>Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, the +Deacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burner +and faced about, saying:</p> + +<p>"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, to +make your home with us in the future, on the old terms."</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?"</p> + +<p>"No. He didn't give me any money—only enough to get home on. And I +kept my suit—why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken any +money!"</p> + +<p>"That means," said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to live +here—on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. +Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition—on condition that +this disgraceful business is kept to ourselves."</p> + +<p>She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, +quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Truly, Lulu," said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. +But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd be +about all of us."</p> + +<p>Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth."</p> + +<p>Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu," he said, "are you <i>sure</i> of +that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?"</p> + +<p>"Proofs?"</p> + +<p>"Letters—documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was +speaking the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Lulu. "Proofs—no. He told me."</p> + +<p>"He told you!"</p> + +<p>"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him to +have to do. What proofs—" She stopped, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Didn't it occur to you," said Dwight, "that he might have told you that +because he didn't want to have to go on with it?"</p> + +<p>As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, +looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightly +fallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust she +began to rub at that.</p> + +<p>"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side.</p> + +<p>"I may as well tell you," he said, "that I myself have no idea that +Ninian told you the truth. He was always imagining things—you saw +that. I know him pretty well—have been more or less in touch with him +the whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever married +before."</p> + +<p>Lulu continued to rub at her skirt.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," she said.</p> + +<p>"Look here," Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had some +little tiff when he told you?"</p> + +<p>"No—no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina."</p> + +<p>She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile.</p> + +<p>"Evidently not," Dwight said drily.</p> + +<p>Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress—and my shoes—and my +hat. And another dress, too." She found the pins and took off her hat. +"He liked the red wing," she said. "I wanted black—oh, Dwight! He did +tell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mute +witness.</p> + +<p>Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too.</p> + +<p>"Even if it is true," said he, "I desire that you should keep silent +and protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts to +you for your own profit."</p> + +<p>"My own profit!"</p> + +<p>She said no more, but rose and moved to the door.</p> + +<p>"Lulu—you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't have +this known—even if it was so."</p> + +<p>"You have it in your hands," said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, for +anything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You also +have it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. That +is not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctly +unpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself."</p> + +<p>Lulu went on, into the passage.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes—Dwight thinks +she's married all right now—and that it's all right, all the time."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes," said Mrs. Bett, and left the room +with her daughter.</p> + +<p>Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice:</p> + +<p>"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready.</p> + +<p>"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times."</p> + +<p>Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to the +table.</p> + +<p>"Lulu's the only one in <i>this</i> house can cook the bacon so's it'll +chew," Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and held +contentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festive +toaster." He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, became +breezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well +back and gently shaken.</p> + +<p>Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that +she, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to +anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, +which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. She +stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly.</p> + +<p>Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. +Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her old +offices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested +milk toast and went to make it.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Ninian +coming too?"</p> + +<p>"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions."</p> + +<p>"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>No</i>. Don't say anything at all about her."</p> + +<p>"But, mamma. What has she done?"</p> + +<p>"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?"</p> + +<p>Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. But +now Dwight said:</p> + +<p>"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me like +a little girl now."</p> + +<p>"Shame, Di," said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the +side of Di.</p> + +<p>"I'm eighteen," Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school."</p> + +<p>"Then act so," boomed her father.</p> + +<p>Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and there +imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to +questions skilfully shaped.</p> + +<p>When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief," displayed a +hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed +him:</p> + +<p>"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish you'd give it to me."</p> + +<p>Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem," he said, "that +you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have it."</p> + +<p>"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paper +and a pencil stump.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not be sensible and leave +this alone? No good can come by—"</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't I have his address?"</p> + +<p>"If everything is over between you, why should you?"</p> + +<p>"But you say he's still my husband."</p> + +<p>Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as +I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch +with him again."</p> + +<p>"You won't give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, in all kindness—no."</p> + +<p>His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different coloured +borders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she had +embroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs.</p> + +<p>"<i>Where</i> are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing that +Lulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, what +you so dressed up for?"</p> + +<p>Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, and +wore the tilting hat with the red wing.</p> + +<p>"Ninian bought me this," said Lulu only.</p> + +<p>"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well—out of +sight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her.</p> + +<p>"Why?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Why set people wondering till we have to?"</p> + +<p>"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned," said Lulu, and went +down the walk.</p> + +<p>Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her life +before," she said.</p> + +<p>She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down the +street.</p> + +<p>"That gives me the funniest feeling," said Ina, "as if Lulu had on +clothes bought for her by some one that wasn't—that was—"</p> + +<p>"By her husband who has left her," said Dwight sadly.</p> + +<p>"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she was +there; had been there the greater part of the day—most of the time +staring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu.</p> + +<p>"That's what it is, my little girl," said Dwight, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think it's a shame," said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninian +is a slunge."</p> + +<p>"Di!"</p> + +<p>"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to tell +everybody."</p> + +<p>"There is," said Dwight, "no need for secrecy—now."</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" said Ina—Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but it +must have been her lashes that looked so startled.</p> + +<p>"No need whatever for secrecy," he repeated with firmness. "The truth +is, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it."</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight—how awful for Lulu...."</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "has us to stand by her."</p> + +<p>Lulu, walking down the main street, thought:</p> + +<p>"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebody +behind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've got +to speak to her...."</p> + +<p>One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her some +version of:</p> + +<p>"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it <i>isn't</i> Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, +what are you doing here? I thought...."</p> + +<p>"I'm back to stay," she said.</p> + +<p>"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, +but we were surprised! You're the sly one—"</p> + +<p>"My—Mr. Deacon isn't here."</p> + +<p>"Oh."</p> + +<p>"No. He's West."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see."</p> + +<p>Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could +invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away.</p> + +<p>She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at the +post-office—with only one or two there had she to go through her +examination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a +new ordeal.</p> + +<p>To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a +slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said Lulu faintly.</p> + +<p>The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper +which he held.</p> + +<p>"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?"</p> + +<p>"Let's see—you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?"</p> + +<p>"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he might +have given you his address—" she dwindled away.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don't +you send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that," Lulu said absurdly, and turned away.</p> + +<p>She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them +all. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But when +she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her +reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner.</p> + +<p>Abruptly her confidence rose.</p> + +<p>Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. They +were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with +Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly +singing.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't we +look like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. +Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Ina +looked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate +cardamom seeds.</p> + +<p>"Whom did you see?" Ina asked.</p> + +<p>Lulu named them.</p> + +<p>"See them to talk to?" from Dwight.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes. They had all stopped.</p> + +<p>"What did they say?" Ina burst out.</p> + +<p>They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more.</p> + +<p>Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women that +cock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all over +town. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out—should do so, in +fact. Still the story would be all over town.</p> + +<p>"Dwight," said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address."</p> + +<p>"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu," Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. +Have you no delicacy?"</p> + +<p>Lulu smiled—a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner of +her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'm +married or not."</p> + +<p>Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use his +shoulders for the purpose.</p> + +<p>"I myself will take this up with my brother," he said. "I will write to +him about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him <i>now</i>!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Really," said Dwight, lifting his brows.</p> + +<p>"Now—now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materials +from their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before him +and stood by him. "Write to him now," she said again.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd."</p> + +<p>She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight—and they didn't know whether +he had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him—oh, don't you +see? Help me."</p> + +<p>Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor even +to stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was to +look to her own male merely.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his own +way? Wouldn't that be better?"</p> + +<p>She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, +wouldn't that be better?</p> + +<p>"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. +Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked +away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?"</p> + +<p>Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before.</p> + +<p>"You write that letter to Ninian," she said, "and you make him tell you +so you'll understand. <i>I</i> know he spoke the truth. But I want you to +know."</p> + +<p>"M—m," said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it all +over town—as soon as you have the proofs."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell it all over town," said Lulu, "just as it is—unless +you write to him now."</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"I would," said Lulu. "I will."</p> + +<p>Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But then +he sneered.</p> + +<p>"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?"</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!"</p> + +<p>"I would," said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it."</p> + +<p>"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, +"unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now."</p> + +<p>"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Leave everything," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not +say in what particulars, but Dwight knew.</p> + +<p>Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of +peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw.</p> + +<p>He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the +inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather +than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do +anything."</p> + +<p>He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in +secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it.</p> + +<p>"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows.</p> + +<p>"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." +He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's +nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. +He hummed a bar.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too +dry," she said.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I saw," said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything to +avoid having a scene—you know that." His glance swept a little +anxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired.</p> + +<p>"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it," she +now dared to say. "It's—it's not a nice position for Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Ninian," said Ina.</p> + +<p>Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself," he said. "To tell you the truth, +I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in that +restaurant."</p> + +<p>"Why, but, Dwight—"</p> + +<p>"Brazen," he said. "Oh, it was brazen."</p> + +<p>"It was just fun, in the first place."</p> + +<p>"But no really nice woman—" he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Dwight! Lulu <i>is</i> nice. The idea!"</p> + +<p>He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know.</p> + +<p>Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, +was silent.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I +should never think of you as sisters."</p> + +<p>"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life +behind her—but this was sweet and she could not resist.</p> + +<p>"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position +she's in—married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order +to get free. Now, no really nice woman—"</p> + +<p>"No really nice man—" Ina did say that much.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Dwight, "but <i>you</i> could never be in such a position. No, no. +Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere."</p> + +<p>Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as +might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed.</p> + +<p>"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with +ladylike feelings."</p> + +<p>It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until +ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young +voices.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me as +if you really wanted to kiss me, to-night."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="VI"></a><h2>VI</h2> +<br> + +<p>SEPTEMBER</p> + +<p>The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality +(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above a +store which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, and +had suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies served +lunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months of +disuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to a +music man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired.</p> + +<p>The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his window +with sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissed +their hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, Dwight +Herbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door of +the new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, was +rubbing at the face of a piano.</p> + +<p>"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?"</p> + +<p>"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can," Dwight replied. +"Or," said he, "I might marry you free, either one."</p> + +<p>On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, the +idle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip.</p> + +<p>"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked him +once. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural—never +entered my head to be anything else. But <i>pianos</i>—"</p> + +<p>The music man—his name was Neil Cornish—threw up his chin in a boyish +fashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down the +Warbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound the +same. "I'm studying law when I get the chance," said Cornish, as one who +makes a bid to be thought of more highly.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb.</p> + +<p>Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a little +inheritance some day—not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel a +certain confidence....</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew.</p> + +<p>Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never compared +Warbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively at +lunch:</p> + +<p>"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these +nights?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it."</p> + +<p>"What if I brought him up to-night?"</p> + +<p>Up went Ina's eyebrows. <i>To-night</i>?</p> + +<p>"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," +Lulu contributed.</p> + +<p>Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. +This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight's +informal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, +now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guest +replied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved in +some pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness.</p> + +<p>They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the time +with a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was one +of the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked the +people—they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, already +liked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. +She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Come +to supper, all." Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. +Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgot +to introduce her.</p> + +<p>"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is never +anywhere."</p> + +<p>A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, grace +was to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a generic +appeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. And +there was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stages +of men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial of +taking food to nourish life—and more.</p> + +<p>At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh upon +her—perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, +crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear," she +said audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring."</p> + +<p>The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jests +about everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbleton +happenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish tried +hard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. +He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some more +stories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiously +pinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth and +thereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if it +could be from <i>that</i>. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping a +second time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed on +Di about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, first +thing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughed +heartily and lifted her glass of water.</p> + +<p>"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelated +effort to lift the talk to musical levels.</p> + +<p>"Well, do you know," said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don't +know a black note from a white one."</p> + +<p>"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily," said Di's mother. "But then +how can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales." For the first time it +occurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm really +studying law," he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, +from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them to +try over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out of +practice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Di +made one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, so +intolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be found +wanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who had +ensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think?</p> + +<p>Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, +"Don't you play, Miss—?" He had not caught her name—no stranger ever +did catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett," he explained +with loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu had +usually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons and +she had stopped "taking"—a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. +This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But now +Lulu was heard to say serenely:</p> + +<p>"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert—two weeks +ago."</p> + +<p>They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having had +experiences of which they did not know.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia." She flushed, and lifted +her eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course," she said, "I don't +know the names of all the different instruments they played, but there +were a good many." She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. +"They had some lovely tunes," she said. She knew that the subject was +not exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large," she +superadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it was +too warm."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That he +too had been in Savannah, Georgia.</p> + +<p>Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and she +caught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?" +she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of the +provincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance to +maintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in that +town and that he was there for two hours.</p> + +<p>"I was there for a week." Lulu's superiority was really pretty.</p> + +<p>"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings—but at her "we" she +flushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. This +was the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life.</p> + +<p>After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try to +escape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate in +his insistence on the third person—"She loves it, we have to humour +her, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"—and more +of the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who looked +uncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paid +no attention to anybody that night, not because she had not been +introduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely as +another form of "tantrim." A self-indulgence.</p> + +<p>They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow and +Bobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended to +have forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She met +the objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, +set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company," +at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousness +she said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than ever +because she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to be +distinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was as +primitive as pollen.</p> + +<p>Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should have +outgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown none +of these things.</p> + +<p>"That just spoils croquet," she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have a +real game."</p> + +<p>From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among the +waterproofs, Lulu stepped forth.</p> + +<p>"I'll play a game," she said.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Ina +turned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. And +Ina's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, +primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert's +late wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood into +the functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. +Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, +strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that a +moral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. But +of course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verb +should be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or the +minister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never be +transitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But it +is. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to her +husband her incredible responsibility.</p> + +<p>"You know, Herbert," said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here <i>very</i> +much, what we may expect."</p> + +<p>"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply.</p> + +<p>Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, +pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when she +didn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even play +her games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not to +understand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina <i>had</i> to +please him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to please +nobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historical +home forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community.</p> + +<p>"He'll fall in love with Di," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in love +with her, <i>I</i> should say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?"</p> + +<p>"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of."</p> + +<p>"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight—a stranger so."</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal about +him."</p> + +<p>With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about this +stranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a number +of stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks.</p> + +<p>"He has a little inheritance coming to him—shortly," Dwight wound up.</p> + +<p>"An inheritance—really? How much, Dwight?"</p> + +<p>"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>thought</i> he was from a good family," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"My mercenary little pussy!"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did really +accept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older +man pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?"</p> + +<p>Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he left +all such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetual +rehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience.</p> + +<p>A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was something +overpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of his +negligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For he +looked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in the +street as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines of +his life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And a +preposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos near +the front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridors +of the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, and +furnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity in +phrasing, but how mean that little room would look—cot bed, washbowl +and pitcher, and little mirror—almost certainly a mirror with a wavy +surface, almost certainly that.</p> + +<p>"And then, you know," he always added, "I'm reading law."</p> + +<p>The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, +Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing.</p> + +<p>Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat of +her emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, the +beloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the rôle of +womanly little girl.</p> + +<p>"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried.</p> + +<p>As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish +instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with +another lamp.</p> + +<p>"Do you need this?" she asked.</p> + +<p>They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this +Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's +photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed +the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands.</p> + +<p>"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only +to those who—presumably—loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had +shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return.</p> + +<p>She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had +bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly +about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called:</p> + +<p>"See here! Aren't <i>you</i> going to sing?"</p> + +<p>"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? <i>Lulu</i>?"</p> + +<p>She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at +being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album +of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she +struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking +rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. +The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a +little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's +picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows +and watched Lulu.</p> + +<p>When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said +"ba-ird."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!"</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted.</p> + +<p>Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to +him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal.</p> + +<p>"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you."</p> + +<p>It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>Cornish was bending over Di.</p> + +<p>"What next do you say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, +lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down.</p> + +<p>"You like sacred music?"</p> + +<p>She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said: +"I love it."</p> + +<p>"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece," Cornish +declared.</p> + +<p>Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face.</p> + +<p>"Give <i>me</i> ragtime," he said now, with the effect of bursting out of +somewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly.</p> + +<p>Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smile +for him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look.</p> + +<p>"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge,'" Cornish suggested. "That's got up real +attractive."</p> + +<p>Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the very +one she had been hoping to hear him sing.</p> + +<p>They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge."</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such a +perfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it.</p> + +<p>"Lulu is," said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have to +hear herself sing."</p> + +<p>It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About that +photograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, called +attention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing them +all. Everybody must have understood—excepting the Plows. These two +gentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and at +the melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from another +world. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetrating +plane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite of +earth, say, flowers and fire and music.</p> + +<p>Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ran +badly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them.</p> + +<p>"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I mean +that I'd know how to do? A job for money.... I mean a job...."</p> + +<p>She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. She +heard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be right +there."</p> + +<p>Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he ran +down the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours that +night, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and she +could fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about two +hours of sleep the whole night long.</p> + +<p>Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought up +Dwight—"made him what he was," he often complacently accused her. It +was a note on a postal card—she had often written a few lines on a +postal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina get +her some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say that +she was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her while +she was still able to visit? If he was not too busy....</p> + +<p>Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it up +by the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before they +left, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned the +postal card.</p> + +<p>And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight—you can't tell how long you'll +be gone?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. How should I tell?"</p> + +<p>"No. And that letter might come while you're away."</p> + +<p>"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!"</p> + +<p>"Dwight—I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it—"</p> + +<p>"Opened it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly—"</p> + +<p>"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly."</p> + +<p>"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?"</p> + +<p>"But you say you know what'll be in it."</p> + +<p>"So I did know—till you—I've got to see that letter, Dwight."</p> + +<p>"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you know +how I hate having my mail interfered with."</p> + +<p>She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that." She said +nothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousand +injunctions.</p> + +<p>"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu—if it occurs to her +to have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You might +ask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watch +Monona's handkerchief—the child will never take a clean one if I'm not +here to tell her...."</p> + +<p>She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus.</p> + +<p>In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward:</p> + +<p>"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threw +back his head and lifted his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife.</p> + +<p>"Ina," he said. "It's <i>ma</i>. And she's going to die. It can't be...."</p> + +<p>Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there with +her."</p> + +<p>It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind of +fresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speak +through him and minister.</p> + +<p>Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came.</p> + +<p>Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that +evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and +she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She +passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were +telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than +they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and +spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster +mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed.</p> + +<p>Cornish stepped down and overtook her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two—"</p> + +<p>She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night—could you—" It +was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease.</p> + +<p>Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed.</p> + +<p>"Come for supper," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance.</p> + +<p>He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the +country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at +ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It +became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was +<i>there</i>. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had +picked flowers for the table—a task coveted by her but usually +performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a +vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made +ice-cream.</p> + +<p>"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like +asking you under false—" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended +without it.</p> + +<p>Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said +contentedly.</p> + +<p>"Kind of a relief, <i>I</i> think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from +the fulness of something or other.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile.</p> + +<p>"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and +chitters."</p> + +<p>Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight +face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so <i>very</i> much in love." And again +she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks +Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty +that this was not so.</p> + +<p>By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu and +Cornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leaf +side-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she need +not see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisement +of dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferently +fingering both.</p> + +<p>"Monona," Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!"</p> + +<p>Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive," he said—it +was his formula of praise for his music.</p> + +<p>"But we can't try it over," Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come."</p> + +<p>"Well, say," said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of Old +Favourites here. Some of them we know by heart."</p> + +<p>Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something," she said, "there's some of these +I can play with one hand—by ear. Maybe—"</p> + +<p>"Why sure!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the +nights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality of +being Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In +her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it +looked even more abundant—but she had not dared to try it so until +to-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin +hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped +and strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud +pedal—the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "How +Can I Leave Thee," and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, +Long Ago," and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay." Beyond open doors, +Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers +ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: +"You're quite a musician."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I've +never done this in front of anybody," she owned. "I don't know what +Dwight and Ina'd say...." She drooped.</p> + +<p>They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred and +quickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, +and poured this forth, even thus trampled.</p> + +<p>"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to," said +Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Lulu said again.</p> + +<p>"Sing and play and cook—"</p> + +<p>"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something." But this she +had not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened.</p> + +<p>"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought."</p> + +<p>"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Cornish. "I never thought of that," he added. She caught +his speculative look—he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, +as who in Warbleton had not heard?</p> + +<p>"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. +This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned in +her an unspeakable relief.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are," she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'd +like 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell."</p> + +<p>Cornish frowned, trying to understand.</p> + +<p>"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair."</p> + +<p>"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that—" said Cornish. "That's not right."</p> + +<p>"No. But there it is. It puts me—you see what it does to me. They +think—they all think my—husband left me."</p> + +<p>It was curious to hear her bring out that word—tentatively, +deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant.</p> + +<p>Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well...."</p> + +<p>Before she willed it, she was telling him:</p> + +<p>"He didn't. He didn't leave me," she cried with passion. "He had another +wife." Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself.</p> + +<p>"Lord sakes!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news of +her state where there would be neither hardness nor censure.</p> + +<p>"We were in Savannah, Georgia," she said. "We were going to leave for +Oregon—going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he was +going out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I was +sitting the same as there. He opened the door again—the same as here. I +saw he looked different—and he said quick: 'There's something you'd +ought to know before we go.' And of course I said, 'What?' And he said +it right out—how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years she +ran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. +So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me."</p> + +<p>"No, no. Of course he didn't," Cornish said earnestly. "But Lord +sakes—" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable +and sat down.</p> + +<p>"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell—he thinks it isn't true. He +thinks—he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted—" Lulu +looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me."</p> + +<p>"But why don't you make your—husband—I mean, why doesn't he write to +Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth—" Cornish burst out.</p> + +<p>Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare +sweetness.</p> + +<p>"He has written," she said. "The letter's there."</p> + +<p>He followed her look, scowled at the two letters.</p> + +<p>"What'd he say?"</p> + +<p>"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he +comes back."</p> + +<p>"Lord sakes!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted +it with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You—you—you're +too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't."</p> + +<p>To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she +could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy.</p> + +<p>"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can +do."</p> + +<p>And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his +face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so +fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, +ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the +time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, +he was there, and she could talk to him.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just <i>could</i> +know for sure that the other woman was alive—if I couldn't know she's +dead."</p> + +<p>This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand.</p> + +<p>"Sure you would," he said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And +she never heard of me."</p> + +<p>"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss.</p> + +<p>In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared.</p> + +<p>"I scraped up everything," she remarked, "and left the dishes set."</p> + +<p>"That's right, mamma," Lulu said. "Come and sit down."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected +of her.</p> + +<p>"I don't hear any more playin' and singin'," she remarked. "It sounded +real nice."</p> + +<p>"We—we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma."</p> + +<p>"I use' to play on the melodeon," Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and +examined her right hand.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, when +she was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. She +rehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at old +fears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen—a +tragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At the +end she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she had +been telling the story of some one else.</p> + +<p>"Give us one more piece," she said.</p> + +<p>"Can we?" Cornish asked.</p> + +<p>"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old,'" Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish.</p> + +<p>They sang it, to Lulu's right hand.</p> + +<p>"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie," +cried, Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then.</p> + +<p>Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. +Cornish rose to go.</p> + +<p>"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded.</p> + +<p>"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice was +sharp.</p> + +<p>"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything I +could do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her to +feel no intrusion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you," she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel—"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," said Cornish heartily.</p> + +<p>They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamour +from the grass, tiny voices, insisting.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Lulu, "of course you won't—you wouldn't—"</p> + +<p>"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not," he repeated, "for +dollars."</p> + +<p>"But I knew you wouldn't," she told him.</p> + +<p>He took her hand. "Good-night," he said. "I've had an awful nice time +singing and listening to you talk—well, of course—I mean," he cried, +"the supper was just fine. And so was the music."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett came into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "I guess you didn't notice—this one's from Ninian."</p> + +<p>"Mother—"</p> + +<p>"I opened it—why, of course I did. It's from Ninian."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and a +yellowed newspaper clipping.</p> + +<p>"See," said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hall +singer—married last night to Ninian Deacon—' Say, Lulie, that must be +her...."</p> + +<p>Lulu threw out her hands.</p> + +<p>"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He <i>was</i> married to her, just like he +said!"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually at +the side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wanted +to see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking with +a troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like the +hair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruit +and honey upon the table seemed her only possible food.</p> + +<p>"You look troubled, Lulu," Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask—quite a lot of places. I +guess the bakery is going to let me make cake."</p> + +<p>"I knew it would come to you," Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought that +this was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after the +cakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright and +quiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwight +never read from a book at table.</p> + +<p>"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know what +she wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceived +none.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, +Lulu thought.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me about +last night."</p> + +<p>"Last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where did +you go?" She turned to Jenny.</p> + +<p>Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across the +river and carried supper and then we came home."</p> + +<p>"What time did you get home?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was."</p> + +<p>Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed there +at Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on account +of Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To which +Lulu said an "of course," but first she stared at Jenny and so impaired +the strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go.</p> + +<p>"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers.</p> + +<p>Lulu wanted to say: "My husband <i>was</i> married before, just as he said he +was." But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, +and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony.</p> + +<p>"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Lulu +spoke formally and her rehearsals were evident.</p> + +<p>Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her."</p> + +<p>With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at her +helplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually:</p> + +<p>"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yard +sitting in the hammock till all hours."</p> + +<p>Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on:</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't say +a word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters.' So I left her stay where +she was."</p> + +<p>"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone."</p> + +<p>"I forgot it," Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all—" She +talked of Ninian's letter.</p> + +<p>Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu's +softness and laxness.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what your mother'll say," said Lulu, "and I don't know +what people'll think."</p> + +<p>"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway," said Di, +and left the room.</p> + +<p>Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she was +anxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwight +and Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought of +Di's girlish folly, her irritating independence—"and there," Lulu +thought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew." Her mind dwelt +too on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. But +when all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She must +leave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him that +she had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to <i>do</i>? +The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof.</p> + +<p>Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight and +flat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about these +things. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one in +distress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strong +and swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu with +dragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative than +she had ever been.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then humming +an air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through the +kitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on the +elm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden block +pavement.</p> + +<p>"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, like +the burden of a comic song.</p> + +<p>"Hush, mother," Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflicting +with her honesty.</p> + +<p>"Speak the truth and shame the devil," Mrs. Bett contended.</p> + +<p>When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Lulu +had heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectation +that she would join them.</p> + +<p>"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time," she thought, and for a time +said nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'd +better put her plate in the oven."</p> + +<p>Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating a +baked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting a +profile of passionate absorption.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di went off," she said.</p> + +<p>"Went off!"</p> + +<p>"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk."</p> + +<p>"She must have gone to Jenny's," said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do that +without telling me."</p> + +<p>Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" she +cried in sisterly enjoyment.</p> + +<p>It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at the +table that Mrs. Bett observed:</p> + +<p>"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel."</p> + +<p>"Her satchel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a +satchel?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I +didn't think Inie—"</p> + +<p>"Mother! Which way did she go?"</p> + +<p>Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen +her."</p> + +<p>Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railway +station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for +shopping, would be just about leaving.</p> + +<p>"Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. +Mother, you keep her—"</p> + +<p>Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton +dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she was +still two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty +"pulling out."</p> + +<p>She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, +her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and to +the ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains and +perturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her:</p> + +<p>"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?"</p> + +<p>"Sure she did," said Lenny.</p> + +<p>"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now.</p> + +<p>"He went in on the Local," said Lenny, and his eyes widened.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"See." Lenny thought it through. "Millton," he said. "Yes, sure. +Millton. Both of 'em."</p> + +<p>"How long till another train?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. +Seventeen was late this morning—she'll be along, jerk of a lamb's +tail."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without me +paying till after—and you got to lend me two dollars."</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railway +system at her feet.</p> + +<p>"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny's +signal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow express +slowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbed +aboard.</p> + +<p>Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do? +Millton! She had been there but once, years ago—how could she ever +find anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriff +or somebody—no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight and +Ina were going to be angry now! And Di—little Di. As Lulu thought of +her she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di to +sew.</p> + +<p>In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. +She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands to +her hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She was +pulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train.</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me," she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotel +in Millton?"</p> + +<p>Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia.</p> + +<p>The conductor looked curiously at her.</p> + +<p>"Why, the Hess House," he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meet +you?" he asked, kindly.</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks—" Her voice trailed +away.</p> + +<p>"Beats all," thought the conductor, using his utility formula for the +universe.</p> + +<p>In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. +Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be a +new servant there.</p> + +<p>"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobby +entrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?"</p> + +<p>The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, it +seemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, +but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end of +the office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on your +book."</p> + +<p>Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, +showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names and +strange writing presented themselves there, he said:</p> + +<p>"Tried the parlour?"</p> + +<p>And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pen +divorced from his ear for the express purpose.</p> + +<p>In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's most +pressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers in +the Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of the +intensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-coloured +chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone.</p> + +<p>Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started +up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the +first thing that occurred to her:</p> + +<p>"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel."</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "My +goodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?"</p> + +<p>"For you," said Lulu. "You—you—you'd ought not to be here, Di."</p> + +<p>"What's that to you?" Di cried.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----"</p> + +<p>Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she to +go on? "Di," she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why not +let us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this sounded +as if she were talking about a tea-party.</p> + +<p>"Who said we wanted to be married?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he's here."</p> + +<p>"Who said he's here?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't he?"</p> + +<p>Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu," she said, "you're a funny person to be +telling <i>me</i> what to do."</p> + +<p>Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was married +happy, in a home."</p> + +<p>"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as I +think best."</p> + +<p>Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to find +something to say. "What do people say to people," she wondered, "when +it's like this?"</p> + +<p>"Getting married is for your whole life," was all that came to her.</p> + +<p>"Yours wasn't," Di flashed at her.</p> + +<p>Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. She +must deal with this right—that was what her manner seemed to say. And +how should she deal?</p> + +<p>"Di," she cried, "come back with me—and wait till mamma and papa get +home."</p> + +<p>"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"Well, but how young that is!"</p> + +<p>"It is to you."</p> + +<p>"Di! This is wrong—it <i>is</i> wrong."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing wrong about getting married—if you stay married."</p> + +<p>"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know."</p> + +<p>"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And I +won't stay at home—I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten years +old."</p> + +<p>Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di," she said, "do you feel that way too?"</p> + +<p>Di missed this. She went on:</p> + +<p>"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowed +to do a thing I feel. I want to be away—I will be away!"</p> + +<p>"I know about that part," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di was +suffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had not +thought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, +so—asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House at +Millton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were let +alone?</p> + +<p>"You don't know what it's like," Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughed +at and paid no attention to, everything you say."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?"</p> + +<p>She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If <i>this</i> was why Di was +leaving home....</p> + +<p>"But, Di," she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?"</p> + +<p>By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody," she said, "and +it might as well be him."</p> + +<p>"But is it him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," said Di. "But," she added, "I know I could love almost +anybody real nice that was nice to me." And this she said, not in her +own right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, or +else the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke through +her, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned its +face to be recognised.</p> + +<p>"Di!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"It's true. You ought to know that." She waited for a moment. "You did +it," she added. "Mamma said so."</p> + +<p>At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive its +truth.</p> + +<p>"I know what I want to do, I guess," Di muttered, as if to try to cover +what she had said.</p> + +<p>Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understood +Di, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Di +actually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that they +were both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were two +women. And she must make Di know that she understood her.</p> + +<p>"Di," Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. +Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you—"</p> + +<p>She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtue +of that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said:</p> + +<p>"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!"</p> + +<p>Lulu glanced down. "I know," she said, "but I guess you'll have to put +up with me."</p> + +<p>The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those who +examine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. +These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di kept +silence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing to +do with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "What +do you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"I mean I'm going to stay with you."</p> + +<p>Di laughed scornfully—she was again the rebellious child. "I guess +Bobby'll have something to say about that," she said insolently.</p> + +<p>"They left you in my charge."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not a baby—the idea, Aunt Lulu!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to stay right with you," said Lulu. She wondered what she +should do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that bright +lobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. +And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in her +agonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes.</p> + +<p>Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, and +looked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing more +to say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive.</p> + +<p>They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room.</p> + +<p>Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, +came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glanced +sidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on an +importance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby—a Bobby who +wished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in the +Hess House at Millton.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no less +than overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure upon +which he found himself.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobby +into whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief.</p> + +<p>Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her rôle, +ignored Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Bobby! Is it all right?"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked over her head.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu," he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu."</p> + +<p>He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but she +can't. I've told her so."</p> + +<p>"She don't have to stop us," quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctive +in her melodrama.</p> + +<p>Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out.</p> + +<p>"We're minors," said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that."</p> + +<p>"No. They knew <i>I</i> was."</p> + +<p>"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?"</p> + +<p>"But I am."</p> + +<p>Di stared. "For pity sakes," she said, "don't you know how to do +anything?"</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head held +very stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin.</p> + +<p>"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we're +responsible—that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny...."</p> + +<p>"You wanted me to lie?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib."</p> + +<p>"Well, but this—" he stared at her.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of such a thing," Di cried accusingly.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've told +our ages. We've got to have our folks in on it."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"What else?"</p> + +<p>"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and be +married there."</p> + +<p>"Di," said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go."</p> + +<p>Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He replied +stonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her little +hand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulu +sitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge," Di +cried, and rose.</p> + +<p>Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don't +know what I can say." Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I've +told Di," she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. +Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take me +along, I guess." She spoke in a manner of distinct apology.</p> + +<p>At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at the +carpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation in +the eternal query: How did I get into it?</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?"</p> + +<p>This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di had +counted. He said loudly:</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you or +any other girl."</p> + +<p>Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like a +man in a story," she said, "as—as papa is."</p> + +<p>The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time to +stay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between the +lovers.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, and +swallowed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out—" said Di.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to back out," Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but I +won't—"</p> + +<p>"Come on, Aunt Lulu," said Di grandly.</p> + +<p>Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought up +the rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Heads +turned to look at her. They passed into the street.</p> + +<p>"You two go ahead," said Lulu, "so they won't think—"</p> + +<p>They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, and +thought of her broken shoes.</p> + +<p>At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, he +said, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. And +Lulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu," said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. You +look as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here."</p> + +<p>"All right, Di," said Lulu humbly.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bett +stood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron.</p> + +<p>"Surprise for you!" she called brightly.</p> + +<p>Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall.</p> + +<p>"Darling!"</p> + +<p>She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw the +travelling bag.</p> + +<p>"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?"</p> + +<p>In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. She +now laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs.</p> + +<p>Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Well, where have <i>you</i> been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw such +a family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tell +anything."</p> + +<p>"Mamma knows a-plenty," snapped Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down.</p> + +<p>"You'll catch it—you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill general +warning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about her +bag and now she says I don't know nothing," she complained. "There I +knew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her and +spoil her gettin' home." She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a good +notion not to eat a mouthful o' supper," she announced.</p> + +<p>"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've got +enough to get through to-night."</p> + +<p>Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him the +mysterious circumstance of the bag, could hear the exaggerated air of +the casual with which he always received the excitement of another, and +especially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, +and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pity +for Di, as if she herself were about to face them.</p> + +<p>There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cotton +dress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown."</p> + +<p>She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression—almost +as if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye.</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, +aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!"</p> + +<p>Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head was +moving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought better +of it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on another +dress?"</p> + +<p>Lulu sat down in her place. "No," she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, +Dwight."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me—" he began.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona.</p> + +<p>But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, +who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly:</p> + +<p>"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulu +been with mamma's new bag?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, that +alters it."</p> + +<p>"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly.</p> + +<p>"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt," said Dwight Herbert, "events +begin to event."</p> + +<p>"Come, Di, let's hear," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"Ina," said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? How +is----"</p> + +<p>Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his face +dropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"She'll never be any better," he said. "I know we've said good-bye to +her for the last time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"She knew it too," he said. "It—it put me out of business, I can tell +you. She gave me my start—she took all the care of me—taught me to +read—she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened his +eyes wide on account of their dimness.</p> + +<p>"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there," said +Ina, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of the +journey. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that +he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, +told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, +"Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow.</p> + +<p>"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she +went on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. About +the bag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma," said Di, "let me eat my supper."</p> + +<p>"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first what +you've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu.</p> + +<p>But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Di +would say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her—where in the world had you +been? Why, but you couldn't have been with her—in that dress. And yet +I saw you come in the gate together."</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly did +not so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?"</p> + +<p>"It's a good dress," Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's a +good dress. Lulie wore it on the street—of course she did. She was gone +a long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and <i>then</i> she hadn't come."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where were +you both?"</p> + +<p>One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, +identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacy +was incredible.</p> + +<p>"Put an end to this, Lulu," he commanded. "Where were you two—since you +make such a mystery?"</p> + +<p>Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father was +now clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herself +temporising, for the moment making common cause with Di.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if we +want one?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don't +know about your secrets, Lulu."</p> + +<p>Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed to +bleed.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad for my dinner," remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me." +On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best to +make her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burst +in.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there—come. I can't stand +it. What am I going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Di, dear," said Lulu. "Tell your mother—you must tell her."</p> + +<p>"She'll cry," Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa—and he'll never stop +talking about it. I know him—every day he'll keep it going. After he +scolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die—I'll die, Aunt Lulu."</p> + +<p>Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about? +I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting...."</p> + +<p>"Let's go out on the porch," said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, +Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way that +she knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in this +world....</p> + +<p>Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress.</p> + +<p>"A bridal robe," said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu—what are <i>you</i> wearing +a bridal robe for—eh?"</p> + +<p>She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, she +reflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour—had +not yet asked for his mail.</p> + +<p>It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the village +street came in—laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Lights +starred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on the +board walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish.</p> + +<p>Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the time +broken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clock +strike reassuring dawn.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!"</p> + +<p>Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse," she said.</p> + +<p>Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sick +woman—and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Di +was curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply and +directly—the rarest of Di's manners, in fact not Di's manner at all. +Lulu spoke not at all—it was enough to have this respite.</p> + +<p>After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besetting +fear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived.</p> + +<p>And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, +recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobby +was plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. +It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And it +was no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully to +pierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know the +kind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her own +pride—you know how they do that?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "my part, I think <i>the</i> most awful thing is to have +somebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbed +and spiteful with such treatment."</p> + +<p>"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say my +prayers!"</p> + +<p>Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, +but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear +devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two +divided channels.</p> + +<p>She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed +the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in +Mrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour.</p> + +<p>"Don't you help me," Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I can +help myself yet awhile."</p> + +<p>She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, she +said clearly:</p> + +<p>"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkin +eloped off together to-day. <i>He</i>!" The last was a single note of +laughter, high and brief.</p> + +<p>The silence fell.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily.</p> + +<p>But Ina said tensely: "<i>Is</i> it nonsense? Haven't I been trying and +trying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!"</p> + +<p>Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false.</p> + +<p>"Listen to that, Bobby," she said. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>"That won't do, Di," said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't you +try!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authentic +anxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity of +the moment by her indignation.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manly +before them all.</p> + +<p>But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Here +was something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like a +mask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as if +the sound shattered a thousand filaments—where?</p> + +<p>"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened among +them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa," said Di, very small.</p> + +<p>"Answer your mother. Answer <i>me</i>. Is there anything to this absurd +tale?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa," said Di, trembling.</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever."</p> + +<p>"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this report +repeated, send them to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Well, but that satchel—" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less as +a function than as a leech.</p> + +<p>"One moment," said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the child +has said."</p> + +<p>There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had not +instinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she saw +Dwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself a +child in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as was +Dwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. She +burned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. She +threw up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this.</p> + +<p>"If you cannot settle this with Di," said Lulu, "you cannot settle it +with me."</p> + +<p>"A shifty answer," said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresenting +facts, you know, Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Bobby wanted to say something," said Ina, still troubled.</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Deacon," said Bobby, low. "I have nothing—more to say."</p> + +<p>In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. +It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everything +now.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?"</p> + +<p>He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, +blurring.</p> + +<p>"And anyhow," said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We <i>didn't</i> elope, did we?"</p> + +<p>"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. +But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take his +regret that they had not gone on.</p> + +<p>"Well, I came for one thing," said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn't +stand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di—I hate a lie. And now +to-night—" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather," he said, +"they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the way +I've lost you now."</p> + +<p>"Bobby!"</p> + +<p>"It's true. We mustn't talk about it."</p> + +<p>"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all."</p> + +<p>"You can't go back," said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that."</p> + +<p>She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turned +toward the house, and met Cornish leaving.</p> + +<p>"Miss Di," he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, remember +it's with me!"</p> + +<p>Her defence was ready—her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobby +might hear.</p> + +<p>She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a little +white thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains.</p> + +<p>"If," she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with Bobby +Larkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times a +day."</p> + +<p>"Really, darling?" cried Ina.</p> + +<p>"Really and truly," said Di, "and he knows it, too."</p> + +<p>Lulu listened and read all.</p> + +<p>"I wondered," said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see that +Bobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!"</p> + +<p>When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajoling +confidence:</p> + +<p>"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "<i>why</i> did you and Di have the +black bag?"</p> + +<p>So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually: +"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?"</p> + +<p>"There are two letters on the parlour table," Lulu answered. To Ina she +added: "Let's go in the parlour."</p> + +<p>As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs to +bed—when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched her +extremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she were +half minded to claim the protection so long lost.</p> + +<p>Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little," said +he, tirelessly.</p> + +<p>Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, +said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement of +dental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he said +again, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "An +epistle from my dear brother Ninian." The words failed, as he saw the +unsealed flap.</p> + +<p>"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he had +no climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used on +small occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeper +horror than "You picked the flower"—once put to Lulu.</p> + +<p>She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly at +some one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horror +and sympathy, a nice half and half.</p> + +<p>"Your sister has been opening my mail," he said.</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian—"</p> + +<p>"It is <i>my</i> mail," he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might open +it. Of course I told her no."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina practically, "what does he say?"</p> + +<p>"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is this +disregard of my wishes." His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, +devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be more +effectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?"</p> + +<p>Lulu was not looking at him. "None," she said—not defiantly, or +ingratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None."</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>She smiled faintly and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Dwight," said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. +Hurry up."</p> + +<p>"She is," said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman."</p> + +<p>He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts.</p> + +<p>"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for a +month, you find that you were <i>not</i> married to him."</p> + +<p>Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph.</p> + +<p>"You see, Dwight," she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. He +didn't just leave me."</p> + +<p>Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerably +worse off than if he had."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Lulu said serenely. "No. Why," she said, "you know how it all +came about. He—he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If he +hadn't—hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Lulu," he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you say +about it the better, for all our sakes—<i>you</i> see that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the +truth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs ..."</p> + +<p>"Tell who?"</p> + +<p>"Tell everybody. I want them to know."</p> + +<p>"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him now. "Your feeling?"</p> + +<p>"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?"</p> + +<p>"But it's me—it's me."</p> + +<p>"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'll +drop."</p> + +<p>"I want the people to know the truth," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intend +to sue Ninian?"</p> + +<p>"Sue him? Oh no!"</p> + +<p>"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter."</p> + +<p>Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands +awkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of her +ear, she kept swallowing.</p> + +<p>"Tell you, Lulu," said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests are +the same in this thing—only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing to +you now. Is he?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Lulu in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell this +disgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What do +you say, Ina—considering Di and all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, goodness," said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll never +get away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds."</p> + +<p>Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her straying +hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic.</p> + +<p>"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plump +hands. "Oh, Dwight—when I think of it: What have I done—what have <i>we</i> +done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband—be so protected, +so loved, when other women.... Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near to +Lulu. "You <i>know</i> how sorry I am—we all are...."</p> + +<p>Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands were +stiffly joined.</p> + +<p>"Then," she said, "give me the only thing I've got—that's my pride. My +pride—that he didn't want to get rid of me."</p> + +<p>They stared at her. "What about <i>my</i> pride?" Dwight called to her, as +across great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know my +brother did a thing like that?"</p> + +<p>"You can't help that," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won't +shame us like this before all our friends."</p> + +<p>"You want me to promise what?"</p> + +<p>"I want you—I ask you," Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me that +you will keep this, with us—a family secret."</p> + +<p>"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!"</p> + +<p>It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out her +hands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't you +understand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life—on your +money. I've not been strong enough to work, they say—well, but I've +been strong enough to be a hired girl in your house—and I've been glad +to pay for my keep.... But there wasn't anything about it I liked. +Nothing about being here that I liked.... Well, then I got a little +something, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went off +on the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. And +then it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here and +went into your kitchen again—I don't know why I came back. I s'pose +because I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more—but +what have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to me +having folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'em +all wonder.... I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't...."</p> + +<p>"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?" +Dwight sneered.</p> + +<p>"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know—maybe he wanted me only just +because he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won't +have folks think he went and left me."</p> + +<p>"That," said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity."</p> + +<p>"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?"</p> + +<p>"And bring disgrace on us all."</p> + +<p>"It's me—it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terrible +tribal sense, was shattered by it.</p> + +<p>"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di."</p> + +<p>"<i>Di?</i>" He had Lulu's eyes now.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"How would it hurt Di?"</p> + +<p>"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'd +hurt her?"</p> + +<p>"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it would shame her—embarrass her—make people wonder what kind of +stock she came from—oh," Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!"</p> + +<p>"Hurt her prospects, of course," said Dwight. "Anybody could see that."</p> + +<p>"I s'pose it would," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, +her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt.</p> + +<p>"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina and +shuddered.</p> + +<p>"I'm talked about now!"</p> + +<p>"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn't +help that." This misstep was Dwight's.</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his other +wife, either."</p> + +<p>"Bigamy," said Dwight, "that's a crime."</p> + +<p>"I've done no crime," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Bigamy," said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches."</p> + +<p>"Even Di," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let this +thing rest with us three?"</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Lulu quietly.</p> + +<p>"You will?"</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so."</p> + +<p>Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything."</p> + +<p>Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is." Aloud she said: +"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell."</p> + +<p>"I'll see to that," Dwight graciously offered.</p> + +<p>"Goodness," Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said no +more.</p> + +<p>"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, her +trim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton.</p> + +<p>"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Oh stop that!" Lulu said.</p> + +<p>Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now," he said, +"overlook the matter of the letter."</p> + +<p>Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and cried +out.</p> + +<p>"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the whole +thing happened!"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that it +was popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the six +copies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words," looked +wistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased.</p> + +<p>"Got up quite attractive," he thought, and fastened the six copies in +the window of his music store.</p> + +<p>It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floor +and sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. +He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book.</p> + +<p>For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, +stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he really +getting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Of +late when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting.</p> + +<p>The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a dark +sateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was in +there, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blur +of his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realistic +illusion of personal loneliness.</p> + +<p>It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usually +attacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall and +the faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; or +when he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerful +and wonted—the question had not before attacked him among his red and +blue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshiny +morning.</p> + +<p>A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell a +piano.</p> + +<p>"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor.</p> + +<p>It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anything +else. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it.</p> + +<p>"You're out early," said he, participating in the village chorus of this +bright challenge at this hour.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, +leaned to see it the better.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had +not thought to say it before.</p> + +<p>"All right, thank you," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Was he—about the letter, you know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added, +"not to say anything about what was in the letter?"</p> + +<p>"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody +know now?"</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, +dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible +specks.</p> + +<p>"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Good-bye!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm going off—for a while. My satchel's in the bakery—I had my +breakfast in the bakery."</p> + +<p>"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything <i>wasn't</i> all right last +night?"</p> + +<p>"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight +forgave me."</p> + +<p>"Forgave you!"</p> + +<p>She smiled, and trembled.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about +this."</p> + +<p>He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast +area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a +piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the +comfort of his kindly indignation.</p> + +<p>"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any +more. I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"Then what are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the +hotel—they wanted a chambermaid."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said +Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw +you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag—" He stopped, stared.</p> + +<p>"You brought her back!" he deduced everything.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no—I mean—"</p> + +<p>"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just +what you did—you brought her back."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!"</p> + +<p>"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean +about your going after her?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You never told!"</p> + +<p>"They don't know she went."</p> + +<p>"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her +folks—I mean, right off. Before last night...."</p> + +<p>"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that—he'd <i>joke</i> her +about it after a while."</p> + +<p>"But it seems—"</p> + +<p>"Ina'd talk about disgracing <i>her</i>. They wouldn't know what to do. +There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father," Lulu +said.</p> + +<p>Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu's +reality he could grasp.</p> + +<p>"You're a trump anyhow," he affirmed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Lulu modestly.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was. He insisted upon it.</p> + +<p>"By George," he exclaimed, "you don't find very many <i>married</i> women +with as good sense as you've got."</p> + +<p>At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to the +truth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in some +amusement, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You've been a jewel in their home all right," said Cornish. "I bet +they'll miss you if you do go."</p> + +<p>"They'll miss my cooking," Lulu said without bitterness.</p> + +<p>"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there—"</p> + +<p>"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude which +lighted her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You made the whole place," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean just the cooking?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I mean—well, that first night when you played croquet. I felt +at home when you came out."</p> + +<p>That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look of +loveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I never +had but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking." She seemed to +feel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair up +nice." She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how the +ladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Cornish only.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye to +you—and there's one or two other places...."</p> + +<p>"I hate to have you go," said Cornish, and tried to add something. "I +hate to have you go," was all that he could find to add.</p> + +<p>Lulu rose. "Oh, well," was all that she could find.</p> + +<p>They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to the +door. He had begun on "Look here, I wish ..." when Lulu said +"good-bye," and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would have +said. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Lulu, and went, still laughing.</p> + +<p>Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her +head averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of all +proportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more—it +assailed him, absorbed him.</p> + +<p>He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting of +which he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down the +store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there was +the green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated that +green curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time it +occurred to him that he hated Warbleton.</p> + +<p>He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, +chin on chest, regarding it. No ... no escape that way....</p> + +<p>A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, her +face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter.</p> + +<p>"See," she said. "At the office was this...."</p> + +<p>She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read:</p> + +<p>" ... Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard from +her, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer +wrote to me.... I've never been any good—Dwight would tell you that if +his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain't +anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this.... I s'pose you +couldn't understand and I don't myself.... Only the sixteen years +keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so +downright good, that's what was the worst ... do you see what I want to +say ..."</p> +<br> + +<p>Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyes +there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. +Incredible dignity.</p> + +<p>"He didn't lie to get rid of me—and she was alive, just as he thought +she might be," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him +out."</p> + +<p>It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking.</p> + +<p>"Now you're free," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that ..." said Lulu.</p> + +<p>She replaced her letter in its envelope.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm really going," she said. "Good-bye for sure this time...."</p> + +<p>Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Don't say good-bye," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's late," she said, "I—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you go," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She looked at him mutely.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word.</p> + +<p>He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybe +you've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. +Well, it's only five hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying.</p> + +<p>"That little Warden house—it don't cost much—you'd be surprised. Rent, +I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, but +then I didn't think—" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost near +as much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos—"</p> + +<p>He was startled by that "we," and began again:</p> + +<p>"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me."</p> + +<p>"But," said Lulu. "You <i>know</i>! Why, don't the disgrace—"</p> + +<p>"What disgrace?" asked Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "you—you----"</p> + +<p>"There's only this about that," said he. "Of course, if you loved him +very much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But I +didn't think—"</p> + +<p>"You didn't think what?"</p> + +<p>"That you did care so very much—about him. I don't know why."</p> + +<p>She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what I +done. I know that now."</p> + +<p>"I figured that way," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he saw +that she should know.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm—I'm awful lonesome +myself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reason +why I want to get married. I want some kind of a home."</p> + +<p>He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said.</p> + +<p>"I ain't never lived what you might say private," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"I've lived too private," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Then there's another thing." This was harder to tell her. "I—I don't +believe I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law."</p> + +<p>"I don't see," said Lulu, "how anybody does."</p> + +<p>"I'm not much good in a business way," he owned, with a faint laugh. +"Sometimes I think," he drew down his brows, "that I may never be able +to make any money."</p> + +<p>She said: "Lots of men don't."</p> + +<p>"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I've +seen," he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I—I was +engaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd be +willing to try me, we would get along."</p> + +<p>Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you—"</p> + +<p>"Miss Di? Why," said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And," he added, +"she's a little liar."</p> + +<p>"But I'm going on thirty-four."</p> + +<p>"So am I!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't there somebody—"</p> + +<p>"Look here. Do you like me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!"</p> + +<p>"Well enough—"</p> + +<p>"It's you I was thinking of," said Lulu. "I'd be all right."</p> + +<p>"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>"And now," said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. +I've got something on."</p> + +<p>He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di was +not there.</p> + +<p>"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked.</p> + +<p>"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"Well, but, Dwight—we've got to do something."</p> + +<p>"As I told you this morning," he observed, "we shall do nothing. Your +sister is of age—I don't know about the sound mind, but she is +certainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where she +will."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where—"</p> + +<p>"You are a question-box," said Dwight playfully. "A question-box."</p> + +<p>Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm and +nursed it.</p> + +<p>"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long," she +remarked.</p> + +<p>"You should be sufficient unto your little self," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner."</p> + +<p>"I want some crust coffee," announced Monona firmly.</p> + +<p>"You'll have nothing of the sort," said Ina. "Drink your milk."</p> + +<p>"As I remarked," Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked.</p> + +<p>She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing to +play his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she <i>was</i> hot.</p> + +<p>"I am going," said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, +for an hour."</p> + +<p>"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?"</p> + +<p>"Borrowed it from the railroad company," said Dwight, with the triumph +peculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can't +imagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I can +remember—saw it every time I took the train—and yet I never once +thought of grandma."</p> + +<p>"My, Dwight," said Ina, "how good you are!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, you +take Grandma Gates a baked apple—no. You shan't go till you drink your +milk."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it."</p> + +<p>"Drink it or mamma won't let you go."</p> + +<p>Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran.</p> + +<p>"The apple isn't very good," said Ina, "but it shows my good will."</p> + +<p>"Also," said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness for +others."</p> + +<p>"That's what I always think," his Ina said.</p> + +<p>"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired.</p> + +<p>"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try," Ina +confessed.</p> + +<p>"You didn't have to try," Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming when +I got rested up."</p> + +<p>She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie," she said, and the +corners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased in +vague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the front +door opened.</p> + +<p>"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common," Mrs. Bett +complained.</p> + +<p>But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Ina, in replica.</p> + +<p>"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughter +and put her hands upon her.</p> + +<p>"We wanted to tell you first," Cornish said. "We've just got married."</p> + +<p>"For <i>ever</i> more!" said Ina.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried with +hope.</p> + +<p>"No," Cornish said soberly. "We're married—just now. Methodist +parsonage. We've had our dinner," he added hastily.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason.</p> + +<p>"The bakery," Cornish replied, and flushed.</p> + +<p>"In the dining-room part," Lulu added.</p> + +<p>Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation.</p> + +<p>"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in a +bakery—"</p> + +<p>No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted the +fuss of a wedding.</p> + +<p>Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all," +he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie," she said, "why, Lulie. You +ain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett," Dwight cried. "She wasn't married +that first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!"</p> + +<p>Ina's little shriek sounded.</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have to +tell about Ninian now—and his other wife!"</p> + +<p>Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lulu +looked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face a +horrified realisation.</p> + +<p>"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You <i>will</i> have to tell now, won't you? Why I +never thought of that."</p> + +<p>At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give Grandma +Gates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patient +kindness to tuck her in.</p> + +<p>The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, +no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. and +Mrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10429 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d972d16 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10429 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10429) diff --git a/old/10429-8.txt b/old/10429-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2747af --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5966 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Miss Lulu Bett + +Author: Zona Gale + +Release Date: December 10, 2003 [eBook #10429] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT*** + + +E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Dave Morgan, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +MISS LULU BETT + + +By ZONA GALE + + +1921 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. APRIL + + II. MAY + +III. JUNE + + IV. JULY + + V. AUGUST + + VI. SEPTEMBER + + + + + + + + +I + + +APRIL + +The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, +appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was a +gas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound. + +"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretched +up to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as a +man speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something to +say. + +"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, +eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. In +October he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?" + +"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," she +added, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should say +this so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Could +you leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring a +milkman's heart. + +"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principal +dish benignly. "_Let_ us see," he added, as he served. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that her +little triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remark +produced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped. + +"_What's_ this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "_No_ salmon?" + +"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt her +power, discarded her "sir." + +"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before." + +"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone. + +"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping; + +The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her head +until her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon's +eyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progeny +will not eat? What can be supplied? + +"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread." +One wondered how she thought of it. + +"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affecting +indifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twisted +her head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote. + +There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, +Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home with +us." And that was precisely the case. _They_ were not making her a +home, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden. + +"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon. + +Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, +not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, by +nature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette. + +"Yes!" shouted the child Monona. + +The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. +Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. For +Monona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others to +let her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons were +devoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, +grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, +anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in." The poor child was the +late birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she had +provided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had produced +her at all. + +"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming to +her supper?" + +"Tantrim," said Mrs. Deacon, softly. + +"Oh, ho," said he, and said no more. + +The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of high +vibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind of +self-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims," they +called these occasions. + +"Baked potatoes," said Mr. Deacon. "That's good--that's good. The baked +potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other +way. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it." + +"That's what I always think," said his wife pleasantly. + +For fifteen years they had agreed about this. + +They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicate +crunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touch +of the silver. + +"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed by +both parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyric +outburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost to +Mr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at that +age. That age, in Warbleton. + +A clock struck the half hour. + +"It's curious," Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must be +fully quarter to." He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" he +exclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time." + +"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina. + +"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck," he +reminded her. + +"Twenty-one, I thought." She was tentative, regarded him with arched +eyebrows, mastication suspended. + +This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by the +child Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang. + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to call +just at meal-time?" + +He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. +Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted +finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked +potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate +with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the +hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was +listening. + +A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was +divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with +this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was +notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. +Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper +with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his +hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, +resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and +remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow +wink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did in +the presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and then +drew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. +This was her conjugal rebuking. + +Swedenborg always uses "conjugial." And really this sounds more married. +It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever more +married than they--at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugal +jokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, +suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking _entendre_ in +the most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of her +life. + +And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time upon +the yellow tulip in the centre of his table. + +"Well, _well_!" he said. "What's this?" + +Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple. + +"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired. + +"Ask Lulu," said Mrs. Deacon. + +He turned his attention full upon Lulu. + +"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort of +ruff about the word. + +Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed. + +"It was a quarter," she said. "There'll be five flowers." + +"You _bought_ it?" + +"Yes. There'll be five--that's a nickel apiece." + +His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread. + +"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to +spend, even for the necessities." + +His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and even +flesh. + +Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose the +dogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert--Lulu +isn't strong enough to work. What's the use...." + +She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, the +family beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else. + +"The justice business--" said Dwight Herbert Deacon--he was a justice of +the peace--"and the dental profession--" he was also a dentist--"do not +warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home." + +"Well, but, Herbert--" It was his wife again. + +"No more," he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulu +meant no harm," he added, and smiled at Lulu. + +There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, +num, num-my-num," as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. She +seemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. There +was, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour. + +"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di," said +Ina sighing. + +"Let's see," said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?" + +He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for at +noon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Ina +played his game, always. She informed him, dutifully. + +"Oh, _ho_," said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mind +on these domestic trifles. + +"We told you that this noon," said Lulu. + +He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy. + +"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly--this was one of +his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord. + +His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large +size, small size, present price, former price--she had them all. + +"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?" + +"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon +punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some +question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return +was always automatic: "_Her_bert!" + +"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert." + +She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed +upon her. It was his intention to be a case. + +Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was +not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat. + +"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the +butter-woman or get some creamery?" + +Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the +matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his +home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty +rôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to +turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation. + +"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at +meal-time," he said icily. + +Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now +with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would +look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her +plate. + +"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona. + +"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu. + +"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her +hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked +on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was +apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as +if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an +irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to +his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was +waiting his motion. + +At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her +aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. +Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted +her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active +child," Lulu ventured brightly. + +"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed. + +He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his +lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the +room. + +Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. +Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the half +hour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last night +twenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu did +not talk. + +"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think you +might be useful." + +Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed her +mind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force upon +the chip-pile. + +The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women brought +their work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, +watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She had +eight minutes more--seven--six--five-- + +Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, +groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in its +heap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flat +chest. + +Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun were +as near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus would +burn our sun to nothingness. + + * * * * * + +In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain all +over. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to make +an ordeal. + +Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, also +eighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, aped +him, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. +Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her as +its servant. + +Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. It +was Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, +Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by a +most reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and he +listened for her voice. + +Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, +bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see me +about?"--with a use of the past tense as connoting something of +indirection and hence of delicacy--a nicety customary, yet unconscious. +Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formality +that Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join the +church, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in the +parlour until he could attend at leisure. + +Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planned +deserted him. + +"I thought if you would give me a job," he said defencelessly. + +"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be either +irritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?" +he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistant +dentist--which? + +Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's where +his office was, wasn't there something ... It faded from him, sounded +ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now. + +There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. +Hold on, he said--hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking charge +of the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its own +grass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time after +that which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in his +garden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attention +early next month ... he owned two lots--"of course property _is_ a +burden." If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked ... Bobby +would care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thanked +Mr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, should +not stand in the way of his advancement. + +"Then that is checked off," said Mr. Deacon heartily. + +Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost upon +Di returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's. + +"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?" + +She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying +pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice +there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She +paused on the steps, a lovely figure. + +But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby. + +"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father." + +He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched +about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth +and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without +a glance. + +She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed +loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it. + +"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----" + +"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole +_school_ knows it." + +Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He +entered upon a pretty scene. + +His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child +Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of +making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue +hose, her bracelet, her ring. + +"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper +and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----" + +"Grammar, grammar," spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he +meant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other. + +"Well," said Di positively, "they _were_. Papa, see my favour." + +She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it. + +Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. She +was often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, and +her rôle reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own. + +The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the +"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry _now?_" + +Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through the +room without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processes +her son-in-law's tone inhibited all this. + +"No," she said. "I'm not hungry." + +Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked from +one to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. She +brushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching an +intenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears. + +"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned +quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but +she never had ceased to resent them. + +"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the +situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of +Monona. + +"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea." + +Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her +eyes warmed. + +"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma +Gates now," she added, and went toward the door. + +"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl." + +Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever +the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the +house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates--in lieu of, +say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness +which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life. + +Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission. + +"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina +called after. + +"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation +of his was somehow invested with the paternal. + +"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly. + +On the clock shelf lay a letter. + +"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot." + +"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share +of the blame. + +"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?" + +Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps. + +"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a +letter----" + +This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a +greater importance. + +"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still, +my mail should have more careful----" + +He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his +motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them. + +"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?" + +"Something nice," Ina was sure. + +"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously. + +"But, Dwight--is it _nice?_" from his Ina. + +"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company." + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?" + +"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense. + +"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?" + +"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says." + +"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lips +parted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. South +America, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all." When was he coming +and what was he coming for? + +"To see me," said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don't +know what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker." + +Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge +that she was not a charmer. + +The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's +eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was +their progeny hurt? + +"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to +bed? I'm pretty tired." + +Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and +shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative. + +As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and +snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply: + +"Lulu. One moment!" + +He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his +forehead was a frown. + +"You _picked_ the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously. + +Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne +to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark +stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her +breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child +Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming +the door. + + + + +II + + +MAY + +Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but every +morning it was dusted. By Lulu. + +She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, +and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leather +rocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back a +bit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz pattern +seemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes. + +Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight--in a perpetual +attitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, of +roaring a ready bass. + +And the black fireplace--there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, +fireless, and with a dust of ashes. + +In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pier +glass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. +Natural. + +This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herself +but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large +photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident +eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks--and each of the six were rounded and +convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass +you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands +and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's +brother. + +Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, +had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or +were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, +lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As +she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own +bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture +followed her, and she liked it. + +She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the +house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth +blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu +saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she +carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had +deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south +window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of +criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on +something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine +herself sharing. + +The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking. + +"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till +I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"--the village salutation +signifying kindly attention. + +Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily. + +The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, +and this she now divined, and said absently: + +"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more." + +"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun +of me all the time?" + +At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to +have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and +looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about +you." + +"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, were +they? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion. + +"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I--I never wanted to." Again +the upward look. + +"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything like +that." + +"Of course you didn't." She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyes +full. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you." + +She ran into the house. + +Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise of +some secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She was +thinking: + +"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But _how_ did she do that?" + +Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a manner +of speculation, at the photograph of Ninian. + +Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in his +understanding of the female character was sufficiently developed to +cause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhaps +that was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. +What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedly +toward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he could +return in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but it +was in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which he +seemed to be coöperating without his conscious will. Continually he +glanced toward the house. + +These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobby +were eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt that +sweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more. + +She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take some +out to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?" + +It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill. + +After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to the +Chautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemed +to be that she never went anywhere. + +When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turned +aimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And she +thought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina and +Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the way +that a futurist receives the subjects of his art--forms not vague, but +heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always +motion--motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of all +was that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. The +perfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had her +dream as a saint her sense of heaven. + +"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp." + +She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took one +last look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed on +her Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would be +to-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon would +arrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo +pin.... + +She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not +there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at +her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, +now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and +her ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy of +leisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle. + +"Inie ought to make over her delaine," Mrs. Bett comfortably began. They +talked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear," +said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father." She +described it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They were +individuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to the +Deacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore no +relationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes were +bright. + +Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should have +a lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and a +dish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that she +knew--offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that this +woman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged. + +When she had eaten she grew sleepy--rather cross at the last and +inclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu's +defence, lifted an ancient weapon. + +"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if she +hadn't married?" + +Lulu said nothing. + +"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it. + +Lulu said no more. After a long time: + +"You always was jealous of Inie," said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed. + +As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from its +bracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirt +lifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news of +some other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate only +in her feet and her long hair. + +She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of +Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, +but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was no +possibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which she +made no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what. + +In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across +the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett +was asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother," Lulu had said, as her +mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off +the curse by calling it her "si-esta," long _i_.) Monona was playing +with a neighbour's child--you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as +they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there. + +A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A +long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined. + +"Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but +since I'm here--" + +He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen. + +"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said. + +"I'm her sister," said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last. + +"Well, I'm Bert's brother," said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?" + +He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down +heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair. + +"Oh, yes," said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep." + +"Don't call her, then," said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted." + +He said it absently, hardly looking at her. + +"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin," he added. + +Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing +to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as +heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk. + +"I thought maybe ..." said she, and offered it. + +"Thank _you_!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live," he +observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Ina +had a sister," he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of her +relatives----" + +Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully. + +"He has," she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good deal +of the work." + +"I'll bet you do," said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had +been violated. "What's your name?" he bethought. + +She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, her +hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were +given with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tells +something of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feel +in catastrophe--no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the +thing cannot possibly be happening. + +"You folks expect me?" he went on. + +"Oh, yes," she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for you +every day." + +"'See," he said, "how long have they been married?" + +Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years." + +"And a year before that the first one died--and two years they were +married," he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twenty +years since Bert and I have seen each other." + +"How awful," Lulu said, and flushed again. + +"Why?" + +"To be that long away from your folks." + +Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity of +her present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be so +awful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di--yes, and Ina, for twenty +years? + +"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he's +roamed around on his own." He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around on +his own," he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't know +that." + +"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carved +the crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?" + +"Maybe she does. Do you?" + +"Yes," said Lulu. + +"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamond +ring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years of +galloping about," he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer his +interests from himself to her. + +"Where?" she asked, although she knew. + +"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama." He searched his +memory. "Colombo," he superadded. + +"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desire +to see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But she +wanted passionately to meet her companion's mind. + +"It's the life," he informed her. + +"Must be," Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up. + +"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last. + +By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into a +passion of excitement. + +"Here," she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before +that we lived in the country." + +He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watched +her veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl," he was thinking. + +"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs.?" + +Lulu flushed in anguish. + +"Miss," she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. +Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "From +choice," she said. + +He shouted with laughter. + +"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it." He made his palms +taut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said. + +Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face. + +"Which kind of a Mr. are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutings +redoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her? + +"Never give myself away," he assured her. "Say, by George, I never +thought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married or +not, by his name!" + +"It don't matter," said Lulu. + +"Why not?" + +"Not so many people want to know." + +Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one ever +laughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at _her_. "Go it, old +girl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear. + +The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herself +round the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in the +heel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straight +hair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. She +began to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely +articulate, then in vogue in her group. And, + +"Whose dog?" she shrieked. + +Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished something +that he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, +loose-lipped. + +"I'll bet I'm your uncle," said Ninian. + +Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona was +thrilled by this intelligence. + +"Give us a kiss," said Ninian, finding in the plural some vague +mitigation for some vague offence. + +Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such a +great big tall girl--they would have to put a board on her head. + +"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring. + +"This," said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps a +jewellery shop in heaven." + +The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twenty +other diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when the +sun comes up in the west. Of course--often! Some day he was going to +melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, ever +after. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say----He did it all +gravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. This +was no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its own +sake. + +He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, the +braggart, the unbridled, unmodified male. + +Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, +softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In her +listening look, she showed herself a charming child. + +"It strikes me," said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do something +mighty interesting before you die." + +It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keep +something going, but Lulu was all faith. + +She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from her +fingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He was +completely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at his +picture and she was abashed and turned away. + +"Well, I hope so," she said, which had certainly never been true, for +her old formless dreams were no intention--nothing but a mush of +discontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit," she +said. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprising +longing to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "What +would the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mild +sense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance. + +"You're the stuff," he remarked absently. + +She laughed happily. + +The door opened. Ina appeared. + +"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be a +pedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chin +lifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu. + +"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm your +husband's brother. Ain't this Ina?" + +It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him. + +Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. It +gave one hope for the whole species. + +"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double _e_ to +the initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the _y_ sound squinted +in. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun. + +He kissed her. + +"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina's +conception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions--was his +train on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any one +could direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She must +telephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved fling +of her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea--she stood +taut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. How +unfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said. + +The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. +She must, she must participate. + +"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair. + +"Gracious sakes," said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn't +forget to give it to her." + +They adjourned to the porch--Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy was +presented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place." Ina +delightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, +the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m--m," rising inflection, +and the "I see," prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina said +that they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have a +family--but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using her +eyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and she +believed herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly ... + +She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, +banality, guffaw ... good will. + +And Lulu, peeping through the blind. + +When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a light +rain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, were +constrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintly +lustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, +looking in from some other level. + +"The only thing," said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain is +that I'm let off croquet." He rolled his r's, a favourite device of his +to induce humour. He called it "croquette." He had never been more +irrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, the +need to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous little +home--simple and pathetic desire. + +"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce a +little." + +"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, so +faintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form. + +Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing it +and rocking. + +"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man." She +spoke as if he were about the age of Monona. + +Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and human +relationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and she +would have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was she +forbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beast +beneath him. + +The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di and +Jenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, might +be heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been driven +from the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through the +dishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared about +resentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized upon +Monona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Monona +wriggled like a puppy, as hers. + +"Quiet, pettie," said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in her +teeth. + +"Well, sir," said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, but +mother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up." + +Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke of +this foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them through +the graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of her +he became his inner self. + +"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin," he said. + +To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tender +ardour. + +"Little," Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into a +nice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nin +into--say, Nin, what are you, anyway?" + +They laughed. + +"That's the question," said Ninian. + +They laughed. + +"Maybe," Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about his +travels. He is quite a traveller, you know," she said to the Plows. "A +regular Gulliver." + +They laughed respectfully. + +"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon," Mrs. Plow said. "You know we've +never seen _very_ much." + +Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen +them: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For the +populations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soil +mighty poor pickings. And the business--say! Those fellows don't +know--and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian. + +He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He was +equipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts were +negligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninian +had been wrought upon by all his voyaging. + +"Tell you," said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to the +state fair, little did we think--" He told about running away to the +state fair. "I thought," he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might get +over to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not." + +The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there in +Warbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is never +so casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go to +Europe" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight had +somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, and +his Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensively +covered her soft triumph. + +Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first +observation. + +"Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no +more. + +Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But +Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was +company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. + +And it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_-- + +Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed--she +could not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finished +and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. +And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. +She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral. + +Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny +upstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, coming +home with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had +come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying: + +"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I could +never marry just anybody. I'd _smother_." + +Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly to +their greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu. + +Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying." + +Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no." +"Because," she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right." + +But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had not +Lulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem--oh, no! Lulu could not +have heard properly. + +"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them," she thought now, sitting +by the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella. + +She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. +Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, then +resentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air. + +"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed," she thought, and +derived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again. + +Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen. + +Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog had +been fed. + +"I fed him," she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninian +entered. + +"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't you +come in the other room?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along.' +Then I remembered the dishes." He glanced about. "I come to help wipe +dishes." + +"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where she +got it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago." + +"Well then, what are you doing here?" + +"Resting." + +"Rest in there." He bowed, crooked his arm. "Señora," he said,--his +Spanish matched his other assimilations of travel-- + +"Señora. Allow me." + +Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating and +did not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. +But Ina looked up and said: + +"Well!"--in two notes, descending, curving. + +Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched white +skirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim of +white embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetually +she adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, her +long wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. +She was tense. She rocked. + +When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken at +last by Mrs. Bett: + +"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it," +she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forget +about. Monona, get off my rocker." + +Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said +"Darling--quiet!"--chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lower +teeth for the word's completion; and she held it. + +The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if it +would let up raining _at all_. Di and Jenny came whispering into the +room. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside. + +"Miss Lulu," he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, +because I knew how interested you are in travels." + +He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person who +most enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words that +he said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and she +dare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wanted +to hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one hand +to support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for the +rocking. + +Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one was +talking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but at +her. + + + + +III + + +JUNE + +On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said with +his manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?" + +Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-_day?_" + +"First class day, it looks like to me." + +Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, +but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources of +the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the +child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, +elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her +face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has +danced. Di gave a conservative assent--she was at that age--and then +took advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demanded +that Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, +partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little family +and Uncle Ninian would have been so nice," she sighed, with her consent. + +When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porch +and Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in a +blue-cotton house-gown. + +"Look here," said Ninian, "aren't you going?" + +"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no." + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember." + +"But why not?" + +"Oh, I never think of such a thing." + +Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said: + +"Lulu's a regular home body." + +And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like." + +"No," said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you," she added, formally. + +Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlingly +close--just beyond the blind, in fact: + +"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on." + +"Well," said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and you +come along." + +For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as a +possibility. She stared up at Ninian. + +"You can slip on my linen duster, over," Ina said graciously. + +"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know. + +"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one." + +They were having to wait for Di in any case--they always had to wait for +Di--and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was running +to make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down the +wrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linen +duster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair; +she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well. + +They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time in +her life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her and +the little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care what +Ina liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, was +enchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand. + +Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared from +nowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit. + +"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him. + +She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian. + +"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough," was all that she could get +to say. + +They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, across +the river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip of +warm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparable +fires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birth +nor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothing +to do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went and +tried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening the +condensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. +Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Lulu +did all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gone +for water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging her +to the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on their +return Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic. + +"Those who disregard the comfort of other people," he enunciated, "can +not expect consideration for themselves in the future." + +He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but he +delivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with her +teeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like a +little demon. + +As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad had +begun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller in +green fastnesses. He began: + +"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don't +get out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar the +bottle. Nature's tonic--eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See that +water. Could anything be more pleasant?" + +He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. +He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. +But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to +be: + +"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...." + +After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, and +Dwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's use +of that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and his +younger daughter. Ina was timid----not because she was afraid but because +she was congenitally timid--with her this was not a belief or an +emotion, it was a disease. + +"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?" + +Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river. + +"But you're not so very used----" + +Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth if +not he? + +Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in a +permanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, the +child Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. On +this pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. +It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of all +other men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she looked +up to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But let +him take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of any +horse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband by +preference. It was a phenomenon. + +Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody's +way. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and +wished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended not +to see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing to +remain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made no +explanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed. + +And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks and +herds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time. + +The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns +appeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, +the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the time +communicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had not +yet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement in +his presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To him +the air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facile +sympathy. + +"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hard +around here." + +"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished. + +"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you +won't mind my asking." + +"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too." + +"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. You +want it, too. You told me you did--that first day." + +She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she had +never really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted she +knew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of this +rôle. + +"I guess you don't see how it seems," he said, "to me, coming along--a +stranger so. I don't like it." + +He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamond +obediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid air +of the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she was +feeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her. + +"They're very good to me," she said. + +He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never had +anybody really good to you. That's why." + +"But they treat me good." + +"They make a slave of you. Regular slave." He puffed, frowning. "Damned +shame, _I_ call it," he said. + +Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----" + +"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you ever +go anywheres?" + +She said: "This is the first place in--in years." + +"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!" + +"Not so much places like this----" + +"I see. What you want is to get away--like you'd ought to." He regarded +her. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman," he said. + +She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her: + +"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself." + +His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good," he said. +He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it," he mused, +"blamed if I do." + +"How I do what?" + +"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say." + +Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talk +like this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to any +one. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability to +speak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that other +Lulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speak +for her. As now: + +"It's my grand education," she said. + +She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light of +the warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and was +in her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she sat +stiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyes +rather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from her +came these sufficient, insouciant replies. + +"Education," he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too." He spoke a +creed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it." + +"Most folks are happy without an education," said Lulu. + +"You're not very happy, though." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +"Well, sir," said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm here +I'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city." + +"To the city?" + +"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you _one_ good time." + +"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been." + +"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell me +just what you like to eat, and we'll get it----" + +She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cooked +myself." + +He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intensely +experiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that future +merry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness that +he--some one--any one--was planning like this for her. + +Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house and +kept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others was +withdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves to +give off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpowering +personalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wanted +one. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, +frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs for +bait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. +There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone through +before Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged to +say, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with the +same zest with which he had discussed bait. + +"Bobby," said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not wait +for any old money." + +They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grown +from out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both--and +especially Di--so much wanted the experiences of attraction that they +assumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty rôle +required by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time. + +"Would you?" asked Bobby--but in the subjunctive. + +She said: "Yes. I will." + +"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, still +subjunctive. + +"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable." + +"Di," said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me." + +"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man--you know you are." + +Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it--but he passed it over. + +"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, +sparkling. + +Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his big +frame, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin and +full mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope +_now_. + +"I've planned eloping lots of times," she said ambiguously. + +It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he may +not always have been the principal, and he could not be sure ... But +she talked in nothings, and he answered her so. + +Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out of +the strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there sat +Dwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would. + +"Bertie, Bertie--please!" you heard his Ina say. + +Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be +ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew +that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars +with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it." + +"That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger. + +They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyed +crying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as an +echo. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this was +the last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. +Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of him +humour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Ina +kept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. +Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now remembered +it and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant. + +Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the sense +of disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. +Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no idea +how to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in the +river. Even Di ... He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which was +the signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid of +silence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome. + +But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homeward +beside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in her +sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He had +told Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean? +Suppose ... oh no; oh no! + +"Either lay still or get up and set up," Mrs. Bett directed her at +length. + + + + +IV + + +JULY + +When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairs +dressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waist +which she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. And +really, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, and +its wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck look +thinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" and +parted in the middle, puffed high--it was so that hair had been worn in +Lulu's girlhood. + +"_Well_!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, +head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip. + +For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster--the old one. + +Ninian appeared, in a sack coat--and his diamond. His distinctly convex +face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once +more that bold sense of looking--not at him, for then she was shy and +averted her eyes--but at his photograph at which she could gaze as much +as she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Was +he not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were going +because she, Lulu, had brought about this party. + +"Act as good as you look, Lulie," Mrs. Bett called after them. She gave +no instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, +it seemed. + +Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard to +take it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, +now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to the +others with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off her +so-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage. + +The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. On +the train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulu +sat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she too +had been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boy +between them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over her +own, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman lifted +her eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking. + +Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in many +cities--as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in a +strange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown café, then popular +among business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, was +reached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes took +the air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, +changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "What +do you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing the +waiter with painstaking gruffness. + +"Not that they can touch _your_ cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, +settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust. + +Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was +a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his +wife, who now remarked: + +"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff." + +This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear--another mean +advantage. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite--no, over the other +way." + +"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Ina +inquired acidly. + +"I started to and then somebody always said something," said Lulu +humbly. + +Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against any +shadow. + +"Say, but you look tremendous to-night," Dwight observed to her. + +Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yet +flushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought: +"They're feeling sorry for Ina--nobody talking to her." She laughed at +everything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. +"How many folks keep going past," she said, many times. + +At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina's +isolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian's +attention. She therefore talked with him about himself. + +"Curious you've never married, Nin," she said. + +"Don't say it like that," he begged. "I might yet." + +Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this. + +"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't," Dwight +threw in with exceeding rancour. + +They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in the +third person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. It +was inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumed +for the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene about +them. But gradually her cheeks began to burn. + +"She'll cry," Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hat +is so pretty--ever so much prettier than the old one." But Ina said +frostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one. + +"Let us talk," said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down." + +He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardly +heard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her in +this confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his manner +was open to misinterpretation. + +In the nick of time, the lobster was served. + + * * * * * + +Dinner and the play--the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "Peter +Pan," chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at any +theatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortal +soul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all was +over, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurable +excitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more the +irrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident that +she was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon the +little doubling chin. + +They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. The +dog-kennel part--wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with the +rest of the play. + +"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook--he was my style," said +Dwight. + +"Well, there it is again," Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the real +play, either." + +"Oh, well," Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catch +everybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that." + +"And I didn't understand," said Ina, "why they all clapped when the +principal character ran down front and said something to the audience +that time. But they all did." + +Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished that +Monona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty that +she herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliest +light. + +Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I have +said that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemed +to her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening had +been to her a light from heaven--how could she find anything to say? She +sat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look moving +from one to another. At last Ninian looked at her. + +"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?" + +"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well." + +It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she had +not said enough. + +"You could hear everything they said," she added. "It was--" she +dwindled to silence. + +Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkled +dimples. + +"Excellent sauces they make here--excellent," he said, with the frown of +an epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all +laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he +meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this +sort, for an hour. + +"Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance +on the table." + +"Dwightie!" + +"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to read +the funeral service over us." + +"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian. + +In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating to +Dwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisive +endorsement of this proposal. + +"I shouldn't object," said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?" + +Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking at +her. She made an anguished effort to defend herself. + +"I don't know it," she said, "so I can't say it." + +Ninian leaned toward her. + +"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife," he pronounced. +"That's the way it goes!" + +"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those at +the near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood and +motherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu that +way.... + +Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it," he challenged. + +From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes +fought her battles, suddenly spoke out: + +"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband." + +"You will?" Ninian cried. + +"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could +join in, could be as merry as the rest. + +"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't +we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table. + +"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to--holy +things----what's the _matter_, Dwightie?" + +Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet. + +"Say, by George," he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state." + +"A civil wedding? Oh, well--" Ninian dismissed it. + +"But I," said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate." + +They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with the +indeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about and +returned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Ninian +continued to laugh. + +"I never saw one done so offhand," said Dwight. "But what you've said is +all you have to say according to law. And there don't have to be +witnesses ... say!" he said, and sat down again. + +Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showed +dark as she swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again. + +"Don't you let Dwight scare you," she besought Ninian. + +"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you ask +me." + +Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, and +now he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. +Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced her +and left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. It +was exactly like looking at his photograph. + +Dwight had recovered his authentic air. + +"Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, +I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city--no +one'll be the wiser." + +"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand." + +"Are you serious, Nin?" + +"Sure I'm serious." + +Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm. + +"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?" + +Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest," she said. + +"I am in earnest--hope to die," Ninian declared. He was on two legs of +his chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of his +earnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest. + +They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and there +was something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, about +this thing. + +Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre," he +cried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way--" +and was off. + +Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh," she said, "what will +mamma say?" + +Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant. + +"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian. + +For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touched +him. + +"Say," he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over again +somewhere, if you say so." + +"Oh," said Lulu, "if I thought--" + +He leaned and patted her hand. + +"Good girl," he said. + +They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plump +hands. + +Dwight returned. "It's a go all right," he said. He sat down, laughed +weakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the church +could tie you." + +"Good enough," said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?" + +"It's--it's all right, I guess," Lulu said. + +"Well, I'll be dished," said Dwight. + +"Sister!" said Ina. + +Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to trace +the processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of the +devil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhaps +the incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part. + +"I was going to make a trip south this month," he said, "on my way home +from here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and start +right off. You'd like that, wouldn't you--going South?" + +"Yes," said Lulu only. + +"It's July," said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard. + +It was arranged that their trunks should follow them--Ina would see to +that, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return to +Warbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett. + +"Mamma won't mind," said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more." + +They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tables +saw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, +indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime in +deafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march. + + * * * * * + +It was still early next day--a hot Sunday--when Ina and Dwight reached +home. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch. + +"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett. + +They told. + +Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched their +faces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her first +question was: + +"Who's going to do your work?" + +Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest. + +"Oh," she said, "you and I'll have to manage." + +Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning. + +"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts," she said. "I +can't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you." + +"We've had our breakfasts," Ina escaped from this dilemma. + +"Had it up in the city, on expense?" + +"Well, we didn't have much." + +In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu. + +"I should think," she said, "I should think Lulie might have had a +little more gratitude to her than this." + +On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left the +house some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company with +Bobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, so +young, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication. + +"That child," said Ina, "_must_ not see so much of that Larkin boy. +She's just a little, little girl." + +"Of course she mustn't," said Dwight sharply, "and if _I_ was her +mother--" + +"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps. + +To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Ina +announced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brother +Ninian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro_man_tic ... spoken +with that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey. + + + + +V + + +AUGUST + +Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim," brought on by nothing definable. +Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallen +silent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was ready +and Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from the +room and closed her bedroom door until it echoed. + +"She's got one again," said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go." + +He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside his +mother-in-law's door and knocked. + +No answer. + +"Mother, come and have some supper." + +No answer. + +"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever." + +No answer. + +"Come on--I had something funny to tell you and Ina." + +He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by this +woman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him away +unsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, +at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwight +made a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their evening +meal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceeding +facetiousness inquired how Bobby was. + +Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going to +tease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. It +depended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. She +now groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going to +take her and Jenny for ice cream that night. + +Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood. + +"I won't have you downtown in the evening," she said. + +"But you let me go last night." + +"All the better reason why you should not go to-night." + +"I tell you," cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have ice +cream...." He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconciling +element in his home. + +"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, +her parted lips. + +"You too, certainly." Dwight could not do enough for every one. + +Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let me +go." + +"That's why papa's going to take you this time," Ina said. + +These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another: + +"But," she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can _not_ go." + +"I don't want any more." Monona's look was honest and piteous. + +"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick." + +"No!" + +"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl." + +Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewing +high, and slowly. + +"See? She can eat if she will eat," Ina said to Dwight. "The only +trouble is, she will _not_ take the time." + +"She don't put her mind on her meals," Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, +bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter. + +Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths. + +"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired. + +"Certainly. The whole party." + +"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I." + +"Me, darling," said Ina patiently, punctiliously--and less punctiliously +added: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party." + +"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement." + +"Well," said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside--that important +engagement. I think we just will." + +"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I--" + +"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of your +grammar or shall I speak to you again?" + +"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than--than--than--" she looked +resentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evident +to her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to be +ashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, +frowning, put-upon. + +"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at one +impulse. Ina saw only the empty plate. + +"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child. + +The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulously +applied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this little +family. But there was no one to apply them. + + * * * * * + +When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked: + +"Nothing new from the bride and groom?" + +"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last." + +"See--where were they then?" + +He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Ina +played his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said. + +"I don't understand," she added, "why they should go straight to Oregon +without coming here first." + +Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly +in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs. + +"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters," Ina proceeded. "They're +so--so--" + +"You haven't had but two, have you?" + +"That's all--well, of course it's only been a month. But both letters +have been so--" + +Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had the +blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter +go at that. + +"I don't think it's fair to mamma--going off that way. Leaving her own +mother. Why, she may never see mamma again--" Ina's breath caught. Into +her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she +sometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten to +put some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in her +face as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from her +tantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. +In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love. + +Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of +the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. +Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett," but she shook +her head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived +to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jenny +arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, +and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside +her, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" cried +Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense +and living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett +left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the +old cripple, Grandma Gates. + +"Inie sha'n't have 'em," the old woman thought. + +And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom +she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom +she tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour had +gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to +have her come in. + +Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family +returned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny. + +"Look here," said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has _ice_ +cream put in her lap, like a queen?" + +"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice. + +"Vanilly sets better," Mrs. Bett said. + +They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creaking +board. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirt +over her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but the +warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its +particles. + +The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it was +Lulu. + + * * * * * + +"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Ina +cried out something. + +"How did you know?" Lulu asked. + +"Know! Know what?" + +"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma." + +She passed the others, and kissed her mother. + +"Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' +cream." + +"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you +talking?" + +"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked. + +"Not a word." Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you--the +last from Savannah, Georgia." + +"Savannah, Georgia," said Lulu, and laughed. + +They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with a +little tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wise +upset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement. + +"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't he +here? Where is he?" + +"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time," Lulu said. + +"Oregon!" + +"You see," said Lulu, "he had another wife." + +"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly. + +"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. +But he isn't sure." + +"Nonsense," said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so." + +"I had to be sure," said Lulu. + +At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs to +bed at once." + +"It's only quarter to," said Monona, with assurance. + +"Do as mamma tells you." + +"But--" + +"Monona!" + +She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. +Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walking +slowly backward. + +"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was your +husband married?" + +"Yes," Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother." + +"Mercy," said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family." + +"Well, go on--go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it." + +Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation: + +"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out to +California and up the coast." On this she paused and sighed. "Well, then +at Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So he +told me." + +"Yes--well, what did he _say_?" Dwight demanded irritably. + +"Cora Waters," said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in San +Diego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him." + +"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did," said Dwight. + +"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, after +two years, she ran away again. That's all he knows." + +"That's a pretty story," said Dwight contemptuously. + +"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. And +she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is," Lulu +said again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure." + +"Well, but mercy," said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?" + +"It might take a long time," said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want to +stay and not know." + +"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted. + +"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said he +thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course +that'd been hard--wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead." + +"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes were +simple. + +"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a +curious emphasis. + +"I thought that, just at first," Lulu said, "but only just at first. Of +course that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me my +choice." + +"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed. + +"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice when +he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia." + +"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwight +asked. + +"Why, he'd got to thinking about it," she answered. + +A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street. + +"The only thing," she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish he +hadn't told me till we got to Oregon." + +"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said. + +Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to +understand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her +body. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee. + +"He felt bad too," Lulu said. + +"He!" said Dwight. "He must have." + +"It's you," Ina sobbed. "It's you. _My_ sister!" + +"Well," said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, +or I wouldn't have come home. I knew," she added, "it'd make Dwight feel +bad. I mean, it was his brother--" + +"Thank goodness," Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it." + +Lulu regarded her, without change. + +"Oh, yes," she said in her monotone. "People will have to know." + +"I do not see the necessity." Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too he +said "do not," always with Dwight betokening the finalities. + +"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled. + +"What difference does it make what they think?". + +"Why," said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like--you see they might--why, +Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them." + +"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something +the whole town will have to know about?" + +Lulu looked at him with parted lips. + +"Say," she said, "I never thought about it being that." + +Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, +pray?" + +"Ninian's," said Lulu. + +"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feel +sorry for you. But the disgrace--that'd reflect on me. See?" + +"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?" + +Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leaves +her husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all." + +"I should hate that," said Lulu. + +"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you." + +"Dwight, Dwight," said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'll +hear--" + +As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve. + +"Lulie," she said, "was his other wife--was she _there_?" + +"No, no, mother. She wasn't there." + +Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad," +she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out." + +"No," Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother." + +Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, +but the large issues left her blank. + +Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, the +Deacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burner +and faced about, saying: + +"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, to +make your home with us in the future, on the old terms." + +"Well--" + +"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?" + +"No. He didn't give me any money--only enough to get home on. And I +kept my suit--why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken any +money!" + +"That means," said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to live +here--on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. +Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition--on condition that +this disgraceful business is kept to ourselves." + +She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, +quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing. + +"Truly, Lulu," said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. +But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd be +about all of us." + +Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth." + +Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu," he said, "are you _sure_ of +that?" + +"Sure?" + +"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?" + +"Proofs?" + +"Letters--documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was +speaking the truth?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu. "Proofs--no. He told me." + +"He told you!" + +"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him to +have to do. What proofs--" She stopped, puzzled. + +"Didn't it occur to you," said Dwight, "that he might have told you that +because he didn't want to have to go on with it?" + +As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, +looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightly +fallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust she +began to rub at that. + +"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side. + +"I may as well tell you," he said, "that I myself have no idea that +Ninian told you the truth. He was always imagining things--you saw +that. I know him pretty well--have been more or less in touch with him +the whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever married +before." + +Lulu continued to rub at her skirt. + +"I never thought of that," she said. + +"Look here," Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had some +little tiff when he told you?" + +"No--no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina." + +She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile. + +"Evidently not," Dwight said drily. + +Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress--and my shoes--and my +hat. And another dress, too." She found the pins and took off her hat. +"He liked the red wing," she said. "I wanted black--oh, Dwight! He did +tell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mute +witness. + +Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too. + +"Even if it is true," said he, "I desire that you should keep silent +and protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts to +you for your own profit." + +"My own profit!" + +She said no more, but rose and moved to the door. + +"Lulu--you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't have +this known--even if it was so." + +"You have it in your hands," said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, for +anything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You also +have it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. That +is not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctly +unpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself." + +Lulu went on, into the passage. + +"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly. + +"Mamma," said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes--Dwight thinks +she's married all right now--and that it's all right, all the time." + +"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes," said Mrs. Bett, and left the room +with her daughter. + +Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice: + +"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?" + + * * * * * + +When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready. + +"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times." + +Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to the +table. + +"Lulu's the only one in _this_ house can cook the bacon so's it'll +chew," Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and held +contentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right. + +"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festive +toaster." He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, became +breezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well +back and gently shaken. + +Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that +she, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to +anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, +which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. She +stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly. + +Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. +Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her old +offices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested +milk toast and went to make it. + +"Mamma," Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Ninian +coming too?" + +"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions." + +"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?" + +"_No_. Don't say anything at all about her." + +"But, mamma. What has she done?" + +"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?" + +Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. But +now Dwight said: + +"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?" + +"I don't know," said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me like +a little girl now." + +"Shame, Di," said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the +side of Di. + +"I'm eighteen," Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school." + +"Then act so," boomed her father. + +Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and there +imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to +questions skilfully shaped. + +When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief," displayed a +hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed +him: + +"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address." + +"Well?" + +"Well, I wish you'd give it to me." + +Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem," he said, "that +you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu." + +"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?" + +"Certainly I have it." + +"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paper +and a pencil stump. + +"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not be sensible and leave +this alone? No good can come by--" + +"But why shouldn't I have his address?" + +"If everything is over between you, why should you?" + +"But you say he's still my husband." + +Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as +I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch +with him again." + +"You won't give it to me?" + +"My dear Lulu, in all kindness--no." + +His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different coloured +borders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she had +embroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her. + + * * * * * + +They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs. + +"_Where_ are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing that +Lulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, what +you so dressed up for?" + +Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, and +wore the tilting hat with the red wing. + +"Ninian bought me this," said Lulu only. + +"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well--out of +sight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her. + +"Why?" Lulu asked. + +"Why set people wondering till we have to?" + +"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned," said Lulu, and went +down the walk. + +Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her life +before," she said. + +She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down the +street. + +"That gives me the funniest feeling," said Ina, "as if Lulu had on +clothes bought for her by some one that wasn't--that was--" + +"By her husband who has left her," said Dwight sadly. + +"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she was +there; had been there the greater part of the day--most of the time +staring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu. + +"That's what it is, my little girl," said Dwight, and shook his head. + +"Well, I think it's a shame," said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninian +is a slunge." + +"Di!" + +"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to tell +everybody." + +"There is," said Dwight, "no need for secrecy--now." + +"Dwight!" said Ina--Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but it +must have been her lashes that looked so startled. + +"No need whatever for secrecy," he repeated with firmness. "The truth +is, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it." + +"But, Dwight--how awful for Lulu...." + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "has us to stand by her." + +Lulu, walking down the main street, thought: + +"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebody +behind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've got +to speak to her...." + +One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her some +version of: + +"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it _isn't_ Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, +what are you doing here? I thought...." + +"I'm back to stay," she said. + +"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, +but we were surprised! You're the sly one--" + +"My--Mr. Deacon isn't here." + +"Oh." + +"No. He's West." + +"Oh, I see." + +Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could +invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away. + +She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at the +post-office--with only one or two there had she to go through her +examination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a +new ordeal. + +To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a +slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling. + +"Excuse me," said Lulu faintly. + +The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper +which he held. + +"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?" + +"Let's see--you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?" + +"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he might +have given you his address--" she dwindled away. + +"Wait a minute," said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don't +you send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist." + +"I'll do that," Lulu said absurdly, and turned away. + +She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them +all. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But when +she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her +reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure. + +"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner. + +Abruptly her confidence rose. + +Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. They +were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with +Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly +singing. + +Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't we +look like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. +Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Ina +looked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate +cardamom seeds. + +"Whom did you see?" Ina asked. + +Lulu named them. + +"See them to talk to?" from Dwight. + +Oh, yes. They had all stopped. + +"What did they say?" Ina burst out. + +They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more. + +Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women that +cock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all over +town. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out--should do so, in +fact. Still the story would be all over town. + +"Dwight," said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address." + +"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously. + +"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted." + +"My dear Lulu," Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. +Have you no delicacy?" + +Lulu smiled--a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner of +her mouth. + +"Yes," she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'm +married or not." + +Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use his +shoulders for the purpose. + +"I myself will take this up with my brother," he said. "I will write to +him about it." + +Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him _now_!" she cried. + +"Really," said Dwight, lifting his brows. + +"Now--now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materials +from their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before him +and stood by him. "Write to him now," she said again. + +"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd." + +She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight--and they didn't know whether +he had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him--oh, don't you +see? Help me." + +Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor even +to stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was to +look to her own male merely. + +"Well," she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his own +way? Wouldn't that be better?" + +She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, +wouldn't that be better? + +"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. +Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked +away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance. + +"Lulie," she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?" + +Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before. + +"You write that letter to Ninian," she said, "and you make him tell you +so you'll understand. _I_ know he spoke the truth. But I want you to +know." + +"M--m," said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it all +over town--as soon as you have the proofs." + +"I'm going to tell it all over town," said Lulu, "just as it is--unless +you write to him now." + +"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't." + +"I would," said Lulu. "I will." + +Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But then +he sneered. + +"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?" + +"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!" + +"I would," said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it." + +"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, +"unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now." + +"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked. + +"Leave everything," said Lulu. + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not +say in what particulars, but Dwight knew. + +Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of +peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw. + +He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the +inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather +than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do +anything." + +He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in +secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it. + +"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu. + +Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows. + +"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." +He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's +nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. +He hummed a bar. + +"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked. + +Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too +dry," she said. + + * * * * * + +In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu. + +"I saw," said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything to +avoid having a scene--you know that." His glance swept a little +anxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired. + +"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it," she +now dared to say. "It's--it's not a nice position for Lulu." + +"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?" + +"Why, Ninian," said Ina. + +Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself," he said. "To tell you the truth, +I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in that +restaurant." + +"Why, but, Dwight--" + +"Brazen," he said. "Oh, it was brazen." + +"It was just fun, in the first place." + +"But no really nice woman--" he shook his head. + +"Dwight! Lulu _is_ nice. The idea!" + +He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know. + +Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, +was silent. + +"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I +should never think of you as sisters." + +"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life +behind her--but this was sweet and she could not resist. + +"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position +she's in--married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order +to get free. Now, no really nice woman--" + +"No really nice man--" Ina did say that much. + +"Ah," said Dwight, "but _you_ could never be in such a position. No, no. +Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere." + +Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as +might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed. + +"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with +ladylike feelings." + +It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until +ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young +voices. + +"Bobby," Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me as +if you really wanted to kiss me, to-night." + + + + +VI + + +SEPTEMBER + +The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality +(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above a +store which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, and +had suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies served +lunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months of +disuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to a +music man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired. + +The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his window +with sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissed +their hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, Dwight +Herbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door of +the new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, was +rubbing at the face of a piano. + +"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?" + +"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can," Dwight replied. +"Or," said he, "I might marry you free, either one." + +On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, the +idle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip. + +"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked him +once. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural--never +entered my head to be anything else. But _pianos_--" + +The music man--his name was Neil Cornish--threw up his chin in a boyish +fashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down the +Warbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound the +same. "I'm studying law when I get the chance," said Cornish, as one who +makes a bid to be thought of more highly. + +"I see," said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb. + +Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a little +inheritance some day--not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel a +certain confidence.... + +"_Don't_ it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew. + +Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never compared +Warbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively at +lunch: + +"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these +nights?" + +"Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it." + +"What if I brought him up to-night?" + +Up went Ina's eyebrows. _To-night_? + +"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," +Lulu contributed. + +Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. +This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight's +informal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, +now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guest +replied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved in +some pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness. + +They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the time +with a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was one +of the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked the +people--they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, already +liked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. +She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Come +to supper, all." Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. +Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgot +to introduce her. + +"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is never +anywhere." + +A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, grace +was to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a generic +appeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. And +there was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stages +of men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial of +taking food to nourish life--and more. + +At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh upon +her--perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, +crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear," she +said audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring." + +The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jests +about everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbleton +happenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish tried +hard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. +He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some more +stories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiously +pinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth and +thereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if it +could be from _that_. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping a +second time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed on +Di about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, first +thing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughed +heartily and lifted her glass of water. + +"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelated +effort to lift the talk to musical levels. + +"Well, do you know," said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don't +know a black note from a white one." + +"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily," said Di's mother. "But then +how can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried. + +"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales." For the first time it +occurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm really +studying law," he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, +from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them to +try over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out of +practice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Di +made one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, so +intolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be found +wanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who had +ensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think? + +Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, +"Don't you play, Miss--?" He had not caught her name--no stranger ever +did catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett," he explained +with loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu had +usually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons and +she had stopped "taking"--a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. +This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But now +Lulu was heard to say serenely: + +"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert--two weeks +ago." + +They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having had +experiences of which they did not know. + +"Yes," she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia." She flushed, and lifted +her eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course," she said, "I don't +know the names of all the different instruments they played, but there +were a good many." She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. +"They had some lovely tunes," she said. She knew that the subject was +not exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large," she +superadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it was +too warm." + +"I see," said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That he +too had been in Savannah, Georgia. + +Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and she +caught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?" +she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of the +provincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance to +maintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in that +town and that he was there for two hours. + +"I was there for a week." Lulu's superiority was really pretty. + +"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next. + +Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings--but at her "we" she +flushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. This +was the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life. + +After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try to +escape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate in +his insistence on the third person--"She loves it, we have to humour +her, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"--and more +of the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who looked +uncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paid +no attention to anybody that night, not because she had not been +introduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely as +another form of "tantrim." A self-indulgence. + +They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow and +Bobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended to +have forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She met +the objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, +set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company," +at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousness +she said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than ever +because she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to be +distinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was as +primitive as pollen. + +Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should have +outgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown none +of these things. + +"That just spoils croquet," she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have a +real game." + +From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among the +waterproofs, Lulu stepped forth. + +"I'll play a game," she said. + + * * * * * + +When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Ina +turned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. And +Ina's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, +primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert's +late wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood into +the functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. +Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, +strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that a +moral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. But +of course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verb +should be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or the +minister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never be +transitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But it +is. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to her +husband her incredible responsibility. + +"You know, Herbert," said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here _very_ +much, what we may expect." + +"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply. + +Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, +pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when she +didn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even play +her games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not to +understand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina _had_ to +please him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to please +nobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historical +home forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community. + +"He'll fall in love with Di," said Ina. + +"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in love +with her, _I_ should say." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?" + +"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of." + +"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight--a stranger so." + +"On the other hand," said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal about +him." + +With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about this +stranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a number +of stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks. + +"He has a little inheritance coming to him--shortly," Dwight wound up. + +"An inheritance--really? How much, Dwight?" + +"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?" + +"I _thought_ he was from a good family," said Ina. + +"My mercenary little pussy!" + +"Well," she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did really +accept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older +man pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?" + +Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he left +all such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetual +rehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience. + +A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was something +overpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of his +negligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For he +looked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in the +street as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines of +his life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And a +preposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos near +the front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridors +of the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, and +furnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity in +phrasing, but how mean that little room would look--cot bed, washbowl +and pitcher, and little mirror--almost certainly a mirror with a wavy +surface, almost certainly that. + +"And then, you know," he always added, "I'm reading law." + +The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, +Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing. + +Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat of +her emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, the +beloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the rôle of +womanly little girl. + +"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried. + +As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish +instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with +another lamp. + +"Do you need this?" she asked. + +They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this +Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's +photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed +the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands. + +"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only +to those who--presumably--loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had +shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return. + +She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had +bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly +about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called: + +"See here! Aren't _you_ going to sing?" + +"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? _Lulu_?" + +She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at +being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album +of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she +struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking +rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. +The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a +little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's +picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows +and watched Lulu. + +When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said +"ba-ird." + +"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!" + +"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted. + +Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to +him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal. + +"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you." + +It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law. + +Cornish was bending over Di. + +"What next do you say?" he asked. + +She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, +lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down. + +"You like sacred music?" + +She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said: +"I love it." + +"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece," Cornish +declared. + +Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face. + +"Give _me_ ragtime," he said now, with the effect of bursting out of +somewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly. + +Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smile +for him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look. + +"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge,'" Cornish suggested. "That's got up real +attractive." + +Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the very +one she had been hoping to hear him sing. + +They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge." + +"Oh," cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such a +perfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it. + +"Lulu is," said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have to +hear herself sing." + +It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About that +photograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, called +attention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing them +all. Everybody must have understood--excepting the Plows. These two +gentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and at +the melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from another +world. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetrating +plane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite of +earth, say, flowers and fire and music. + +Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ran +badly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running. + +"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them. + +"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I mean +that I'd know how to do? A job for money.... I mean a job...." + +She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them. + + * * * * * + +Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. She +heard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be right +there." + +Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he ran +down the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours that +night, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and she +could fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about two +hours of sleep the whole night long. + +Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought up +Dwight--"made him what he was," he often complacently accused her. It +was a note on a postal card--she had often written a few lines on a +postal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina get +her some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say that +she was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her while +she was still able to visit? If he was not too busy.... + +Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it up +by the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before they +left, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned the +postal card. + +And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight--you can't tell how long you'll +be gone?" + +"Of course not. How should I tell?" + +"No. And that letter might come while you're away." + +"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!" + +"Dwight--I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it--" + +"Opened it?" + +"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly--" + +"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly." + +"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?" + +"But you say you know what'll be in it." + +"So I did know--till you--I've got to see that letter, Dwight." + +"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you know +how I hate having my mail interfered with." + +She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that." She said +nothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousand +injunctions. + +"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu--if it occurs to her +to have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You might +ask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watch +Monona's handkerchief--the child will never take a clean one if I'm not +here to tell her...." + +She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus. + +In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward: + +"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threw +back his head and lifted his eyebrows. + +In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife. + +"Ina," he said. "It's _ma_. And she's going to die. It can't be...." + +Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there with +her." + +It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind of +fresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speak +through him and minister. + +Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came. + +Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that +evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and +she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She +passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were +telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than +they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and +spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster +mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed. + +Cornish stepped down and overtook her. + +"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two--" + +She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night--could you--" It +was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease. + +Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed. + +"Come for supper," Lulu said. + +Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance. + +He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the +country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return. + +Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at +ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It +became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was +_there_. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had +picked flowers for the table--a task coveted by her but usually +performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a +vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made +ice-cream. + +"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like +asking you under false--" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended +without it. + +Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said +contentedly. + +"Kind of a relief, _I_ think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from +the fulness of something or other. + +"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile. + +"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and +chitters." + +Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight +face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly. + +"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so _very_ much in love." And again +she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks +Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty +that this was not so. + +By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu and +Cornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leaf +side-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she need +not see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisement +of dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferently +fingering both. + +"Monona," Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!" + +Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive," he said--it +was his formula of praise for his music. + +"But we can't try it over," Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come." + +"Well, say," said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of Old +Favourites here. Some of them we know by heart." + +Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something," she said, "there's some of these +I can play with one hand--by ear. Maybe--" + +"Why sure!" said Cornish. + +Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the +nights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality of +being Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In +her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it +looked even more abundant--but she had not dared to try it so until +to-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin +hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped +and strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud +pedal--the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "How +Can I Leave Thee," and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, +Long Ago," and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay." Beyond open doors, +Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers +ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar. + +"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: +"You're quite a musician." + +"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I've +never done this in front of anybody," she owned. "I don't know what +Dwight and Ina'd say...." She drooped. + +They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred and +quickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, +and poured this forth, even thus trampled. + +"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to," said +Cornish. + +"Oh, no," Lulu said again. + +"Sing and play and cook--" + +"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something." But this she +had not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened. + +"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought." + +"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work." + +"I see," said Cornish. "I never thought of that," he added. She caught +his speculative look--he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, +as who in Warbleton had not heard? + +"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. +This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned in +her an unspeakable relief. + +"Oh, no," Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked. + +"Yes, you are," she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'd +like 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell." + +Cornish frowned, trying to understand. + +"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair." + +"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have." + +"Oh, that--" said Cornish. "That's not right." + +"No. But there it is. It puts me--you see what it does to me. They +think--they all think my--husband left me." + +It was curious to hear her bring out that word--tentatively, +deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant. + +Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well...." + +Before she willed it, she was telling him: + +"He didn't. He didn't leave me," she cried with passion. "He had another +wife." Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself. + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news of +her state where there would be neither hardness nor censure. + +"We were in Savannah, Georgia," she said. "We were going to leave for +Oregon--going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he was +going out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I was +sitting the same as there. He opened the door again--the same as here. I +saw he looked different--and he said quick: 'There's something you'd +ought to know before we go.' And of course I said, 'What?' And he said +it right out--how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years she +ran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. +So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me." + +"No, no. Of course he didn't," Cornish said earnestly. "But Lord +sakes--" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable +and sat down. + +"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell--he thinks it isn't true. He +thinks--he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted--" Lulu +looked up at him. + +"You see," she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me." + +"But why don't you make your--husband--I mean, why doesn't he write to +Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth--" Cornish burst out. + +Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare +sweetness. + +"He has written," she said. "The letter's there." + +He followed her look, scowled at the two letters. + +"What'd he say?" + +"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he +comes back." + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted +it with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You--you--you're +too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't." + +To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she +could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy. + +"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can +do." + +And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his +face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so +fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, +ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the +time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, +he was there, and she could talk to him. + +"It's--it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just _could_ +know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she's +dead." + +This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand. + +"Sure you would," he said briefly. + +"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And +she never heard of me." + +"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss. + +In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"I scraped up everything," she remarked, "and left the dishes set." + +"That's right, mamma," Lulu said. "Come and sit down." + +Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected +of her. + +"I don't hear any more playin' and singin'," she remarked. "It sounded +real nice." + +"We--we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma." + +"I use' to play on the melodeon," Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and +examined her right hand. + +"Well!" said Cornish. + +She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, when +she was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. She +rehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at old +fears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen--a +tragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At the +end she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she had +been telling the story of some one else. + +"Give us one more piece," she said. + +"Can we?" Cornish asked. + +"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old,'" Lulu said. + +"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish. + +They sang it, to Lulu's right hand. + +"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie," +cried, Mrs. Bett. + +Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then. + +Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. +Cornish rose to go. + +"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice was +sharp. + +"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything I +could do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?" + +That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her to +feel no intrusion. + +"Oh, thank you," she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel--" + +"Of course it is," said Cornish heartily. + +They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamour +from the grass, tiny voices, insisting. + +"Of course," said Lulu, "of course you won't--you wouldn't--" + +"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not," he repeated, "for +dollars." + +"But I knew you wouldn't," she told him. + +He took her hand. "Good-night," he said. "I've had an awful nice time +singing and listening to you talk--well, of course--I mean," he cried, +"the supper was just fine. And so was the music." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +Mrs. Bett came into the hall. + +"Lulie," she said, "I guess you didn't notice--this one's from Ninian." + +"Mother--" + +"I opened it--why, of course I did. It's from Ninian." + +Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and a +yellowed newspaper clipping. + +"See," said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hall +singer--married last night to Ninian Deacon--' Say, Lulie, that must be +her...." + +Lulu threw out her hands. + +"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He _was_ married to her, just like he +said!" + + * * * * * + +The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually at +the side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wanted +to see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking with +a troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like the +hair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruit +and honey upon the table seemed her only possible food. + +"You look troubled, Lulu," Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?" + +"No," said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask--quite a lot of places. I +guess the bakery is going to let me make cake." + +"I knew it would come to you," Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought that +this was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after the +cakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright and +quiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwight +never read from a book at table. + +"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know what +she wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceived +none. + +"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, +Lulu thought. + +"Well," said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me about +last night." + +"Last night?" + +"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where did +you go?" She turned to Jenny. + +Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across the +river and carried supper and then we came home." + +"What time did you get home?" + +"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was." + +Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed there +at Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on account +of Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To which +Lulu said an "of course," but first she stared at Jenny and so impaired +the strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go. + +"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers. + +Lulu wanted to say: "My husband _was_ married before, just as he said he +was." But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, +and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony. + +"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Lulu +spoke formally and her rehearsals were evident. + +Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her." + +With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at her +helplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually: + +"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yard +sitting in the hammock till all hours." + +Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on: + +"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't say +a word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters.' So I left her stay where +she was." + +"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone." + +"I forgot it," Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all--" She +talked of Ninian's letter. + +Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu's +softness and laxness. + +"I don't know what your mother'll say," said Lulu, "and I don't know +what people'll think." + +"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway," said Di, +and left the room. + +Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she was +anxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwight +and Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought of +Di's girlish folly, her irritating independence--"and there," Lulu +thought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew." Her mind dwelt +too on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. But +when all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She must +leave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him that +she had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to _do_? +The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof. + +Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight and +flat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about these +things. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one in +distress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strong +and swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu with +dragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative than +she had ever been. + +Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then humming +an air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through the +kitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on the +elm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden block +pavement. + +"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, like +the burden of a comic song. + +"Hush, mother," Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflicting +with her honesty. + +"Speak the truth and shame the devil," Mrs. Bett contended. + +When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Lulu +had heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectation +that she would join them. + +"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time," she thought, and for a time +said nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'd +better put her plate in the oven." + +Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating a +baked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting a +profile of passionate absorption. + +"Why, Di went off," she said. + +"Went off!" + +"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk." + +"She must have gone to Jenny's," said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do that +without telling me." + +Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" she +cried in sisterly enjoyment. + +It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at the +table that Mrs. Bett observed: + +"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel." + +"Her satchel?" + +"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it." + +"Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a +satchel?" + +"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I +didn't think Inie--" + +"Mother! Which way did she go?" + +Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen +her." + +Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railway +station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for +shopping, would be just about leaving. + +"Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. +Mother, you keep her--" + +Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton +dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she was +still two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty +"pulling out." + +She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, +her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and to +the ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains and +perturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her: + +"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?" + +"Sure she did," said Lenny. + +"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now. + +"He went in on the Local," said Lenny, and his eyes widened. + +"Where?" + +"See." Lenny thought it through. "Millton," he said. "Yes, sure. +Millton. Both of 'em." + +"How long till another train?" + +"Well, sir," said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. +Seventeen was late this morning--she'll be along, jerk of a lamb's +tail." + +"Then," said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without me +paying till after--and you got to lend me two dollars." + +"Sure thing," said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railway +system at her feet. + +"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny's +signal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow express +slowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbed +aboard. + +Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do? +Millton! She had been there but once, years ago--how could she ever +find anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriff +or somebody--no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight and +Ina were going to be angry now! And Di--little Di. As Lulu thought of +her she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di to +sew. + +In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. +She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands to +her hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She was +pulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train. + +"Could you tell me," she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotel +in Millton?" + +Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia. + +The conductor looked curiously at her. + +"Why, the Hess House," he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meet +you?" he asked, kindly. + +"No," said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks--" Her voice trailed +away. + +"Beats all," thought the conductor, using his utility formula for the +universe. + +In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. +Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be a +new servant there. + +"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobby +entrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?" + +The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, it +seemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, +but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end of +the office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her. + +"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on your +book." + +Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, +showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names and +strange writing presented themselves there, he said: + +"Tried the parlour?" + +And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pen +divorced from his ear for the express purpose. + +In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's most +pressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers in +the Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of the +intensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-coloured +chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone. + +Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started +up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the +first thing that occurred to her: + +"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel." + +"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "My +goodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?" + +"For you," said Lulu. "You--you--you'd ought not to be here, Di." + +"What's that to you?" Di cried. + +"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----" + +Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she to +go on? "Di," she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why not +let us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this sounded +as if she were talking about a tea-party. + +"Who said we wanted to be married?" + +"Well, he's here." + +"Who said he's here?" + +"Isn't he?" + +Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu," she said, "you're a funny person to be +telling _me_ what to do." + +Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was married +happy, in a home." + +"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as I +think best." + +Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to find +something to say. "What do people say to people," she wondered, "when +it's like this?" + +"Getting married is for your whole life," was all that came to her. + +"Yours wasn't," Di flashed at her. + +Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. She +must deal with this right--that was what her manner seemed to say. And +how should she deal? + +"Di," she cried, "come back with me--and wait till mamma and papa get +home." + +"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one." + +"Well, but how young that is!" + +"It is to you." + +"Di! This is wrong--it _is_ wrong." + +"There's nothing wrong about getting married--if you stay married." + +"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know." + +"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And I +won't stay at home--I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten years +old." + +Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding. + +"Why, Di," she said, "do you feel that way too?" + +Di missed this. She went on: + +"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowed +to do a thing I feel. I want to be away--I will be away!" + +"I know about that part," Lulu said. + +She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di was +suffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had not +thought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, +so--asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House at +Millton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were let +alone? + +"You don't know what it's like," Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughed +at and paid no attention to, everything you say." + +"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?" + +She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If _this_ was why Di was +leaving home.... + +"But, Di," she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?" + +By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody," she said, "and +it might as well be him." + +"But is it him?" + +"Yes, it is," said Di. "But," she added, "I know I could love almost +anybody real nice that was nice to me." And this she said, not in her +own right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, or +else the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke through +her, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned its +face to be recognised. + +"Di!" she cried. + +"It's true. You ought to know that." She waited for a moment. "You did +it," she added. "Mamma said so." + +At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive its +truth. + +"I know what I want to do, I guess," Di muttered, as if to try to cover +what she had said. + +Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understood +Di, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Di +actually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that they +were both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were two +women. And she must make Di know that she understood her. + +"Di," Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. +Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you--" + +She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtue +of that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said: + +"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!" + +Lulu glanced down. "I know," she said, "but I guess you'll have to put +up with me." + +The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those who +examine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. +These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di kept +silence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing to +do with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "What +do you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply. + +"I mean I'm going to stay with you." + +Di laughed scornfully--she was again the rebellious child. "I guess +Bobby'll have something to say about that," she said insolently. + +"They left you in my charge." + +"But I'm not a baby--the idea, Aunt Lulu!" + +"I'm going to stay right with you," said Lulu. She wondered what she +should do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that bright +lobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. +And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in her +agonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes. + +Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, and +looked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing more +to say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive. + +They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room. + +Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession. + +The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, +came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glanced +sidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease. + +The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on an +importance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby--a Bobby who +wished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in the +Hess House at Millton. + +The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no less +than overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure upon +which he found himself. + +The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobby +into whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief. + +Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her rôle, +ignored Lulu. + +"Bobby! Is it all right?" + +Bobby looked over her head. + +"Miss Lulu," he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu." + +He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug. + +"Bobby," said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but she +can't. I've told her so." + +"She don't have to stop us," quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped." + +"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctive +in her melodrama. + +Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out. + +"We're minors," said he. + +"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that." + +"No. They knew _I_ was." + +"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?" + +"But I am." + +Di stared. "For pity sakes," she said, "don't you know how to do +anything?" + +"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head held +very stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin. + +"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we're +responsible--that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny...." + +"You wanted me to lie?" he said. + +"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib." + +"Well, but this--" he stared at her. + +"I never heard of such a thing," Di cried accusingly. + +"Anyhow," he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've told +our ages. We've got to have our folks in on it." + +"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded. + +"What else?" + +"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and be +married there." + +"Di," said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go." + +Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He replied +stonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her little +hand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulu +sitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge," Di +cried, and rose. + +Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don't +know what I can say." Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I've +told Di," she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. +Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take me +along, I guess." She spoke in a manner of distinct apology. + +At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at the +carpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation in +the eternal query: How did I get into it? + +"Bobby," said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?" + +This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di had +counted. He said loudly: + +"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you or +any other girl." + +Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like a +man in a story," she said, "as--as papa is." + +The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time to +stay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between the +lovers. + +"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, and +swallowed. + +"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out--" said Di. + +"I don't want to back out," Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but I +won't--" + +"Come on, Aunt Lulu," said Di grandly. + +Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought up +the rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Heads +turned to look at her. They passed into the street. + +"You two go ahead," said Lulu, "so they won't think--" + +They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, and +thought of her broken shoes. + +At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, he +said, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. And +Lulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all. + +"Aunt Lulu," said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. You +look as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here." + +"All right, Di," said Lulu humbly. + + * * * * * + +It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bett +stood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron. + +"Surprise for you!" she called brightly. + +Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall. + +"Darling!" + +She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw the +travelling bag. + +"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?" + +In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. She +now laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs. + +Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen. + +"Well, where have _you_ been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw such +a family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tell +anything." + +"Mamma knows a-plenty," snapped Mrs. Bett. + +Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down. + +"You'll catch it--you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill general +warning. + +Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about her +bag and now she says I don't know nothing," she complained. "There I +knew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her and +spoil her gettin' home." She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a good +notion not to eat a mouthful o' supper," she announced. + +"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've got +enough to get through to-night." + +Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him the +mysterious circumstance of the bag, could hear the exaggerated air of +the casual with which he always received the excitement of another, and +especially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, +and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pity +for Di, as if she herself were about to face them. + +There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cotton +dress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered the +dining-room. + +"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown." + +She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression--almost +as if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye. + +"_That_ shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, +aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!" + +Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head was +moving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought better +of it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on another +dress?" + +Lulu sat down in her place. "No," she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, +Dwight." + +"It seems to me--" he began. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, +who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly: + +"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulu +been with mamma's new bag?" + +"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, that +alters it." + +"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly. + +"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt," said Dwight Herbert, "events +begin to event." + +"Come, Di, let's hear," said Ina. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? How +is----" + +Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his face +dropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes. + +"She'll never be any better," he said. "I know we've said good-bye to +her for the last time." + +"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu. + +"She knew it too," he said. "It--it put me out of business, I can tell +you. She gave me my start--she took all the care of me--taught me to +read--she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened his +eyes wide on account of their dimness. + +"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there," said +Ina, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of the +journey. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that +he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, +told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, +"Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow. + +"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she +went on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. About +the bag." + +"Oh, mamma," said Di, "let me eat my supper." + +"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first what +you've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?" + +"Yes," said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu. + +But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Di +would say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again. + +"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her--where in the world had you +been? Why, but you couldn't have been with her--in that dress. And yet +I saw you come in the gate together." + +"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly did +not so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?" + +"It's a good dress," Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's a +good dress. Lulie wore it on the street--of course she did. She was gone +a long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and _then_ she hadn't come." + +"Well," said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where were +you both?" + +One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, +identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacy +was incredible. + +"Put an end to this, Lulu," he commanded. "Where were you two--since you +make such a mystery?" + +Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father was +now clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herself +temporising, for the moment making common cause with Di. + +"Oh," she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if we +want one?" + +"Upon my word," Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don't +know about your secrets, Lulu." + +Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed to +bleed. + +"I'm glad for my dinner," remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me." +On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best to +make her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burst +in. + +"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there--come. I can't stand +it. What am I going to do?" + +"Di, dear," said Lulu. "Tell your mother--you must tell her." + +"She'll cry," Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa--and he'll never stop +talking about it. I know him--every day he'll keep it going. After he +scolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die--I'll die, Aunt Lulu." + +Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about? +I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting...." + +"Let's go out on the porch," said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, +Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way that +she knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in this +world.... + +Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress. + +"A bridal robe," said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu--what are _you_ wearing +a bridal robe for--eh?" + +She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, she +reflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour--had +not yet asked for his mail. + +It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the village +street came in--laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Lights +starred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on the +board walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish. + +Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the time +broken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clock +strike reassuring dawn. + +"Lulu," said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!" + +Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse," she said. + +Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sick +woman--and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Di +was curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply and +directly--the rarest of Di's manners, in fact not Di's manner at all. +Lulu spoke not at all--it was enough to have this respite. + +After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besetting +fear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived. + +And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, +recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobby +was plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. +It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And it +was no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully to +pierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know the +kind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her own +pride--you know how they do that?" + +"Well," said Ina, "my part, I think _the_ most awful thing is to have +somebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbed +and spiteful with such treatment." + +"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say my +prayers!" + +Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, +but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear +devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two +divided channels. + +She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed +the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in +Mrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour. + +"Don't you help me," Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I can +help myself yet awhile." + +She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, she +said clearly: + +"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkin +eloped off together to-day. _He_!" The last was a single note of +laughter, high and brief. + +The silence fell. + +"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily. + +But Ina said tensely: "_Is_ it nonsense? Haven't I been trying and +trying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!" + +Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false. + +"Listen to that, Bobby," she said. "Listen!" + +"That won't do, Di," said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't you +try!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authentic +anxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity of +the moment by her indignation. + +"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manly +before them all. + +But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Here +was something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like a +mask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as if +the sound shattered a thousand filaments--where? + +"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened among +them. + +"Yes, papa," said Di, very small. + +"Answer your mother. Answer _me_. Is there anything to this absurd +tale?" + +"No, papa," said Di, trembling. + +"Nothing whatever?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?" + +"No, papa." + +"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this report +repeated, send them to _me_." + +"Well, but that satchel--" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less as +a function than as a leech. + +"One moment," said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the child +has said." + +There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had not +instinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she saw +Dwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself a +child in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as was +Dwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. She +burned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. She +threw up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this. + +"If you cannot settle this with Di," said Lulu, "you cannot settle it +with me." + +"A shifty answer," said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresenting +facts, you know, Lulu." + +"Bobby wanted to say something," said Ina, still troubled. + +"No, Mrs. Deacon," said Bobby, low. "I have nothing--more to say." + +In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. +It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everything +now. + +"Bobby," she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?" + +He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, +blurring. + +"And anyhow," said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We _didn't_ elope, did we?" + +"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby. + +The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. +But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take his +regret that they had not gone on. + +"Well, I came for one thing," said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn't +stand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di--I hate a lie. And now +to-night--" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather," he said, +"they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the way +I've lost you now." + +"Bobby!" + +"It's true. We mustn't talk about it." + +"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all." + +"You can't go back," said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that." + +She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turned +toward the house, and met Cornish leaving. + +"Miss Di," he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, remember +it's with me!" + +Her defence was ready--her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobby +might hear. + +She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a little +white thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains. + +"If," she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with Bobby +Larkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times a +day." + +"Really, darling?" cried Ina. + +"Really and truly," said Di, "and he knows it, too." + +Lulu listened and read all. + +"I wondered," said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see that +Bobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!" + +When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajoling +confidence: + +"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "_why_ did you and Di have the +black bag?" + +So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually: +"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?" + +"There are two letters on the parlour table," Lulu answered. To Ina she +added: "Let's go in the parlour." + +As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs to +bed--when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched her +extremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she were +half minded to claim the protection so long lost. + +Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little," said +he, tirelessly. + +Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, +said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement of +dental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he said +again, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "An +epistle from my dear brother Ninian." The words failed, as he saw the +unsealed flap. + +"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he had +no climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used on +small occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeper +horror than "You picked the flower"--once put to Lulu. + +She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly at +some one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horror +and sympathy, a nice half and half. + +"Your sister has been opening my mail," he said. + +"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian--" + +"It is _my_ mail," he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might open +it. Of course I told her no." + +"Well," said Ina practically, "what does he say?" + +"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is this +disregard of my wishes." His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, +devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be more +effectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?" + +Lulu was not looking at him. "None," she said--not defiantly, or +ingratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None." + +"Why did you do it?" + +She smiled faintly and shook her head. + +"Dwight," said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. +Hurry up." + +"She is," said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman." + +He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts. + +"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for a +month, you find that you were _not_ married to him." + +Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph. + +"You see, Dwight," she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. He +didn't just leave me." + +Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerably +worse off than if he had." + +"Oh, no," Lulu said serenely. "No. Why," she said, "you know how it all +came about. He--he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If he +hadn't--hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don't +you?" + +Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked. + +She said nothing. + +"Look here, Lulu," he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you say +about it the better, for all our sakes--_you_ see that, don't you?" + +"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the +truth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs ..." + +"Tell who?" + +"Tell everybody. I want them to know." + +"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?" + +She looked at him now. "Your feeling?" + +"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?" + +"But it's me--it's me." + +"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'll +drop." + +"I want the people to know the truth," Lulu said. + +"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intend +to sue Ninian?" + +"Sue him? Oh no!" + +"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter." + +Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands +awkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of her +ear, she kept swallowing. + +"Tell you, Lulu," said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests are +the same in this thing--only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing to +you now. Is he?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu in surprise. + +"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell this +disgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What do +you say, Ina--considering Di and all?" + +"Oh, goodness," said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll never +get away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds." + +Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her straying +hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic. + +"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plump +hands. "Oh, Dwight--when I think of it: What have I done--what have _we_ +done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband--be so protected, +so loved, when other women.... Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near to +Lulu. "You _know_ how sorry I am--we all are...." + +Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands were +stiffly joined. + +"Then," she said, "give me the only thing I've got--that's my pride. My +pride--that he didn't want to get rid of me." + +They stared at her. "What about _my_ pride?" Dwight called to her, as +across great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know my +brother did a thing like that?" + +"You can't help that," said Lulu. + +"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won't +shame us like this before all our friends." + +"You want me to promise what?" + +"I want you--I ask you," Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me that +you will keep this, with us--a family secret." + +"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!" + +It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out her +hands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't you +understand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life--on your +money. I've not been strong enough to work, they say--well, but I've +been strong enough to be a hired girl in your house--and I've been glad +to pay for my keep.... But there wasn't anything about it I liked. +Nothing about being here that I liked.... Well, then I got a little +something, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went off +on the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. And +then it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here and +went into your kitchen again--I don't know why I came back. I s'pose +because I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more--but +what have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to me +having folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'em +all wonder.... I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't...." + +"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?" +Dwight sneered. + +"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know--maybe he wanted me only just +because he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won't +have folks think he went and left me." + +"That," said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity." + +"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?" + +"And bring disgrace on us all." + +"It's me--it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terrible +tribal sense, was shattered by it. + +"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di." + +"_Di?_" He had Lulu's eyes now. + +"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking," said Dwight. + +"How would it hurt Di?" + +"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'd +hurt her?" + +"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?" + +"Why, it would shame her--embarrass her--make people wonder what kind of +stock she came from--oh," Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!" + +"Hurt her prospects, of course," said Dwight. "Anybody could see that." + +"I s'pose it would," said Lulu. + +She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, +her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt. + +"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina and +shuddered. + +"I'm talked about now!" + +"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn't +help that." This misstep was Dwight's. + +"No," Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his other +wife, either." + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "that's a crime." + +"I've done no crime," said Lulu. + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches." + +"Even Di," Lulu said. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let this +thing rest with us three?" + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu quietly. + +"You will?" + +"I s'pose so." + +Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything." + +Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is." Aloud she said: +"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell." + +"I'll see to that," Dwight graciously offered. + +"Goodness," Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said no +more. + +"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu," said Dwight. + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu. + +Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, her +trim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton. + +"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister," she murmured. + +"Oh stop that!" Lulu said. + +Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now," he said, +"overlook the matter of the letter." + +Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and cried +out. + +"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the whole +thing happened!" + + * * * * * + +Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that it +was popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the six +copies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words," looked +wistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased. + +"Got up quite attractive," he thought, and fastened the six copies in +the window of his music store. + +It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floor +and sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. +He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book. + +For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, +stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he really +getting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Of +late when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting. + +The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a dark +sateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was in +there, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blur +of his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realistic +illusion of personal loneliness. + +It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usually +attacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall and +the faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; or +when he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerful +and wonted--the question had not before attacked him among his red and +blue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshiny +morning. + +A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell a +piano. + +"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor. + +It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat. + +"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anything +else. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it. + +"You're out early," said he, participating in the village chorus of this +bright challenge at this hour. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu. + +He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, +leaned to see it the better. + +"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had +not thought to say it before. + +"All right, thank you," said Lulu. + +"Was he--about the letter, you know?" + +"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added, +"not to say anything about what was in the letter?" + +"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody +know now?" + +"No," Lulu said. + +At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, +dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible +specks. + +"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said. + +"_Good-bye!_" + +"Yes. I'm going off--for a while. My satchel's in the bakery--I had my +breakfast in the bakery." + +"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything _wasn't_ all right last +night?" + +"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight +forgave me." + +"Forgave you!" + +She smiled, and trembled. + +"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about +this." + +He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast +area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a +piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the +comfort of his kindly indignation. + +"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any +more. I can't do that." + +"Then what are you going to do?" + +"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the +hotel--they wanted a chambermaid." + +"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said +Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw +you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag--" He stopped, stared. + +"You brought her back!" he deduced everything. + +"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no--I mean--" + +"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just +what you did--you brought her back." + +"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!" + +"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean +about your going after her?" + +"No." + +"You never told!" + +"They don't know she went." + +"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her +folks--I mean, right off. Before last night...." + +"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that--he'd _joke_ her +about it after a while." + +"But it seems--" + +"Ina'd talk about disgracing _her_. They wouldn't know what to do. +There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father," Lulu +said. + +Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu's +reality he could grasp. + +"You're a trump anyhow," he affirmed. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu modestly. + +Yes, she was. He insisted upon it. + +"By George," he exclaimed, "you don't find very many _married_ women +with as good sense as you've got." + +At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to the +truth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in some +amusement, and said nothing. + +"You've been a jewel in their home all right," said Cornish. "I bet +they'll miss you if you do go." + +"They'll miss my cooking," Lulu said without bitterness. + +"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there--" + +"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude which +lighted her eyes. + +"You made the whole place," said Cornish. + +"You don't mean just the cooking?" + +"No, no. I mean--well, that first night when you played croquet. I felt +at home when you came out." + +That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look of +loveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I never +had but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking." She seemed to +feel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair up +nice." She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how the +ladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs." + +"Well, well," said Cornish only. + +"Well," said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye to +you--and there's one or two other places...." + +"I hate to have you go," said Cornish, and tried to add something. "I +hate to have you go," was all that he could find to add. + +Lulu rose. "Oh, well," was all that she could find. + +They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to the +door. He had begun on "Look here, I wish ..." when Lulu said +"good-bye," and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would have +said. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going." + +"So do I," said Lulu, and went, still laughing. + +Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her +head averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of all +proportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more--it +assailed him, absorbed him. + +He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting of +which he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down the +store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there was +the green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated that +green curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time it +occurred to him that he hated Warbleton. + +He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, +chin on chest, regarding it. No ... no escape that way.... + +A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, her +face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter. + +"See," she said. "At the office was this...." + +She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read: + +" ... Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard from +her, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer +wrote to me.... I've never been any good--Dwight would tell you that if +his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain't +anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this.... I s'pose you +couldn't understand and I don't myself.... Only the sixteen years +keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so +downright good, that's what was the worst ... do you see what I want to +say ..." + + +Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyes +there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. +Incredible dignity. + +"He didn't lie to get rid of me--and she was alive, just as he thought +she might be," she said. + +"I'm glad," said Cornish. + +"Yes," said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him +out." + +It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking. + +"Now you're free," he said. + +"Oh, that ..." said Lulu. + +She replaced her letter in its envelope. + +"Now I'm really going," she said. "Good-bye for sure this time...." + +Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm. + +"Don't say good-bye," he said. + +"It's late," she said, "I--" + +"Don't you go," said Cornish. + +She looked at him mutely. + +"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?" + +"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word. + +He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybe +you've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. +Well, it's only five hundred dollars." + +His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying. + +"That little Warden house--it don't cost much--you'd be surprised. Rent, +I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, but +then I didn't think--" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost near +as much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos--" + +He was startled by that "we," and began again: + +"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me." + +"But," said Lulu. "You _know_! Why, don't the disgrace--" + +"What disgrace?" asked Cornish. + +"Oh," she said, "you--you----" + +"There's only this about that," said he. "Of course, if you loved him +very much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But I +didn't think--" + +"You didn't think what?" + +"That you did care so very much--about him. I don't know why." + +She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what I +done. I know that now." + +"I figured that way," said Cornish. + +They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he saw +that she should know. + +"Look here," he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm--I'm awful lonesome +myself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reason +why I want to get married. I want some kind of a home." + +He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason. + +"Of course," she said. + +"I ain't never lived what you might say private," said Cornish. + +"I've lived too private," Lulu said. + +"Then there's another thing." This was harder to tell her. "I--I don't +believe I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law." + +"I don't see," said Lulu, "how anybody does." + +"I'm not much good in a business way," he owned, with a faint laugh. +"Sometimes I think," he drew down his brows, "that I may never be able +to make any money." + +She said: "Lots of men don't." + +"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I've +seen," he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I--I was +engaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd be +willing to try me, we would get along." + +Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you--" + +"Miss Di? Why," said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And," he added, +"she's a little liar." + +"But I'm going on thirty-four." + +"So am I!" + +"Isn't there somebody--" + +"Look here. Do you like me?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Well enough--" + +"It's you I was thinking of," said Lulu. "I'd be all right." + +"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +"And now," said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. +I've got something on." + +He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di was +not there. + +"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked. + +"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?" + +"Well, but, Dwight--we've got to do something." + +"As I told you this morning," he observed, "we shall do nothing. Your +sister is of age--I don't know about the sound mind, but she is +certainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where she +will." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where--" + +"You are a question-box," said Dwight playfully. "A question-box." + +Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm and +nursed it. + +"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long," she +remarked. + +"You should be sufficient unto your little self," said Dwight. + +"That's all right," said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner." + +"I want some crust coffee," announced Monona firmly. + +"You'll have nothing of the sort," said Ina. "Drink your milk." + +"As I remarked," Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry." + +"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked. + +She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing to +play his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she _was_ hot. + +"I am going," said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, +for an hour." + +"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?" + +"Borrowed it from the railroad company," said Dwight, with the triumph +peculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can't +imagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I can +remember--saw it every time I took the train--and yet I never once +thought of grandma." + +"My, Dwight," said Ina, "how good you are!" + +"Nonsense!" said he. + +"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, you +take Grandma Gates a baked apple--no. You shan't go till you drink your +milk." + +"I don't want it." + +"Drink it or mamma won't let you go." + +Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran. + +"The apple isn't very good," said Ina, "but it shows my good will." + +"Also," said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness for +others." + +"That's what I always think," his Ina said. + +"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired. + +"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try," Ina +confessed. + +"You didn't have to try," Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming when +I got rested up." + +She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie," she said, and the +corners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased in +vague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the front +door opened. + +"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common," Mrs. Bett +complained. + +But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish. + +"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward. + +"Well!" said Ina, in replica. + +"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughter +and put her hands upon her. + +"We wanted to tell you first," Cornish said. "We've just got married." + +"For _ever_ more!" said Ina. + +"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried with +hope. + +"No," Cornish said soberly. "We're married--just now. Methodist +parsonage. We've had our dinner," he added hastily. + +"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason. + +"The bakery," Cornish replied, and flushed. + +"In the dining-room part," Lulu added. + +Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation. + +"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in a +bakery--" + +No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted the +fuss of a wedding. + +Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all," +he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way." + +Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie," she said, "why, Lulie. You +ain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?" + +"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett," Dwight cried. "She wasn't married +that first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!" + +Ina's little shriek sounded. + +"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have to +tell about Ninian now--and his other wife!" + +Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lulu +looked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face a +horrified realisation. + +"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You _will_ have to tell now, won't you? Why I +never thought of that." + +At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give Grandma +Gates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patient +kindness to tuck her in. + +The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, +no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. and +Mrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT*** + + +******* This file should be named 10429-8.txt or 10429-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10429 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10429-8.zip b/old/10429-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e98c9d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429-8.zip diff --git a/old/10429-h.zip b/old/10429-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..66cf980 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429-h.zip diff --git a/old/10429-h/10429-h.htm b/old/10429-h/10429-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acc9119 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429-h/10429-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6033 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale</title> + +<STYLE type="text/css"> +BODY { + MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +P { + TEXT-ALIGN: justify +} +BLOCKQUOTE { + TEXT-ALIGN: justify +} +H1 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H2 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H3 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H4 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H5 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +H6 { + TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +PRE { + FONT-SIZE: 0.7em +} +HR { + WIDTH: 50%; TEXT-ALIGN: center +} +UNKNOWN { + MARGIN-LEFT: 25%; WIDTH: 50%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 25% +} +HR.full { + WIDTH: 100% +} +UNKNOWN { + MARGIN-LEFT: 0%; WIDTH: 100%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0% +} +.note { + FONT-SIZE: 0.9em; MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +.footnote { + FONT-SIZE: 0.9em; MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10% +} +.greek { + CURSOR: help +} +.poem { + MARGIN-LEFT: 10%; MARGIN-RIGHT: 10%; TEXT-ALIGN: left +} +.poem .stanza { + MARGIN: 1em 0em +} +.poem P { + PADDING-LEFT: 3em; MARGIN: 0px; TEXT-INDENT: -3em +} +.poem P.i2 { + MARGIN-LEFT: 2em +} +.poem P.i4 { + MARGIN-LEFT: 4em +} + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} +</STYLE> + +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook,<br> + Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Miss Lulu Bett</p> +<p>Author: Zona Gale</p> +<p>Release Date: December 10, 2003 [eBook #10429]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT***</p> +<br> +<br> +<center><h3>E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Dave Morgan,<br> + and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders</h3></center> + +<hr class="full"> + + + + +<br><br> +<h1>MISS LULU BETT</h1> + + + +<br><br> +<h2>By ZONA GALE</h2> + + + +<br><br> +<h4>1921</h4> + + + +<br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="CONTENTS"></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br> + +<h3>CHAPTER</h3> + +<h4><a href="#I">I. APRIL</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#II">II. MAY</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#III">III. JUNE</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#IV">IV. JULY</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#V">V. AUGUST</a></h4> + +<h4><a href="#VI">VI. SEPTEMBER</a></h4> + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="I"></a><h2>I</h2> +<br> + +<p>APRIL</p> + +<p>The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, +appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was a +gas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound.</p> + +<p>"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretched +up to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as a +man speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something to +say.</p> + +<p>"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, +eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. In +October he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?"</p> + +<p>"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," she +added, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should say +this so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Could +you leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring a +milkman's heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principal +dish benignly. "<i>Let</i> us see," he added, as he served.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona.</p> + +<p>The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that her +little triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remark +produced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped.</p> + +<p>"<i>What's</i> this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "<i>No</i> salmon?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt her +power, discarded her "sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone.</p> + +<p>"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping;</p> + +<p>The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her head +until her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon's +eyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progeny +will not eat? What can be supplied?</p> + +<p>"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread." +One wondered how she thought of it.</p> + +<p>"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affecting +indifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twisted +her head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote.</p> + +<p>There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, +Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home with +us." And that was precisely the case. <i>They</i> were not making her a +home, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden.</p> + +<p>"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, +not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, by +nature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" shouted the child Monona.</p> + +<p>The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. +Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. For +Monona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others to +let her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons were +devoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, +grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, +anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in." The poor child was the +late birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she had +provided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had produced +her at all.</p> + +<p>"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming to +her supper?"</p> + +<p>"Tantrim," said Mrs. Deacon, softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho," said he, and said no more.</p> + +<p>The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of high +vibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind of +self-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims," they +called these occasions.</p> + +<p>"Baked potatoes," said Mr. Deacon. "That's good—that's good. The baked +potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other +way. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it."</p> + +<p>"That's what I always think," said his wife pleasantly.</p> + +<p>For fifteen years they had agreed about this.</p> + +<p>They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicate +crunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touch +of the silver.</p> + +<p>"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed by +both parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyric +outburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost to +Mr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at that +age. That age, in Warbleton.</p> + +<p>A clock struck the half hour.</p> + +<p>"It's curious," Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must be +fully quarter to." He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" he +exclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time."</p> + +<p>"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina.</p> + +<p>"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck," he +reminded her.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one, I thought." She was tentative, regarded him with arched +eyebrows, mastication suspended.</p> + +<p>This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by the +child Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to call +just at meal-time?"</p> + +<p>He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. +Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted +finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked +potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate +with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the +hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was +listening.</p> + +<p>A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was +divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with +this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was +notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. +Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper +with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his +hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, +resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and +remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow +wink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did in +the presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and then +drew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. +This was her conjugal rebuking.</p> + +<p>Swedenborg always uses "conjugial." And really this sounds more married. +It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever more +married than they—at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugal +jokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, +suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking <i>entendre</i> in +the most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of her +life.</p> + +<p>And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time upon +the yellow tulip in the centre of his table.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>well</i>!" he said. "What's this?"</p> + +<p>Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple.</p> + +<p>"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired.</p> + +<p>"Ask Lulu," said Mrs. Deacon.</p> + +<p>He turned his attention full upon Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort of +ruff about the word.</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed.</p> + +<p>"It was a quarter," she said. "There'll be five flowers."</p> + +<p>"You <i>bought</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There'll be five—that's a nickel apiece."</p> + +<p>His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread.</p> + +<p>"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to +spend, even for the necessities."</p> + +<p>His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and even +flesh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose the +dogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert—Lulu +isn't strong enough to work. What's the use...."</p> + +<p>She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, the +family beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else.</p> + +<p>"The justice business—" said Dwight Herbert Deacon—he was a justice of +the peace—"and the dental profession—" he was also a dentist—"do not +warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home."</p> + +<p>"Well, but, Herbert—" It was his wife again.</p> + +<p>"No more," he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulu +meant no harm," he added, and smiled at Lulu.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, +num, num-my-num," as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. She +seemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. There +was, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour.</p> + +<p>"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di," said +Ina sighing.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?"</p> + +<p>He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for at +noon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Ina +played his game, always. She informed him, dutifully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>ho</i>," said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mind +on these domestic trifles.</p> + +<p>"We told you that this noon," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy.</p> + +<p>"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly—this was one of +his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord.</p> + +<p>His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large +size, small size, present price, former price—she had them all.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon +punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some +question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return +was always automatic: "<i>Her</i>bert!"</p> + +<p>"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert."</p> + +<p>She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed +upon her. It was his intention to be a case.</p> + +<p>Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was +not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat.</p> + +<p>"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the +butter-woman or get some creamery?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the +matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his +home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty +rôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to +turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation.</p> + +<p>"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at +meal-time," he said icily.</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now +with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would +look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her +plate.</p> + +<p>"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her +hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked +on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was +apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as +if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an +irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to +his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was +waiting his motion.</p> + +<p>At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her +aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. +Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted +her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active +child," Lulu ventured brightly.</p> + +<p>"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed.</p> + +<p>He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his +lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the +room.</p> + +<p>Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. +Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the half +hour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last night +twenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu did +not talk.</p> + +<p>"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think you +might be useful."</p> + +<p>Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed her +mind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force upon +the chip-pile.</p> + +<p>The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women brought +their work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, +watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She had +eight minutes more—seven—six—five—</p> + +<p>Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, +groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in its +heap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flat +chest.</p> + +<p>Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun were +as near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus would +burn our sun to nothingness.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain all +over. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to make +an ordeal.</p> + +<p>Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, also +eighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, aped +him, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. +Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her as +its servant.</p> + +<p>Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. It +was Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, +Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by a +most reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and he +listened for her voice.</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, +bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see me +about?"—with a use of the past tense as connoting something of +indirection and hence of delicacy—a nicety customary, yet unconscious. +Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formality +that Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join the +church, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in the +parlour until he could attend at leisure.</p> + +<p>Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planned +deserted him.</p> + +<p>"I thought if you would give me a job," he said defencelessly.</p> + +<p>"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be either +irritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?" +he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistant +dentist—which?</p> + +<p>Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's where +his office was, wasn't there something ... It faded from him, sounded +ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now.</p> + +<p>There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. +Hold on, he said—hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking charge +of the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its own +grass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time after +that which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in his +garden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attention +early next month ... he owned two lots—"of course property <i>is</i> a +burden." If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked ... Bobby +would care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thanked +Mr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, should +not stand in the way of his advancement.</p> + +<p>"Then that is checked off," said Mr. Deacon heartily.</p> + +<p>Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost upon +Di returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?"</p> + +<p>She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying +pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice +there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She +paused on the steps, a lovely figure.</p> + +<p>But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father."</p> + +<p>He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched +about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth +and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without +a glance.</p> + +<p>She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed +loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it.</p> + +<p>"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----"</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole +<i>school</i> knows it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He +entered upon a pretty scene.</p> + +<p>His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child +Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of +making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue +hose, her bracelet, her ring.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper +and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----"</p> + +<p>"Grammar, grammar," spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he +meant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Di positively, "they <i>were</i>. Papa, see my favour."</p> + +<p>She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it.</p> + +<p>Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. She +was often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, and +her rôle reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own.</p> + +<p>The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared.</p> + +<p>"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the +"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry <i>now?</i>"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through the +room without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processes +her son-in-law's tone inhibited all this.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I'm not hungry."</p> + +<p>Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked from +one to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. She +brushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching an +intenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears.</p> + +<p>"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned +quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but +she never had ceased to resent them.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the +situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of +Monona.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her +eyes warmed.</p> + +<p>"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma +Gates now," she added, and went toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl."</p> + +<p>Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever +the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the +house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates—in lieu of, +say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness +which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life.</p> + +<p>Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission.</p> + +<p>"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina +called after.</p> + +<p>"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation +of his was somehow invested with the paternal.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly.</p> + +<p>On the clock shelf lay a letter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot."</p> + +<p>"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share +of the blame.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?"</p> + +<p>Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps.</p> + +<p>"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a +letter----"</p> + +<p>This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a +greater importance.</p> + +<p>"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still, +my mail should have more careful----"</p> + +<p>He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his +motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them.</p> + +<p>"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Something nice," Ina was sure.</p> + +<p>"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously.</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight—is it <i>nice?</i>" from his Ina.</p> + +<p>"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?"</p> + +<p>"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense.</p> + +<p>"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says."</p> + +<p>"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lips +parted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. South +America, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all." When was he coming +and what was he coming for?</p> + +<p>"To see me," said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don't +know what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker."</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge +that she was not a charmer.</p> + +<p>The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's +eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was +their progeny hurt?</p> + +<p>"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to +bed? I'm pretty tired."</p> + +<p>Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and +shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative.</p> + +<p>As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and +snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply:</p> + +<p>"Lulu. One moment!"</p> + +<p>He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his +forehead was a frown.</p> + +<p>"You <i>picked</i> the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously.</p> + +<p>Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne +to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark +stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her +breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child +Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming +the door.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="II"></a><h2>II</h2> +<br> + +<p>MAY</p> + +<p>Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but every +morning it was dusted. By Lulu.</p> + +<p>She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, +and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leather +rocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back a +bit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz pattern +seemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes.</p> + +<p>Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight—in a perpetual +attitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, of +roaring a ready bass.</p> + +<p>And the black fireplace—there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, +fireless, and with a dust of ashes.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pier +glass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. +Natural.</p> + +<p>This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herself +but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large +photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident +eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks—and each of the six were rounded and +convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass +you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands +and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's +brother.</p> + +<p>Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, +had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or +were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, +lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As +she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own +bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture +followed her, and she liked it.</p> + +<p>She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the +house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth +blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu +saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she +carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had +deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south +window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of +criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on +something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine +herself sharing.</p> + +<p>The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till +I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"—the village salutation +signifying kindly attention.</p> + +<p>Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily.</p> + +<p>The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, +and this she now divined, and said absently:</p> + +<p>"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun +of me all the time?"</p> + +<p>At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to +have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and +looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about +you."</p> + +<p>"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, were +they? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion.</p> + +<p>"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I—I never wanted to." Again +the upward look.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything like +that."</p> + +<p>"Of course you didn't." She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyes +full. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you."</p> + +<p>She ran into the house.</p> + +<p>Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise of +some secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She was +thinking:</p> + +<p>"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But <i>how</i> did she do that?"</p> + +<p>Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a manner +of speculation, at the photograph of Ninian.</p> + +<p>Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in his +understanding of the female character was sufficiently developed to +cause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhaps +that was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. +What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedly +toward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he could +return in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but it +was in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which he +seemed to be coöperating without his conscious will. Continually he +glanced toward the house.</p> + +<p>These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobby +were eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt that +sweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more.</p> + +<p>She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take some +out to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?"</p> + +<p>It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill.</p> + +<p>After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to the +Chautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemed +to be that she never went anywhere.</p> + +<p>When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turned +aimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And she +thought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina and +Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the way +that a futurist receives the subjects of his art—forms not vague, but +heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always +motion—motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of all +was that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. The +perfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had her +dream as a saint her sense of heaven.</p> + +<p>"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp."</p> + +<p>She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took one +last look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed on +her Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would be +to-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon would +arrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo +pin....</p> + +<p>She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not +there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at +her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, +now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and +her ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy of +leisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle.</p> + +<p>"Inie ought to make over her delaine," Mrs. Bett comfortably began. They +talked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear," +said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father." She +described it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They were +individuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to the +Deacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore no +relationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes were +bright.</p> + +<p>Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should have +a lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and a +dish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that she +knew—offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that this +woman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged.</p> + +<p>When she had eaten she grew sleepy—rather cross at the last and +inclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu's +defence, lifted an ancient weapon.</p> + +<p>"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if she +hadn't married?"</p> + +<p>Lulu said nothing.</p> + +<p>"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it.</p> + +<p>Lulu said no more. After a long time:</p> + +<p>"You always was jealous of Inie," said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed.</p> + +<p>As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from its +bracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirt +lifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news of +some other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate only +in her feet and her long hair.</p> + +<p>She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of +Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, +but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was no +possibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which she +made no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what.</p> + +<p>In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across +the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett +was asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother," Lulu had said, as her +mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off +the curse by calling it her "si-esta," long <i>i</i>.) Monona was playing +with a neighbour's child—you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as +they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there.</p> + +<p>A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A +long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but +since I'm here—"</p> + +<p>He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I'm her sister," said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm Bert's brother," said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?"</p> + +<p>He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down +heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep."</p> + +<p>"Don't call her, then," said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted."</p> + +<p>He said it absently, hardly looking at her.</p> + +<p>"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin," he added.</p> + +<p>Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing +to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as +heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk.</p> + +<p>"I thought maybe ..." said she, and offered it.</p> + +<p>"Thank <i>you</i>!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live," he +observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Ina +had a sister," he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of her +relatives----"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully.</p> + +<p>"He has," she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good deal +of the work."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you do," said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had +been violated. "What's your name?" he bethought.</p> + +<p>She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, her +hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were +given with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tells +something of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feel +in catastrophe—no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the +thing cannot possibly be happening.</p> + +<p>"You folks expect me?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for you +every day."</p> + +<p>"'See," he said, "how long have they been married?"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years."</p> + +<p>"And a year before that the first one died—and two years they were +married," he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twenty +years since Bert and I have seen each other."</p> + +<p>"How awful," Lulu said, and flushed again.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"To be that long away from your folks."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity of +her present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be so +awful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di—yes, and Ina, for twenty +years?</p> + +<p>"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he's +roamed around on his own." He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around on +his own," he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't know +that."</p> + +<p>"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carved +the crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe she does. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamond +ring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years of +galloping about," he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer his +interests from himself to her.</p> + +<p>"Where?" she asked, although she knew.</p> + +<p>"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama." He searched his +memory. "Colombo," he superadded.</p> + +<p>"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desire +to see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But she +wanted passionately to meet her companion's mind.</p> + +<p>"It's the life," he informed her.</p> + +<p>"Must be," Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up.</p> + +<p>"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into a +passion of excitement.</p> + +<p>"Here," she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before +that we lived in the country."</p> + +<p>He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watched +her veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl," he was thinking.</p> + +<p>"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs.?"</p> + +<p>Lulu flushed in anguish.</p> + +<p>"Miss," she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. +Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "From +choice," she said.</p> + +<p>He shouted with laughter.</p> + +<p>"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it." He made his palms +taut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said.</p> + +<p>Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face.</p> + +<p>"Which kind of a Mr. are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutings +redoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her?</p> + +<p>"Never give myself away," he assured her. "Say, by George, I never +thought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married or +not, by his name!"</p> + +<p>"It don't matter," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Not so many people want to know."</p> + +<p>Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one ever +laughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at <i>her</i>. "Go it, old +girl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear.</p> + +<p>The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herself +round the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in the +heel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straight +hair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. She +began to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely +articulate, then in vogue in her group. And,</p> + +<p>"Whose dog?" she shrieked.</p> + +<p>Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished something +that he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, +loose-lipped.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet I'm your uncle," said Ninian.</p> + +<p>Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona was +thrilled by this intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Give us a kiss," said Ninian, finding in the plural some vague +mitigation for some vague offence.</p> + +<p>Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such a +great big tall girl—they would have to put a board on her head.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring.</p> + +<p>"This," said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps a +jewellery shop in heaven."</p> + +<p>The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twenty +other diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when the +sun comes up in the west. Of course—often! Some day he was going to +melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, ever +after. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say——He did it all +gravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. This +was no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its own +sake.</p> + +<p>He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, the +braggart, the unbridled, unmodified male.</p> + +<p>Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, +softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In her +listening look, she showed herself a charming child.</p> + +<p>"It strikes me," said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do something +mighty interesting before you die."</p> + +<p>It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keep +something going, but Lulu was all faith.</p> + +<p>She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from her +fingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He was +completely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at his +picture and she was abashed and turned away.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so," she said, which had certainly never been true, for +her old formless dreams were no intention—nothing but a mush of +discontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit," she +said. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprising +longing to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "What +would the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mild +sense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance.</p> + +<p>"You're the stuff," he remarked absently.</p> + +<p>She laughed happily.</p> + +<p>The door opened. Ina appeared.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be a +pedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chin +lifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm your +husband's brother. Ain't this Ina?"</p> + +<p>It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him.</p> + +<p>Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. It +gave one hope for the whole species.</p> + +<p>"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double <i>e</i> to +the initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the <i>y</i> sound squinted +in. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun.</p> + +<p>He kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina's +conception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions—was his +train on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any one +could direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She must +telephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved fling +of her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea—she stood +taut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. How +unfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said.</p> + +<p>The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. +She must, she must participate.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair.</p> + +<p>"Gracious sakes," said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn't +forget to give it to her."</p> + +<p>They adjourned to the porch—Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy was +presented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place." Ina +delightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, +the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m—m," rising inflection, +and the "I see," prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina said +that they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have a +family—but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using her +eyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and she +believed herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly ...</p> + +<p>She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, +banality, guffaw ... good will.</p> + +<p>And Lulu, peeping through the blind.</p> + +<p>When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a light +rain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, were +constrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintly +lustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, +looking in from some other level.</p> + +<p>"The only thing," said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain is +that I'm let off croquet." He rolled his r's, a favourite device of his +to induce humour. He called it "croquette." He had never been more +irrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, the +need to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous little +home—simple and pathetic desire.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce a +little."</p> + +<p>"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, so +faintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form.</p> + +<p>Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing it +and rocking.</p> + +<p>"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man." She +spoke as if he were about the age of Monona.</p> + +<p>Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and human +relationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and she +would have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was she +forbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beast +beneath him.</p> + +<p>The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di and +Jenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, might +be heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been driven +from the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through the +dishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared about +resentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized upon +Monona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Monona +wriggled like a puppy, as hers.</p> + +<p>"Quiet, pettie," said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in her +teeth.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, but +mother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up."</p> + +<p>Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke of +this foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them through +the graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of her +he became his inner self.</p> + +<p>"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin," he said.</p> + +<p>To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tender +ardour.</p> + +<p>"Little," Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into a +nice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nin +into—say, Nin, what are you, anyway?"</p> + +<p>They laughed.</p> + +<p>"That's the question," said Ninian.</p> + +<p>They laughed.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about his +travels. He is quite a traveller, you know," she said to the Plows. "A +regular Gulliver."</p> + +<p>They laughed respectfully.</p> + +<p>"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon," Mrs. Plow said. "You know we've +never seen <i>very</i> much."</p> + +<p>Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen +them: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For the +populations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soil +mighty poor pickings. And the business—say! Those fellows don't +know—and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian.</p> + +<p>He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He was +equipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts were +negligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninian +had been wrought upon by all his voyaging.</p> + +<p>"Tell you," said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to the +state fair, little did we think—" He told about running away to the +state fair. "I thought," he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might get +over to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not."</p> + +<p>The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there in +Warbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is never +so casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go to +Europe" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight had +somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, and +his Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensively +covered her soft triumph.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first +observation.</p> + +<p>"Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no +more.</p> + +<p>Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But +Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was +company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private.</p> + +<p>And it wasn't fair, it wasn't <i>fair</i>—</p> + +<p>Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed—she +could not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finished +and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. +And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. +She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral.</p> + +<p>Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny +upstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, coming +home with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had +come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying:</p> + +<p>"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I could +never marry just anybody. I'd <i>smother</i>."</p> + +<p>Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly to +their greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu.</p> + +<p>Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying."</p> + +<p>Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no." +"Because," she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right."</p> + +<p>But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had not +Lulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem—oh, no! Lulu could not +have heard properly.</p> + +<p>"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them," she thought now, sitting +by the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella.</p> + +<p>She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. +Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, then +resentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air.</p> + +<p>"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed," she thought, and +derived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again.</p> + +<p>Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog had +been fed.</p> + +<p>"I fed him," she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninian +entered.</p> + +<p>"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't you +come in the other room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along.' +Then I remembered the dishes." He glanced about. "I come to help wipe +dishes."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where she +got it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago."</p> + +<p>"Well then, what are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"Resting."</p> + +<p>"Rest in there." He bowed, crooked his arm. "Señora," he said,—his +Spanish matched his other assimilations of travel—</p> + +<p>"Señora. Allow me."</p> + +<p>Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating and +did not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. +But Ina looked up and said:</p> + +<p>"Well!"—in two notes, descending, curving.</p> + +<p>Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched white +skirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim of +white embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetually +she adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, her +long wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. +She was tense. She rocked.</p> + +<p>When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken at +last by Mrs. Bett:</p> + +<p>"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it," +she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forget +about. Monona, get off my rocker."</p> + +<p>Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said +"Darling—quiet!"—chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lower +teeth for the word's completion; and she held it.</p> + +<p>The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if it +would let up raining <i>at all</i>. Di and Jenny came whispering into the +room. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu," he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, +because I knew how interested you are in travels."</p> + +<p>He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person who +most enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words that +he said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and she +dare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wanted +to hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one hand +to support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for the +rocking.</p> + +<p>Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one was +talking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but at +her.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="III"></a><h2>III</h2> +<br> + +<p>JUNE</p> + +<p>On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said with +his manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-<i>day?</i>"</p> + +<p>"First class day, it looks like to me."</p> + +<p>Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, +but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources of +the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the +child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, +elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her +face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has +danced. Di gave a conservative assent—she was at that age—and then +took advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demanded +that Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, +partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little family +and Uncle Ninian would have been so nice," she sighed, with her consent.</p> + +<p>When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porch +and Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in a +blue-cotton house-gown.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Ninian, "aren't you going?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember."</p> + +<p>"But why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I never think of such a thing."</p> + +<p>Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said:</p> + +<p>"Lulu's a regular home body."</p> + +<p>And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like."</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you," she added, formally.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlingly +close—just beyond the blind, in fact:</p> + +<p>"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and you +come along."</p> + +<p>For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as a +possibility. She stared up at Ninian.</p> + +<p>"You can slip on my linen duster, over," Ina said graciously.</p> + +<p>"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one."</p> + +<p>They were having to wait for Di in any case—they always had to wait for +Di—and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was running +to make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down the +wrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linen +duster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair; +she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well.</p> + +<p>They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time in +her life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her and +the little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care what +Ina liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, was +enchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand.</p> + +<p>Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared from +nowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit.</p> + +<p>"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him.</p> + +<p>She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian.</p> + +<p>"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough," was all that she could get +to say.</p> + +<p>They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, across +the river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip of +warm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparable +fires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birth +nor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothing +to do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went and +tried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening the +condensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. +Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Lulu +did all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gone +for water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging her +to the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on their +return Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic.</p> + +<p>"Those who disregard the comfort of other people," he enunciated, "can +not expect consideration for themselves in the future."</p> + +<p>He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but he +delivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with her +teeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like a +little demon.</p> + +<p>As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad had +begun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller in +green fastnesses. He began:</p> + +<p>"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don't +get out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar the +bottle. Nature's tonic—eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See that +water. Could anything be more pleasant?"</p> + +<p>He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. +He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. +But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to +be:</p> + +<p>"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...."</p> + +<p>After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, and +Dwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's use +of that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and his +younger daughter. Ina was timid——not because she was afraid but because +she was congenitally timid—with her this was not a belief or an +emotion, it was a disease.</p> + +<p>"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?"</p> + +<p>Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river.</p> + +<p>"But you're not so very used----"</p> + +<p>Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth if +not he?</p> + +<p>Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in a +permanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, the +child Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. On +this pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. +It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of all +other men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she looked +up to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But let +him take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of any +horse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband by +preference. It was a phenomenon.</p> + +<p>Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody's +way. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and +wished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended not +to see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing to +remain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made no +explanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed.</p> + +<p>And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks and +herds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time.</p> + +<p>The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns +appeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, +the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the time +communicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had not +yet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement in +his presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To him +the air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facile +sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hard +around here."</p> + +<p>"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you +won't mind my asking."</p> + +<p>"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. You +want it, too. You told me you did—that first day."</p> + +<p>She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she had +never really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted she +knew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of this +rôle.</p> + +<p>"I guess you don't see how it seems," he said, "to me, coming along—a +stranger so. I don't like it."</p> + +<p>He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamond +obediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid air +of the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she was +feeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her.</p> + +<p>"They're very good to me," she said.</p> + +<p>He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never had +anybody really good to you. That's why."</p> + +<p>"But they treat me good."</p> + +<p>"They make a slave of you. Regular slave." He puffed, frowning. "Damned +shame, <i>I</i> call it," he said.</p> + +<p>Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----"</p> + +<p>"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you ever +go anywheres?"</p> + +<p>She said: "This is the first place in—in years."</p> + +<p>"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!"</p> + +<p>"Not so much places like this----"</p> + +<p>"I see. What you want is to get away—like you'd ought to." He regarded +her. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman," he said.</p> + +<p>She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her:</p> + +<p>"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself."</p> + +<p>His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good," he said. +He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it," he mused, +"blamed if I do."</p> + +<p>"How I do what?"</p> + +<p>"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say."</p> + +<p>Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talk +like this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to any +one. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability to +speak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that other +Lulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speak +for her. As now:</p> + +<p>"It's my grand education," she said.</p> + +<p>She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light of +the warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and was +in her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she sat +stiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyes +rather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from her +came these sufficient, insouciant replies.</p> + +<p>"Education," he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too." He spoke a +creed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it."</p> + +<p>"Most folks are happy without an education," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"You're not very happy, though."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm here +I'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city."</p> + +<p>"To the city?"</p> + +<p>"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you <i>one</i> good time."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been."</p> + +<p>"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell me +just what you like to eat, and we'll get it----"</p> + +<p>She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cooked +myself."</p> + +<p>He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intensely +experiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that future +merry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness that +he—some one—any one—was planning like this for her.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house and +kept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others was +withdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves to +give off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpowering +personalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wanted +one. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, +frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs for +bait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. +There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone through +before Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged to +say, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with the +same zest with which he had discussed bait.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not wait +for any old money."</p> + +<p>They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grown +from out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both—and +especially Di—so much wanted the experiences of attraction that they +assumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty rôle +required by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" asked Bobby—but in the subjunctive.</p> + +<p>She said: "Yes. I will."</p> + +<p>"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, still +subjunctive.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"Di," said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me."</p> + +<p>"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man—you know you are."</p> + +<p>Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it—but he passed it over.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, +sparkling.</p> + +<p>Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his big +frame, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin and +full mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope +<i>now</i>.</p> + +<p>"I've planned eloping lots of times," she said ambiguously.</p> + +<p>It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he may +not always have been the principal, and he could not be sure ... But +she talked in nothings, and he answered her so.</p> + +<p>Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out of +the strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there sat +Dwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would.</p> + +<p>"Bertie, Bertie—please!" you heard his Ina say.</p> + +<p>Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be +ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew +that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars +with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it."</p> + +<p>"That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger.</p> + +<p>They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyed +crying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as an +echo. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this was +the last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. +Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of him +humour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Ina +kept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. +Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now remembered +it and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant.</p> + +<p>Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the sense +of disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. +Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no idea +how to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in the +river. Even Di ... He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which was +the signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid of +silence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome.</p> + +<p>But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homeward +beside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in her +sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He had +told Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean? +Suppose ... oh no; oh no!</p> + +<p>"Either lay still or get up and set up," Mrs. Bett directed her at +length.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="IV"></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br> + +<p>JULY</p> + +<p>When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairs +dressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waist +which she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. And +really, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, and +its wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck look +thinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" and +parted in the middle, puffed high—it was so that hair had been worn in +Lulu's girlhood.</p> + +<p>"<i>Well</i>!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, +head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip.</p> + +<p>For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster—the old one.</p> + +<p>Ninian appeared, in a sack coat—and his diamond. His distinctly convex +face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once +more that bold sense of looking—not at him, for then she was shy and +averted her eyes—but at his photograph at which she could gaze as much +as she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Was +he not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were going +because she, Lulu, had brought about this party.</p> + +<p>"Act as good as you look, Lulie," Mrs. Bett called after them. She gave +no instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, +it seemed.</p> + +<p>Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard to +take it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, +now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to the +others with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off her +so-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage.</p> + +<p>The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. On +the train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulu +sat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she too +had been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boy +between them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over her +own, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman lifted +her eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking.</p> + +<p>Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in many +cities—as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in a +strange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown café, then popular +among business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, was +reached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes took +the air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, +changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "What +do you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing the +waiter with painstaking gruffness.</p> + +<p>"Not that they can touch <i>your</i> cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, +settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust.</p> + +<p>Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was +a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his +wife, who now remarked:</p> + +<p>"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff."</p> + +<p>This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear—another mean +advantage.</p> + +<p>"Ina," said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite—no, over the other +way."</p> + +<p>"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Ina +inquired acidly.</p> + +<p>"I started to and then somebody always said something," said Lulu +humbly.</p> + +<p>Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against any +shadow.</p> + +<p>"Say, but you look tremendous to-night," Dwight observed to her.</p> + +<p>Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yet +flushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought: +"They're feeling sorry for Ina—nobody talking to her." She laughed at +everything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. +"How many folks keep going past," she said, many times.</p> + +<p>At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina's +isolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian's +attention. She therefore talked with him about himself.</p> + +<p>"Curious you've never married, Nin," she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't say it like that," he begged. "I might yet."</p> + +<p>Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this.</p> + +<p>"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't," Dwight +threw in with exceeding rancour.</p> + +<p>They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in the +third person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. It +was inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumed +for the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene about +them. But gradually her cheeks began to burn.</p> + +<p>"She'll cry," Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hat +is so pretty—ever so much prettier than the old one." But Ina said +frostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one.</p> + +<p>"Let us talk," said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down."</p> + +<p>He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardly +heard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her in +this confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his manner +was open to misinterpretation.</p> + +<p>In the nick of time, the lobster was served.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Dinner and the play—the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "Peter +Pan," chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at any +theatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortal +soul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all was +over, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurable +excitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more the +irrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident that +she was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon the +little doubling chin.</p> + +<p>They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. The +dog-kennel part—wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with the +rest of the play.</p> + +<p>"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook—he was my style," said +Dwight.</p> + +<p>"Well, there it is again," Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the real +play, either."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catch +everybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that."</p> + +<p>"And I didn't understand," said Ina, "why they all clapped when the +principal character ran down front and said something to the audience +that time. But they all did."</p> + +<p>Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished that +Monona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty that +she herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliest +light.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I have +said that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemed +to her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening had +been to her a light from heaven—how could she find anything to say? She +sat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look moving +from one to another. At last Ninian looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well."</p> + +<p>It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she had +not said enough.</p> + +<p>"You could hear everything they said," she added. "It was—" she +dwindled to silence.</p> + +<p>Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkled +dimples.</p> + +<p>"Excellent sauces they make here—excellent," he said, with the frown of +an epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all +laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he +meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this +sort, for an hour.</p> + +<p>"Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance +on the table."</p> + +<p>"Dwightie!"</p> + +<p>"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to read +the funeral service over us."</p> + +<p>"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian.</p> + +<p>In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating to +Dwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisive +endorsement of this proposal.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't object," said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?"</p> + +<p>Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking at +her. She made an anguished effort to defend herself.</p> + +<p>"I don't know it," she said, "so I can't say it."</p> + +<p>Ninian leaned toward her.</p> + +<p>"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife," he pronounced. +"That's the way it goes!"</p> + +<p>"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those at +the near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood and +motherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu that +way....</p> + +<p>Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it," he challenged.</p> + +<p>From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes +fought her battles, suddenly spoke out:</p> + +<p>"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband."</p> + +<p>"You will?" Ninian cried.</p> + +<p>"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could +join in, could be as merry as the rest.</p> + +<p>"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't +we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table.</p> + +<p>"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to—holy +things——what's the <i>matter</i>, Dwightie?"</p> + +<p>Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet.</p> + +<p>"Say, by George," he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state."</p> + +<p>"A civil wedding? Oh, well—" Ninian dismissed it.</p> + +<p>"But I," said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate."</p> + +<p>They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with the +indeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about and +returned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Ninian +continued to laugh.</p> + +<p>"I never saw one done so offhand," said Dwight. "But what you've said is +all you have to say according to law. And there don't have to be +witnesses ... say!" he said, and sat down again.</p> + +<p>Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showed +dark as she swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again.</p> + +<p>"Don't you let Dwight scare you," she besought Ninian.</p> + +<p>"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you ask +me."</p> + +<p>Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, and +now he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. +Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced her +and left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. It +was exactly like looking at his photograph.</p> + +<p>Dwight had recovered his authentic air.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, +I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city—no +one'll be the wiser."</p> + +<p>"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand."</p> + +<p>"Are you serious, Nin?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I'm serious."</p> + +<p>Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm.</p> + +<p>"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?"</p> + +<p>Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest," she said.</p> + +<p>"I am in earnest—hope to die," Ninian declared. He was on two legs of +his chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of his +earnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest.</p> + +<p>They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and there +was something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, about +this thing.</p> + +<p>Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre," he +cried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way—" +and was off.</p> + +<p>Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh," she said, "what will +mamma say?"</p> + +<p>Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant.</p> + +<p>"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian.</p> + +<p>For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touched +him.</p> + +<p>"Say," he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over again +somewhere, if you say so."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Lulu, "if I thought—"</p> + +<p>He leaned and patted her hand.</p> + +<p>"Good girl," he said.</p> + +<p>They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plump +hands.</p> + +<p>Dwight returned. "It's a go all right," he said. He sat down, laughed +weakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the church +could tie you."</p> + +<p>"Good enough," said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"It's—it's all right, I guess," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be dished," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"Sister!" said Ina.</p> + +<p>Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to trace +the processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of the +devil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhaps +the incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part.</p> + +<p>"I was going to make a trip south this month," he said, "on my way home +from here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and start +right off. You'd like that, wouldn't you—going South?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu only.</p> + +<p>"It's July," said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard.</p> + +<p>It was arranged that their trunks should follow them—Ina would see to +that, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return to +Warbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>"Mamma won't mind," said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more."</p> + +<p>They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tables +saw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, +indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime in +deafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>It was still early next day—a hot Sunday—when Ina and Dwight reached +home. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch.</p> + +<p>"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>They told.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched their +faces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her first +question was:</p> + +<p>"Who's going to do your work?"</p> + +<p>Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "you and I'll have to manage."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning.</p> + +<p>"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts," she said. "I +can't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you."</p> + +<p>"We've had our breakfasts," Ina escaped from this dilemma.</p> + +<p>"Had it up in the city, on expense?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we didn't have much."</p> + +<p>In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I should think," she said, "I should think Lulie might have had a +little more gratitude to her than this."</p> + +<p>On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left the +house some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company with +Bobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, so +young, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication.</p> + +<p>"That child," said Ina, "<i>must</i> not see so much of that Larkin boy. +She's just a little, little girl."</p> + +<p>"Of course she mustn't," said Dwight sharply, "and if <i>I</i> was her +mother—"</p> + +<p>"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps.</p> + +<p>To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Ina +announced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brother +Ninian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro<i>man</i>tic ... spoken +with that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="V"></a><h2>V</h2> +<br> + +<p>AUGUST</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim," brought on by nothing definable. +Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallen +silent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was ready +and Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from the +room and closed her bedroom door until it echoed.</p> + +<p>"She's got one again," said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go."</p> + +<p>He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside his +mother-in-law's door and knocked.</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Mother, come and have some supper."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Come on—I had something funny to tell you and Ina."</p> + +<p>He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by this +woman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him away +unsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, +at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwight +made a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their evening +meal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceeding +facetiousness inquired how Bobby was.</p> + +<p>Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going to +tease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. It +depended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. She +now groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going to +take her and Jenny for ice cream that night.</p> + +<p>Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood.</p> + +<p>"I won't have you downtown in the evening," she said.</p> + +<p>"But you let me go last night."</p> + +<p>"All the better reason why you should not go to-night."</p> + +<p>"I tell you," cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have ice +cream...." He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconciling +element in his home.</p> + +<p>"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, +her parted lips.</p> + +<p>"You too, certainly." Dwight could not do enough for every one.</p> + +<p>Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let me +go."</p> + +<p>"That's why papa's going to take you this time," Ina said.</p> + +<p>These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another:</p> + +<p>"But," she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can <i>not</i> go."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any more." Monona's look was honest and piteous.</p> + +<p>"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl."</p> + +<p>Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewing +high, and slowly.</p> + +<p>"See? She can eat if she will eat," Ina said to Dwight. "The only +trouble is, she will <i>not</i> take the time."</p> + +<p>"She don't put her mind on her meals," Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, +bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter.</p> + +<p>Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. The whole party."</p> + +<p>"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I."</p> + +<p>"Me, darling," said Ina patiently, punctiliously—and less punctiliously +added: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party."</p> + +<p>"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside—that important +engagement. I think we just will."</p> + +<p>"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I—"</p> + +<p>"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of your +grammar or shall I speak to you again?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than—than—than—" she looked +resentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evident +to her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to be +ashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, +frowning, put-upon.</p> + +<p>"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at one +impulse. Ina saw only the empty plate.</p> + +<p>"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child.</p> + +<p>The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulously +applied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this little +family. But there was no one to apply them.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked:</p> + +<p>"Nothing new from the bride and groom?"</p> + +<p>"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last."</p> + +<p>"See—where were they then?"</p> + +<p>He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Ina +played his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she added, "why they should go straight to Oregon +without coming here first."</p> + +<p>Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly +in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters," Ina proceeded. "They're +so—so—"</p> + +<p>"You haven't had but two, have you?"</p> + +<p>"That's all—well, of course it's only been a month. But both letters +have been so—"</p> + +<p>Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had the +blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter +go at that.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's fair to mamma—going off that way. Leaving her own +mother. Why, she may never see mamma again—" Ina's breath caught. Into +her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she +sometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten to +put some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in her +face as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from her +tantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. +In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love.</p> + +<p>Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of +the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. +Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett," but she shook +her head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived +to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jenny +arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, +and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside +her, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" cried +Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense +and living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett +left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the +old cripple, Grandma Gates.</p> + +<p>"Inie sha'n't have 'em," the old woman thought.</p> + +<p>And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom +she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom +she tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour had +gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to +have her come in.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family +returned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has <i>ice</i> +cream put in her lap, like a queen?"</p> + +<p>"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded.</p> + +<p>"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Vanilly sets better," Mrs. Bett said.</p> + +<p>They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creaking +board. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirt +over her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but the +warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its +particles.</p> + +<p>The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it was +Lulu.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Ina +cried out something.</p> + +<p>"How did you know?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Know! Know what?"</p> + +<p>"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma."</p> + +<p>She passed the others, and kissed her mother.</p> + +<p>"Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' +cream."</p> + +<p>"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you +talking?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Not a word." Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you—the +last from Savannah, Georgia."</p> + +<p>"Savannah, Georgia," said Lulu, and laughed.</p> + +<p>They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with a +little tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wise +upset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement.</p> + +<p>"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't he +here? Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Oregon!"</p> + +<p>"You see," said Lulu, "he had another wife."</p> + +<p>"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. +But he isn't sure."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so."</p> + +<p>"I had to be sure," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs to +bed at once."</p> + +<p>"It's only quarter to," said Monona, with assurance.</p> + +<p>"Do as mamma tells you."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Monona!"</p> + +<p>She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. +Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walking +slowly backward.</p> + +<p>"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was your +husband married?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother."</p> + +<p>"Mercy," said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on—go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation:</p> + +<p>"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out to +California and up the coast." On this she paused and sighed. "Well, then +at Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So he +told me."</p> + +<p>"Yes—well, what did he <i>say</i>?" Dwight demanded irritably.</p> + +<p>"Cora Waters," said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in San +Diego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him."</p> + +<p>"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, after +two years, she ran away again. That's all he knows."</p> + +<p>"That's a pretty story," said Dwight contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. And +she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is," Lulu +said again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure."</p> + +<p>"Well, but mercy," said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?"</p> + +<p>"It might take a long time," said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want to +stay and not know."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted.</p> + +<p>"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said he +thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course +that'd been hard—wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead."</p> + +<p>"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes were +simple.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a +curious emphasis.</p> + +<p>"I thought that, just at first," Lulu said, "but only just at first. Of +course that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me my +choice."</p> + +<p>"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice when +he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia."</p> + +<p>"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwight +asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, he'd got to thinking about it," she answered.</p> + +<p>A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street.</p> + +<p>"The only thing," she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish he +hadn't told me till we got to Oregon."</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said.</p> + +<p>Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to +understand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her +body. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee.</p> + +<p>"He felt bad too," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"He!" said Dwight. "He must have."</p> + +<p>"It's you," Ina sobbed. "It's you. <i>My</i> sister!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, +or I wouldn't have come home. I knew," she added, "it'd make Dwight feel +bad. I mean, it was his brother—"</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness," Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu regarded her, without change.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she said in her monotone. "People will have to know."</p> + +<p>"I do not see the necessity." Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too he +said "do not," always with Dwight betokening the finalities.</p> + +<p>"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled.</p> + +<p>"What difference does it make what they think?".</p> + +<p>"Why," said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like—you see they might—why, +Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them."</p> + +<p>"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something +the whole town will have to know about?"</p> + +<p>Lulu looked at him with parted lips.</p> + +<p>"Say," she said, "I never thought about it being that."</p> + +<p>Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, +pray?"</p> + +<p>"Ninian's," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feel +sorry for you. But the disgrace—that'd reflect on me. See?"</p> + +<p>"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?"</p> + +<p>Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leaves +her husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all."</p> + +<p>"I should hate that," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you."</p> + +<p>"Dwight, Dwight," said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'll +hear—"</p> + +<p>As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "was his other wife—was she <i>there</i>?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, mother. She wasn't there."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad," +she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out."</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, +but the large issues left her blank.</p> + +<p>Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, the +Deacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burner +and faced about, saying:</p> + +<p>"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, to +make your home with us in the future, on the old terms."</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?"</p> + +<p>"No. He didn't give me any money—only enough to get home on. And I +kept my suit—why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken any +money!"</p> + +<p>"That means," said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to live +here—on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. +Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition—on condition that +this disgraceful business is kept to ourselves."</p> + +<p>She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, +quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Truly, Lulu," said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. +But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd be +about all of us."</p> + +<p>Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth."</p> + +<p>Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu," he said, "are you <i>sure</i> of +that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?"</p> + +<p>"Proofs?"</p> + +<p>"Letters—documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was +speaking the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Lulu. "Proofs—no. He told me."</p> + +<p>"He told you!"</p> + +<p>"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him to +have to do. What proofs—" She stopped, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Didn't it occur to you," said Dwight, "that he might have told you that +because he didn't want to have to go on with it?"</p> + +<p>As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, +looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightly +fallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust she +began to rub at that.</p> + +<p>"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side.</p> + +<p>"I may as well tell you," he said, "that I myself have no idea that +Ninian told you the truth. He was always imagining things—you saw +that. I know him pretty well—have been more or less in touch with him +the whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever married +before."</p> + +<p>Lulu continued to rub at her skirt.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," she said.</p> + +<p>"Look here," Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had some +little tiff when he told you?"</p> + +<p>"No—no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina."</p> + +<p>She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile.</p> + +<p>"Evidently not," Dwight said drily.</p> + +<p>Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress—and my shoes—and my +hat. And another dress, too." She found the pins and took off her hat. +"He liked the red wing," she said. "I wanted black—oh, Dwight! He did +tell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mute +witness.</p> + +<p>Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too.</p> + +<p>"Even if it is true," said he, "I desire that you should keep silent +and protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts to +you for your own profit."</p> + +<p>"My own profit!"</p> + +<p>She said no more, but rose and moved to the door.</p> + +<p>"Lulu—you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't have +this known—even if it was so."</p> + +<p>"You have it in your hands," said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, for +anything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You also +have it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. That +is not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctly +unpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself."</p> + +<p>Lulu went on, into the passage.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes—Dwight thinks +she's married all right now—and that it's all right, all the time."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes," said Mrs. Bett, and left the room +with her daughter.</p> + +<p>Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice:</p> + +<p>"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready.</p> + +<p>"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times."</p> + +<p>Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to the +table.</p> + +<p>"Lulu's the only one in <i>this</i> house can cook the bacon so's it'll +chew," Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and held +contentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festive +toaster." He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, became +breezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well +back and gently shaken.</p> + +<p>Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that +she, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to +anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, +which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. She +stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly.</p> + +<p>Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. +Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her old +offices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested +milk toast and went to make it.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Ninian +coming too?"</p> + +<p>"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions."</p> + +<p>"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>No</i>. Don't say anything at all about her."</p> + +<p>"But, mamma. What has she done?"</p> + +<p>"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?"</p> + +<p>Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. But +now Dwight said:</p> + +<p>"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me like +a little girl now."</p> + +<p>"Shame, Di," said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the +side of Di.</p> + +<p>"I'm eighteen," Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school."</p> + +<p>"Then act so," boomed her father.</p> + +<p>Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and there +imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to +questions skilfully shaped.</p> + +<p>When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief," displayed a +hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed +him:</p> + +<p>"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish you'd give it to me."</p> + +<p>Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem," he said, "that +you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have it."</p> + +<p>"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paper +and a pencil stump.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not be sensible and leave +this alone? No good can come by—"</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't I have his address?"</p> + +<p>"If everything is over between you, why should you?"</p> + +<p>"But you say he's still my husband."</p> + +<p>Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as +I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch +with him again."</p> + +<p>"You won't give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, in all kindness—no."</p> + +<p>His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different coloured +borders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she had +embroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs.</p> + +<p>"<i>Where</i> are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing that +Lulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, what +you so dressed up for?"</p> + +<p>Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, and +wore the tilting hat with the red wing.</p> + +<p>"Ninian bought me this," said Lulu only.</p> + +<p>"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well—out of +sight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her.</p> + +<p>"Why?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>"Why set people wondering till we have to?"</p> + +<p>"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned," said Lulu, and went +down the walk.</p> + +<p>Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her life +before," she said.</p> + +<p>She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down the +street.</p> + +<p>"That gives me the funniest feeling," said Ina, "as if Lulu had on +clothes bought for her by some one that wasn't—that was—"</p> + +<p>"By her husband who has left her," said Dwight sadly.</p> + +<p>"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she was +there; had been there the greater part of the day—most of the time +staring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu.</p> + +<p>"That's what it is, my little girl," said Dwight, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think it's a shame," said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninian +is a slunge."</p> + +<p>"Di!"</p> + +<p>"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to tell +everybody."</p> + +<p>"There is," said Dwight, "no need for secrecy—now."</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" said Ina—Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but it +must have been her lashes that looked so startled.</p> + +<p>"No need whatever for secrecy," he repeated with firmness. "The truth +is, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it."</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight—how awful for Lulu...."</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "has us to stand by her."</p> + +<p>Lulu, walking down the main street, thought:</p> + +<p>"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebody +behind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've got +to speak to her...."</p> + +<p>One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her some +version of:</p> + +<p>"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it <i>isn't</i> Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, +what are you doing here? I thought...."</p> + +<p>"I'm back to stay," she said.</p> + +<p>"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, +but we were surprised! You're the sly one—"</p> + +<p>"My—Mr. Deacon isn't here."</p> + +<p>"Oh."</p> + +<p>"No. He's West."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see."</p> + +<p>Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could +invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away.</p> + +<p>She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at the +post-office—with only one or two there had she to go through her +examination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a +new ordeal.</p> + +<p>To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a +slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said Lulu faintly.</p> + +<p>The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper +which he held.</p> + +<p>"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?"</p> + +<p>"Let's see—you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?"</p> + +<p>"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he might +have given you his address—" she dwindled away.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don't +you send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that," Lulu said absurdly, and turned away.</p> + +<p>She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them +all. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But when +she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her +reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner.</p> + +<p>Abruptly her confidence rose.</p> + +<p>Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. They +were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with +Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly +singing.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't we +look like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. +Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Ina +looked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate +cardamom seeds.</p> + +<p>"Whom did you see?" Ina asked.</p> + +<p>Lulu named them.</p> + +<p>"See them to talk to?" from Dwight.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes. They had all stopped.</p> + +<p>"What did they say?" Ina burst out.</p> + +<p>They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more.</p> + +<p>Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women that +cock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all over +town. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out—should do so, in +fact. Still the story would be all over town.</p> + +<p>"Dwight," said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address."</p> + +<p>"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu," Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. +Have you no delicacy?"</p> + +<p>Lulu smiled—a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner of +her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'm +married or not."</p> + +<p>Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use his +shoulders for the purpose.</p> + +<p>"I myself will take this up with my brother," he said. "I will write to +him about it."</p> + +<p>Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him <i>now</i>!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Really," said Dwight, lifting his brows.</p> + +<p>"Now—now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materials +from their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before him +and stood by him. "Write to him now," she said again.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd."</p> + +<p>She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight—and they didn't know whether +he had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him—oh, don't you +see? Help me."</p> + +<p>Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor even +to stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was to +look to her own male merely.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his own +way? Wouldn't that be better?"</p> + +<p>She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, +wouldn't that be better?</p> + +<p>"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. +Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked +away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?"</p> + +<p>Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before.</p> + +<p>"You write that letter to Ninian," she said, "and you make him tell you +so you'll understand. <i>I</i> know he spoke the truth. But I want you to +know."</p> + +<p>"M—m," said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it all +over town—as soon as you have the proofs."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell it all over town," said Lulu, "just as it is—unless +you write to him now."</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"I would," said Lulu. "I will."</p> + +<p>Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But then +he sneered.</p> + +<p>"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?"</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!"</p> + +<p>"I would," said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it."</p> + +<p>"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, +"unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now."</p> + +<p>"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Leave everything," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not +say in what particulars, but Dwight knew.</p> + +<p>Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of +peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw.</p> + +<p>He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the +inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather +than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do +anything."</p> + +<p>He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in +secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it.</p> + +<p>"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows.</p> + +<p>"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." +He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's +nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. +He hummed a bar.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too +dry," she said.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I saw," said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything to +avoid having a scene—you know that." His glance swept a little +anxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired.</p> + +<p>"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it," she +now dared to say. "It's—it's not a nice position for Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Ninian," said Ina.</p> + +<p>Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself," he said. "To tell you the truth, +I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in that +restaurant."</p> + +<p>"Why, but, Dwight—"</p> + +<p>"Brazen," he said. "Oh, it was brazen."</p> + +<p>"It was just fun, in the first place."</p> + +<p>"But no really nice woman—" he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Dwight! Lulu <i>is</i> nice. The idea!"</p> + +<p>He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know.</p> + +<p>Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, +was silent.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I +should never think of you as sisters."</p> + +<p>"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life +behind her—but this was sweet and she could not resist.</p> + +<p>"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position +she's in—married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order +to get free. Now, no really nice woman—"</p> + +<p>"No really nice man—" Ina did say that much.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Dwight, "but <i>you</i> could never be in such a position. No, no. +Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere."</p> + +<p>Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as +might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed.</p> + +<p>"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with +ladylike feelings."</p> + +<p>It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until +ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young +voices.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me as +if you really wanted to kiss me, to-night."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> +<a name="VI"></a><h2>VI</h2> +<br> + +<p>SEPTEMBER</p> + +<p>The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality +(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above a +store which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, and +had suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies served +lunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months of +disuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to a +music man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired.</p> + +<p>The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his window +with sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissed +their hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, Dwight +Herbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door of +the new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, was +rubbing at the face of a piano.</p> + +<p>"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?"</p> + +<p>"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can," Dwight replied. +"Or," said he, "I might marry you free, either one."</p> + +<p>On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, the +idle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip.</p> + +<p>"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked him +once. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural—never +entered my head to be anything else. But <i>pianos</i>—"</p> + +<p>The music man—his name was Neil Cornish—threw up his chin in a boyish +fashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down the +Warbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound the +same. "I'm studying law when I get the chance," said Cornish, as one who +makes a bid to be thought of more highly.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb.</p> + +<p>Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a little +inheritance some day—not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel a +certain confidence....</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i> it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew.</p> + +<p>Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never compared +Warbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively at +lunch:</p> + +<p>"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these +nights?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it."</p> + +<p>"What if I brought him up to-night?"</p> + +<p>Up went Ina's eyebrows. <i>To-night</i>?</p> + +<p>"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," +Lulu contributed.</p> + +<p>Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. +This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight's +informal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, +now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guest +replied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved in +some pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness.</p> + +<p>They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the time +with a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was one +of the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked the +people—they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, already +liked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. +She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Come +to supper, all." Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. +Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgot +to introduce her.</p> + +<p>"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is never +anywhere."</p> + +<p>A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, grace +was to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a generic +appeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. And +there was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stages +of men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial of +taking food to nourish life—and more.</p> + +<p>At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh upon +her—perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, +crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear," she +said audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring."</p> + +<p>The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jests +about everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbleton +happenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish tried +hard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. +He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some more +stories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiously +pinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth and +thereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if it +could be from <i>that</i>. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping a +second time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed on +Di about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, first +thing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughed +heartily and lifted her glass of water.</p> + +<p>"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelated +effort to lift the talk to musical levels.</p> + +<p>"Well, do you know," said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don't +know a black note from a white one."</p> + +<p>"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily," said Di's mother. "But then +how can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales." For the first time it +occurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm really +studying law," he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, +from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them to +try over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out of +practice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Di +made one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, so +intolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be found +wanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who had +ensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think?</p> + +<p>Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, +"Don't you play, Miss—?" He had not caught her name—no stranger ever +did catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett," he explained +with loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu had +usually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons and +she had stopped "taking"—a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. +This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But now +Lulu was heard to say serenely:</p> + +<p>"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert—two weeks +ago."</p> + +<p>They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having had +experiences of which they did not know.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia." She flushed, and lifted +her eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course," she said, "I don't +know the names of all the different instruments they played, but there +were a good many." She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. +"They had some lovely tunes," she said. She knew that the subject was +not exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large," she +superadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it was +too warm."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That he +too had been in Savannah, Georgia.</p> + +<p>Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and she +caught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?" +she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of the +provincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance to +maintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in that +town and that he was there for two hours.</p> + +<p>"I was there for a week." Lulu's superiority was really pretty.</p> + +<p>"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings—but at her "we" she +flushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. This +was the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life.</p> + +<p>After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try to +escape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate in +his insistence on the third person—"She loves it, we have to humour +her, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"—and more +of the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who looked +uncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paid +no attention to anybody that night, not because she had not been +introduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely as +another form of "tantrim." A self-indulgence.</p> + +<p>They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow and +Bobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended to +have forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She met +the objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, +set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company," +at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousness +she said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than ever +because she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to be +distinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was as +primitive as pollen.</p> + +<p>Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should have +outgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown none +of these things.</p> + +<p>"That just spoils croquet," she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have a +real game."</p> + +<p>From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among the +waterproofs, Lulu stepped forth.</p> + +<p>"I'll play a game," she said.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Ina +turned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. And +Ina's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, +primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert's +late wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood into +the functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. +Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, +strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that a +moral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. But +of course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verb +should be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or the +minister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never be +transitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But it +is. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to her +husband her incredible responsibility.</p> + +<p>"You know, Herbert," said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here <i>very</i> +much, what we may expect."</p> + +<p>"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply.</p> + +<p>Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, +pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when she +didn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even play +her games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not to +understand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina <i>had</i> to +please him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to please +nobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historical +home forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community.</p> + +<p>"He'll fall in love with Di," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in love +with her, <i>I</i> should say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?"</p> + +<p>"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of."</p> + +<p>"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight—a stranger so."</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal about +him."</p> + +<p>With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about this +stranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a number +of stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks.</p> + +<p>"He has a little inheritance coming to him—shortly," Dwight wound up.</p> + +<p>"An inheritance—really? How much, Dwight?"</p> + +<p>"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>thought</i> he was from a good family," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"My mercenary little pussy!"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did really +accept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older +man pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?"</p> + +<p>Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he left +all such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetual +rehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience.</p> + +<p>A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was something +overpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of his +negligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For he +looked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in the +street as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines of +his life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And a +preposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos near +the front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridors +of the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, and +furnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity in +phrasing, but how mean that little room would look—cot bed, washbowl +and pitcher, and little mirror—almost certainly a mirror with a wavy +surface, almost certainly that.</p> + +<p>"And then, you know," he always added, "I'm reading law."</p> + +<p>The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, +Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing.</p> + +<p>Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat of +her emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, the +beloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the rôle of +womanly little girl.</p> + +<p>"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried.</p> + +<p>As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish +instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with +another lamp.</p> + +<p>"Do you need this?" she asked.</p> + +<p>They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this +Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's +photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed +the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands.</p> + +<p>"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only +to those who—presumably—loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had +shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return.</p> + +<p>She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had +bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly +about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called:</p> + +<p>"See here! Aren't <i>you</i> going to sing?"</p> + +<p>"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? <i>Lulu</i>?"</p> + +<p>She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at +being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album +of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she +struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking +rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. +The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a +little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's +picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows +and watched Lulu.</p> + +<p>When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said +"ba-ird."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!"</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted.</p> + +<p>Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to +him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal.</p> + +<p>"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you."</p> + +<p>It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>Cornish was bending over Di.</p> + +<p>"What next do you say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, +lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down.</p> + +<p>"You like sacred music?"</p> + +<p>She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said: +"I love it."</p> + +<p>"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece," Cornish +declared.</p> + +<p>Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face.</p> + +<p>"Give <i>me</i> ragtime," he said now, with the effect of bursting out of +somewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly.</p> + +<p>Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smile +for him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look.</p> + +<p>"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge,'" Cornish suggested. "That's got up real +attractive."</p> + +<p>Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the very +one she had been hoping to hear him sing.</p> + +<p>They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge."</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such a +perfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it.</p> + +<p>"Lulu is," said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have to +hear herself sing."</p> + +<p>It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About that +photograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, called +attention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing them +all. Everybody must have understood—excepting the Plows. These two +gentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and at +the melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from another +world. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetrating +plane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite of +earth, say, flowers and fire and music.</p> + +<p>Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ran +badly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them.</p> + +<p>"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I mean +that I'd know how to do? A job for money.... I mean a job...."</p> + +<p>She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. She +heard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be right +there."</p> + +<p>Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he ran +down the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours that +night, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and she +could fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about two +hours of sleep the whole night long.</p> + +<p>Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought up +Dwight—"made him what he was," he often complacently accused her. It +was a note on a postal card—she had often written a few lines on a +postal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina get +her some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say that +she was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her while +she was still able to visit? If he was not too busy....</p> + +<p>Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it up +by the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before they +left, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned the +postal card.</p> + +<p>And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight—you can't tell how long you'll +be gone?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. How should I tell?"</p> + +<p>"No. And that letter might come while you're away."</p> + +<p>"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!"</p> + +<p>"Dwight—I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it—"</p> + +<p>"Opened it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly—"</p> + +<p>"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly."</p> + +<p>"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?"</p> + +<p>"But you say you know what'll be in it."</p> + +<p>"So I did know—till you—I've got to see that letter, Dwight."</p> + +<p>"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you know +how I hate having my mail interfered with."</p> + +<p>She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that." She said +nothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousand +injunctions.</p> + +<p>"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu—if it occurs to her +to have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You might +ask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watch +Monona's handkerchief—the child will never take a clean one if I'm not +here to tell her...."</p> + +<p>She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus.</p> + +<p>In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward:</p> + +<p>"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threw +back his head and lifted his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife.</p> + +<p>"Ina," he said. "It's <i>ma</i>. And she's going to die. It can't be...."</p> + +<p>Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there with +her."</p> + +<p>It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind of +fresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speak +through him and minister.</p> + +<p>Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came.</p> + +<p>Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that +evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and +she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She +passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were +telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than +they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and +spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster +mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed.</p> + +<p>Cornish stepped down and overtook her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two—"</p> + +<p>She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night—could you—" It +was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease.</p> + +<p>Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed.</p> + +<p>"Come for supper," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance.</p> + +<p>He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the +country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at +ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It +became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was +<i>there</i>. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had +picked flowers for the table—a task coveted by her but usually +performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a +vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made +ice-cream.</p> + +<p>"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like +asking you under false—" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended +without it.</p> + +<p>Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said +contentedly.</p> + +<p>"Kind of a relief, <i>I</i> think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from +the fulness of something or other.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile.</p> + +<p>"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and +chitters."</p> + +<p>Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight +face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so <i>very</i> much in love." And again +she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks +Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty +that this was not so.</p> + +<p>By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu and +Cornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leaf +side-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she need +not see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisement +of dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferently +fingering both.</p> + +<p>"Monona," Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!"</p> + +<p>Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive," he said—it +was his formula of praise for his music.</p> + +<p>"But we can't try it over," Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come."</p> + +<p>"Well, say," said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of Old +Favourites here. Some of them we know by heart."</p> + +<p>Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something," she said, "there's some of these +I can play with one hand—by ear. Maybe—"</p> + +<p>"Why sure!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the +nights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality of +being Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In +her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it +looked even more abundant—but she had not dared to try it so until +to-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin +hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped +and strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud +pedal—the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "How +Can I Leave Thee," and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, +Long Ago," and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay." Beyond open doors, +Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers +ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar.</p> + +<p>"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: +"You're quite a musician."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I've +never done this in front of anybody," she owned. "I don't know what +Dwight and Ina'd say...." She drooped.</p> + +<p>They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred and +quickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, +and poured this forth, even thus trampled.</p> + +<p>"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to," said +Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Lulu said again.</p> + +<p>"Sing and play and cook—"</p> + +<p>"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something." But this she +had not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened.</p> + +<p>"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought."</p> + +<p>"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Cornish. "I never thought of that," he added. She caught +his speculative look—he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, +as who in Warbleton had not heard?</p> + +<p>"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. +This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned in +her an unspeakable relief.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are," she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'd +like 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell."</p> + +<p>Cornish frowned, trying to understand.</p> + +<p>"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair."</p> + +<p>"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that—" said Cornish. "That's not right."</p> + +<p>"No. But there it is. It puts me—you see what it does to me. They +think—they all think my—husband left me."</p> + +<p>It was curious to hear her bring out that word—tentatively, +deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant.</p> + +<p>Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well...."</p> + +<p>Before she willed it, she was telling him:</p> + +<p>"He didn't. He didn't leave me," she cried with passion. "He had another +wife." Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself.</p> + +<p>"Lord sakes!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news of +her state where there would be neither hardness nor censure.</p> + +<p>"We were in Savannah, Georgia," she said. "We were going to leave for +Oregon—going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he was +going out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I was +sitting the same as there. He opened the door again—the same as here. I +saw he looked different—and he said quick: 'There's something you'd +ought to know before we go.' And of course I said, 'What?' And he said +it right out—how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years she +ran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. +So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me."</p> + +<p>"No, no. Of course he didn't," Cornish said earnestly. "But Lord +sakes—" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable +and sat down.</p> + +<p>"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell—he thinks it isn't true. He +thinks—he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted—" Lulu +looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me."</p> + +<p>"But why don't you make your—husband—I mean, why doesn't he write to +Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth—" Cornish burst out.</p> + +<p>Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare +sweetness.</p> + +<p>"He has written," she said. "The letter's there."</p> + +<p>He followed her look, scowled at the two letters.</p> + +<p>"What'd he say?"</p> + +<p>"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he +comes back."</p> + +<p>"Lord sakes!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted +it with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You—you—you're +too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't."</p> + +<p>To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she +could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy.</p> + +<p>"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can +do."</p> + +<p>And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his +face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so +fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, +ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the +time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, +he was there, and she could talk to him.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just <i>could</i> +know for sure that the other woman was alive—if I couldn't know she's +dead."</p> + +<p>This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand.</p> + +<p>"Sure you would," he said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And +she never heard of me."</p> + +<p>"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss.</p> + +<p>In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared.</p> + +<p>"I scraped up everything," she remarked, "and left the dishes set."</p> + +<p>"That's right, mamma," Lulu said. "Come and sit down."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected +of her.</p> + +<p>"I don't hear any more playin' and singin'," she remarked. "It sounded +real nice."</p> + +<p>"We—we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma."</p> + +<p>"I use' to play on the melodeon," Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and +examined her right hand.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, when +she was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. She +rehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at old +fears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen—a +tragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At the +end she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she had +been telling the story of some one else.</p> + +<p>"Give us one more piece," she said.</p> + +<p>"Can we?" Cornish asked.</p> + +<p>"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old,'" Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish.</p> + +<p>They sang it, to Lulu's right hand.</p> + +<p>"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie," +cried, Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then.</p> + +<p>Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. +Cornish rose to go.</p> + +<p>"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded.</p> + +<p>"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice was +sharp.</p> + +<p>"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything I +could do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her to +feel no intrusion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you," she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel—"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," said Cornish heartily.</p> + +<p>They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamour +from the grass, tiny voices, insisting.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Lulu, "of course you won't—you wouldn't—"</p> + +<p>"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not," he repeated, "for +dollars."</p> + +<p>"But I knew you wouldn't," she told him.</p> + +<p>He took her hand. "Good-night," he said. "I've had an awful nice time +singing and listening to you talk—well, of course—I mean," he cried, +"the supper was just fine. And so was the music."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett came into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Lulie," she said, "I guess you didn't notice—this one's from Ninian."</p> + +<p>"Mother—"</p> + +<p>"I opened it—why, of course I did. It's from Ninian."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and a +yellowed newspaper clipping.</p> + +<p>"See," said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hall +singer—married last night to Ninian Deacon—' Say, Lulie, that must be +her...."</p> + +<p>Lulu threw out her hands.</p> + +<p>"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He <i>was</i> married to her, just like he +said!"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually at +the side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wanted +to see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking with +a troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like the +hair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruit +and honey upon the table seemed her only possible food.</p> + +<p>"You look troubled, Lulu," Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask—quite a lot of places. I +guess the bakery is going to let me make cake."</p> + +<p>"I knew it would come to you," Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought that +this was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after the +cakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright and +quiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwight +never read from a book at table.</p> + +<p>"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know what +she wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceived +none.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, +Lulu thought.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me about +last night."</p> + +<p>"Last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where did +you go?" She turned to Jenny.</p> + +<p>Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across the +river and carried supper and then we came home."</p> + +<p>"What time did you get home?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was."</p> + +<p>Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed there +at Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on account +of Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To which +Lulu said an "of course," but first she stared at Jenny and so impaired +the strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go.</p> + +<p>"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers.</p> + +<p>Lulu wanted to say: "My husband <i>was</i> married before, just as he said he +was." But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, +and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony.</p> + +<p>"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Lulu +spoke formally and her rehearsals were evident.</p> + +<p>Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her."</p> + +<p>With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at her +helplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually:</p> + +<p>"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yard +sitting in the hammock till all hours."</p> + +<p>Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on:</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't say +a word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters.' So I left her stay where +she was."</p> + +<p>"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone."</p> + +<p>"I forgot it," Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all—" She +talked of Ninian's letter.</p> + +<p>Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu's +softness and laxness.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what your mother'll say," said Lulu, "and I don't know +what people'll think."</p> + +<p>"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway," said Di, +and left the room.</p> + +<p>Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she was +anxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwight +and Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought of +Di's girlish folly, her irritating independence—"and there," Lulu +thought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew." Her mind dwelt +too on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. But +when all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She must +leave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him that +she had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to <i>do</i>? +The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof.</p> + +<p>Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight and +flat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about these +things. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one in +distress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strong +and swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu with +dragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative than +she had ever been.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then humming +an air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through the +kitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on the +elm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden block +pavement.</p> + +<p>"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, like +the burden of a comic song.</p> + +<p>"Hush, mother," Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflicting +with her honesty.</p> + +<p>"Speak the truth and shame the devil," Mrs. Bett contended.</p> + +<p>When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Lulu +had heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectation +that she would join them.</p> + +<p>"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time," she thought, and for a time +said nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'd +better put her plate in the oven."</p> + +<p>Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating a +baked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting a +profile of passionate absorption.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di went off," she said.</p> + +<p>"Went off!"</p> + +<p>"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk."</p> + +<p>"She must have gone to Jenny's," said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do that +without telling me."</p> + +<p>Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" she +cried in sisterly enjoyment.</p> + +<p>It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at the +table that Mrs. Bett observed:</p> + +<p>"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel."</p> + +<p>"Her satchel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a +satchel?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I +didn't think Inie—"</p> + +<p>"Mother! Which way did she go?"</p> + +<p>Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen +her."</p> + +<p>Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railway +station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for +shopping, would be just about leaving.</p> + +<p>"Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. +Mother, you keep her—"</p> + +<p>Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton +dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she was +still two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty +"pulling out."</p> + +<p>She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, +her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and to +the ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains and +perturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her:</p> + +<p>"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?"</p> + +<p>"Sure she did," said Lenny.</p> + +<p>"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now.</p> + +<p>"He went in on the Local," said Lenny, and his eyes widened.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"See." Lenny thought it through. "Millton," he said. "Yes, sure. +Millton. Both of 'em."</p> + +<p>"How long till another train?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. +Seventeen was late this morning—she'll be along, jerk of a lamb's +tail."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without me +paying till after—and you got to lend me two dollars."</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railway +system at her feet.</p> + +<p>"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny's +signal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow express +slowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbed +aboard.</p> + +<p>Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do? +Millton! She had been there but once, years ago—how could she ever +find anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriff +or somebody—no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight and +Ina were going to be angry now! And Di—little Di. As Lulu thought of +her she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di to +sew.</p> + +<p>In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. +She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands to +her hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She was +pulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train.</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me," she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotel +in Millton?"</p> + +<p>Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia.</p> + +<p>The conductor looked curiously at her.</p> + +<p>"Why, the Hess House," he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meet +you?" he asked, kindly.</p> + +<p>"No," said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks—" Her voice trailed +away.</p> + +<p>"Beats all," thought the conductor, using his utility formula for the +universe.</p> + +<p>In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. +Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be a +new servant there.</p> + +<p>"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobby +entrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?"</p> + +<p>The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, it +seemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, +but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end of +the office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on your +book."</p> + +<p>Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, +showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names and +strange writing presented themselves there, he said:</p> + +<p>"Tried the parlour?"</p> + +<p>And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pen +divorced from his ear for the express purpose.</p> + +<p>In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's most +pressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers in +the Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of the +intensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-coloured +chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone.</p> + +<p>Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started +up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the +first thing that occurred to her:</p> + +<p>"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel."</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "My +goodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?"</p> + +<p>"For you," said Lulu. "You—you—you'd ought not to be here, Di."</p> + +<p>"What's that to you?" Di cried.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----"</p> + +<p>Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she to +go on? "Di," she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why not +let us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this sounded +as if she were talking about a tea-party.</p> + +<p>"Who said we wanted to be married?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he's here."</p> + +<p>"Who said he's here?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't he?"</p> + +<p>Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu," she said, "you're a funny person to be +telling <i>me</i> what to do."</p> + +<p>Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was married +happy, in a home."</p> + +<p>"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as I +think best."</p> + +<p>Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to find +something to say. "What do people say to people," she wondered, "when +it's like this?"</p> + +<p>"Getting married is for your whole life," was all that came to her.</p> + +<p>"Yours wasn't," Di flashed at her.</p> + +<p>Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. She +must deal with this right—that was what her manner seemed to say. And +how should she deal?</p> + +<p>"Di," she cried, "come back with me—and wait till mamma and papa get +home."</p> + +<p>"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"Well, but how young that is!"</p> + +<p>"It is to you."</p> + +<p>"Di! This is wrong—it <i>is</i> wrong."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing wrong about getting married—if you stay married."</p> + +<p>"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know."</p> + +<p>"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And I +won't stay at home—I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten years +old."</p> + +<p>Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding.</p> + +<p>"Why, Di," she said, "do you feel that way too?"</p> + +<p>Di missed this. She went on:</p> + +<p>"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowed +to do a thing I feel. I want to be away—I will be away!"</p> + +<p>"I know about that part," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di was +suffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had not +thought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, +so—asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House at +Millton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were let +alone?</p> + +<p>"You don't know what it's like," Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughed +at and paid no attention to, everything you say."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?"</p> + +<p>She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If <i>this</i> was why Di was +leaving home....</p> + +<p>"But, Di," she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?"</p> + +<p>By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody," she said, "and +it might as well be him."</p> + +<p>"But is it him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," said Di. "But," she added, "I know I could love almost +anybody real nice that was nice to me." And this she said, not in her +own right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, or +else the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke through +her, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned its +face to be recognised.</p> + +<p>"Di!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"It's true. You ought to know that." She waited for a moment. "You did +it," she added. "Mamma said so."</p> + +<p>At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive its +truth.</p> + +<p>"I know what I want to do, I guess," Di muttered, as if to try to cover +what she had said.</p> + +<p>Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understood +Di, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Di +actually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that they +were both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were two +women. And she must make Di know that she understood her.</p> + +<p>"Di," Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. +Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you—"</p> + +<p>She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtue +of that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said:</p> + +<p>"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!"</p> + +<p>Lulu glanced down. "I know," she said, "but I guess you'll have to put +up with me."</p> + +<p>The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those who +examine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. +These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di kept +silence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing to +do with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "What +do you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"I mean I'm going to stay with you."</p> + +<p>Di laughed scornfully—she was again the rebellious child. "I guess +Bobby'll have something to say about that," she said insolently.</p> + +<p>"They left you in my charge."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not a baby—the idea, Aunt Lulu!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to stay right with you," said Lulu. She wondered what she +should do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that bright +lobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. +And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in her +agonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes.</p> + +<p>Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, and +looked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing more +to say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive.</p> + +<p>They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room.</p> + +<p>Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, +came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glanced +sidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on an +importance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby—a Bobby who +wished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in the +Hess House at Millton.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no less +than overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure upon +which he found himself.</p> + +<p>The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobby +into whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief.</p> + +<p>Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her rôle, +ignored Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Bobby! Is it all right?"</p> + +<p>Bobby looked over her head.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lulu," he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu."</p> + +<p>He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but she +can't. I've told her so."</p> + +<p>"She don't have to stop us," quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctive +in her melodrama.</p> + +<p>Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out.</p> + +<p>"We're minors," said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that."</p> + +<p>"No. They knew <i>I</i> was."</p> + +<p>"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?"</p> + +<p>"But I am."</p> + +<p>Di stared. "For pity sakes," she said, "don't you know how to do +anything?"</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head held +very stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin.</p> + +<p>"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we're +responsible—that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny...."</p> + +<p>"You wanted me to lie?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib."</p> + +<p>"Well, but this—" he stared at her.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of such a thing," Di cried accusingly.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've told +our ages. We've got to have our folks in on it."</p> + +<p>"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"What else?"</p> + +<p>"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and be +married there."</p> + +<p>"Di," said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go."</p> + +<p>Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He replied +stonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her little +hand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulu +sitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge," Di +cried, and rose.</p> + +<p>Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don't +know what I can say." Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I've +told Di," she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. +Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take me +along, I guess." She spoke in a manner of distinct apology.</p> + +<p>At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at the +carpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation in +the eternal query: How did I get into it?</p> + +<p>"Bobby," said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?"</p> + +<p>This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di had +counted. He said loudly:</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you or +any other girl."</p> + +<p>Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like a +man in a story," she said, "as—as papa is."</p> + +<p>The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time to +stay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between the +lovers.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, and +swallowed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out—" said Di.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to back out," Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but I +won't—"</p> + +<p>"Come on, Aunt Lulu," said Di grandly.</p> + +<p>Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought up +the rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Heads +turned to look at her. They passed into the street.</p> + +<p>"You two go ahead," said Lulu, "so they won't think—"</p> + +<p>They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, and +thought of her broken shoes.</p> + +<p>At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, he +said, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. And +Lulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu," said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. You +look as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here."</p> + +<p>"All right, Di," said Lulu humbly.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bett +stood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron.</p> + +<p>"Surprise for you!" she called brightly.</p> + +<p>Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall.</p> + +<p>"Darling!"</p> + +<p>She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw the +travelling bag.</p> + +<p>"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?"</p> + +<p>In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. She +now laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs.</p> + +<p>Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Well, where have <i>you</i> been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw such +a family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tell +anything."</p> + +<p>"Mamma knows a-plenty," snapped Mrs. Bett.</p> + +<p>Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down.</p> + +<p>"You'll catch it—you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill general +warning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about her +bag and now she says I don't know nothing," she complained. "There I +knew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her and +spoil her gettin' home." She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a good +notion not to eat a mouthful o' supper," she announced.</p> + +<p>"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've got +enough to get through to-night."</p> + +<p>Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him the +mysterious circumstance of the bag, could hear the exaggerated air of +the casual with which he always received the excitement of another, and +especially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, +and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pity +for Di, as if she herself were about to face them.</p> + +<p>There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cotton +dress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown."</p> + +<p>She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression—almost +as if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye.</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, +aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!"</p> + +<p>Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head was +moving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought better +of it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on another +dress?"</p> + +<p>Lulu sat down in her place. "No," she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, +Dwight."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me—" he began.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any," said Monona.</p> + +<p>But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, +who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly:</p> + +<p>"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulu +been with mamma's new bag?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, that +alters it."</p> + +<p>"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly.</p> + +<p>"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt," said Dwight Herbert, "events +begin to event."</p> + +<p>"Come, Di, let's hear," said Ina.</p> + +<p>"Ina," said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? How +is----"</p> + +<p>Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his face +dropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"She'll never be any better," he said. "I know we've said good-bye to +her for the last time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"She knew it too," he said. "It—it put me out of business, I can tell +you. She gave me my start—she took all the care of me—taught me to +read—she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened his +eyes wide on account of their dimness.</p> + +<p>"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there," said +Ina, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of the +journey. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that +he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, +told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, +"Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow.</p> + +<p>"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she +went on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. About +the bag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma," said Di, "let me eat my supper."</p> + +<p>"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first what +you've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu.</p> + +<p>But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Di +would say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her—where in the world had you +been? Why, but you couldn't have been with her—in that dress. And yet +I saw you come in the gate together."</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly did +not so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?"</p> + +<p>"It's a good dress," Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's a +good dress. Lulie wore it on the street—of course she did. She was gone +a long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and <i>then</i> she hadn't come."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where were +you both?"</p> + +<p>One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, +identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacy +was incredible.</p> + +<p>"Put an end to this, Lulu," he commanded. "Where were you two—since you +make such a mystery?"</p> + +<p>Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father was +now clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herself +temporising, for the moment making common cause with Di.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if we +want one?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don't +know about your secrets, Lulu."</p> + +<p>Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed to +bleed.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad for my dinner," remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me." +On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best to +make her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burst +in.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there—come. I can't stand +it. What am I going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Di, dear," said Lulu. "Tell your mother—you must tell her."</p> + +<p>"She'll cry," Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa—and he'll never stop +talking about it. I know him—every day he'll keep it going. After he +scolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die—I'll die, Aunt Lulu."</p> + +<p>Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about? +I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting...."</p> + +<p>"Let's go out on the porch," said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, +Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way that +she knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in this +world....</p> + +<p>Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress.</p> + +<p>"A bridal robe," said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu—what are <i>you</i> wearing +a bridal robe for—eh?"</p> + +<p>She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, she +reflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour—had +not yet asked for his mail.</p> + +<p>It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the village +street came in—laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Lights +starred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on the +board walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish.</p> + +<p>Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the time +broken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clock +strike reassuring dawn.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!"</p> + +<p>Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse," she said.</p> + +<p>Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sick +woman—and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Di +was curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply and +directly—the rarest of Di's manners, in fact not Di's manner at all. +Lulu spoke not at all—it was enough to have this respite.</p> + +<p>After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besetting +fear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived.</p> + +<p>And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, +recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobby +was plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. +It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And it +was no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully to +pierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know the +kind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her own +pride—you know how they do that?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina, "my part, I think <i>the</i> most awful thing is to have +somebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbed +and spiteful with such treatment."</p> + +<p>"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say my +prayers!"</p> + +<p>Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, +but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear +devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two +divided channels.</p> + +<p>She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed +the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in +Mrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour.</p> + +<p>"Don't you help me," Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I can +help myself yet awhile."</p> + +<p>She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, she +said clearly:</p> + +<p>"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkin +eloped off together to-day. <i>He</i>!" The last was a single note of +laughter, high and brief.</p> + +<p>The silence fell.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily.</p> + +<p>But Ina said tensely: "<i>Is</i> it nonsense? Haven't I been trying and +trying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!"</p> + +<p>Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false.</p> + +<p>"Listen to that, Bobby," she said. "Listen!"</p> + +<p>"That won't do, Di," said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't you +try!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authentic +anxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity of +the moment by her indignation.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manly +before them all.</p> + +<p>But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Here +was something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like a +mask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as if +the sound shattered a thousand filaments—where?</p> + +<p>"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened among +them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa," said Di, very small.</p> + +<p>"Answer your mother. Answer <i>me</i>. Is there anything to this absurd +tale?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa," said Di, trembling.</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever."</p> + +<p>"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this report +repeated, send them to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Well, but that satchel—" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less as +a function than as a leech.</p> + +<p>"One moment," said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the child +has said."</p> + +<p>There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had not +instinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she saw +Dwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself a +child in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as was +Dwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. She +burned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. She +threw up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this.</p> + +<p>"If you cannot settle this with Di," said Lulu, "you cannot settle it +with me."</p> + +<p>"A shifty answer," said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresenting +facts, you know, Lulu."</p> + +<p>"Bobby wanted to say something," said Ina, still troubled.</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Deacon," said Bobby, low. "I have nothing—more to say."</p> + +<p>In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. +It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everything +now.</p> + +<p>"Bobby," she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?"</p> + +<p>He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, +blurring.</p> + +<p>"And anyhow," said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We <i>didn't</i> elope, did we?"</p> + +<p>"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby.</p> + +<p>The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. +But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take his +regret that they had not gone on.</p> + +<p>"Well, I came for one thing," said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn't +stand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di—I hate a lie. And now +to-night—" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather," he said, +"they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the way +I've lost you now."</p> + +<p>"Bobby!"</p> + +<p>"It's true. We mustn't talk about it."</p> + +<p>"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all."</p> + +<p>"You can't go back," said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that."</p> + +<p>She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turned +toward the house, and met Cornish leaving.</p> + +<p>"Miss Di," he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, remember +it's with me!"</p> + +<p>Her defence was ready—her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobby +might hear.</p> + +<p>She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a little +white thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains.</p> + +<p>"If," she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with Bobby +Larkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times a +day."</p> + +<p>"Really, darling?" cried Ina.</p> + +<p>"Really and truly," said Di, "and he knows it, too."</p> + +<p>Lulu listened and read all.</p> + +<p>"I wondered," said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see that +Bobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!"</p> + +<p>When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajoling +confidence:</p> + +<p>"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "<i>why</i> did you and Di have the +black bag?"</p> + +<p>So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually: +"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?"</p> + +<p>"There are two letters on the parlour table," Lulu answered. To Ina she +added: "Let's go in the parlour."</p> + +<p>As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs to +bed—when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched her +extremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she were +half minded to claim the protection so long lost.</p> + +<p>Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little," said +he, tirelessly.</p> + +<p>Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, +said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement of +dental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he said +again, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "An +epistle from my dear brother Ninian." The words failed, as he saw the +unsealed flap.</p> + +<p>"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he had +no climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used on +small occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeper +horror than "You picked the flower"—once put to Lulu.</p> + +<p>She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly at +some one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horror +and sympathy, a nice half and half.</p> + +<p>"Your sister has been opening my mail," he said.</p> + +<p>"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian—"</p> + +<p>"It is <i>my</i> mail," he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might open +it. Of course I told her no."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ina practically, "what does he say?"</p> + +<p>"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is this +disregard of my wishes." His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, +devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be more +effectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?"</p> + +<p>Lulu was not looking at him. "None," she said—not defiantly, or +ingratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None."</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>She smiled faintly and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Dwight," said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. +Hurry up."</p> + +<p>"She is," said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman."</p> + +<p>He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts.</p> + +<p>"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for a +month, you find that you were <i>not</i> married to him."</p> + +<p>Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph.</p> + +<p>"You see, Dwight," she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. He +didn't just leave me."</p> + +<p>Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerably +worse off than if he had."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Lulu said serenely. "No. Why," she said, "you know how it all +came about. He—he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If he +hadn't—hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Lulu," he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you say +about it the better, for all our sakes—<i>you</i> see that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the +truth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs ..."</p> + +<p>"Tell who?"</p> + +<p>"Tell everybody. I want them to know."</p> + +<p>"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him now. "Your feeling?"</p> + +<p>"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?"</p> + +<p>"But it's me—it's me."</p> + +<p>"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'll +drop."</p> + +<p>"I want the people to know the truth," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intend +to sue Ninian?"</p> + +<p>"Sue him? Oh no!"</p> + +<p>"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter."</p> + +<p>Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands +awkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of her +ear, she kept swallowing.</p> + +<p>"Tell you, Lulu," said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests are +the same in this thing—only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing to +you now. Is he?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Lulu in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell this +disgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What do +you say, Ina—considering Di and all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, goodness," said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll never +get away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds."</p> + +<p>Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her straying +hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic.</p> + +<p>"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plump +hands. "Oh, Dwight—when I think of it: What have I done—what have <i>we</i> +done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband—be so protected, +so loved, when other women.... Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near to +Lulu. "You <i>know</i> how sorry I am—we all are...."</p> + +<p>Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands were +stiffly joined.</p> + +<p>"Then," she said, "give me the only thing I've got—that's my pride. My +pride—that he didn't want to get rid of me."</p> + +<p>They stared at her. "What about <i>my</i> pride?" Dwight called to her, as +across great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know my +brother did a thing like that?"</p> + +<p>"You can't help that," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won't +shame us like this before all our friends."</p> + +<p>"You want me to promise what?"</p> + +<p>"I want you—I ask you," Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me that +you will keep this, with us—a family secret."</p> + +<p>"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!"</p> + +<p>It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out her +hands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't you +understand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life—on your +money. I've not been strong enough to work, they say—well, but I've +been strong enough to be a hired girl in your house—and I've been glad +to pay for my keep.... But there wasn't anything about it I liked. +Nothing about being here that I liked.... Well, then I got a little +something, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went off +on the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. And +then it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here and +went into your kitchen again—I don't know why I came back. I s'pose +because I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more—but +what have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to me +having folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'em +all wonder.... I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't...."</p> + +<p>"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?" +Dwight sneered.</p> + +<p>"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know—maybe he wanted me only just +because he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won't +have folks think he went and left me."</p> + +<p>"That," said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity."</p> + +<p>"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?"</p> + +<p>"And bring disgrace on us all."</p> + +<p>"It's me—it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terrible +tribal sense, was shattered by it.</p> + +<p>"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di."</p> + +<p>"<i>Di?</i>" He had Lulu's eyes now.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"How would it hurt Di?"</p> + +<p>"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'd +hurt her?"</p> + +<p>"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it would shame her—embarrass her—make people wonder what kind of +stock she came from—oh," Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!"</p> + +<p>"Hurt her prospects, of course," said Dwight. "Anybody could see that."</p> + +<p>"I s'pose it would," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, +her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt.</p> + +<p>"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina and +shuddered.</p> + +<p>"I'm talked about now!"</p> + +<p>"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn't +help that." This misstep was Dwight's.</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his other +wife, either."</p> + +<p>"Bigamy," said Dwight, "that's a crime."</p> + +<p>"I've done no crime," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Bigamy," said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches."</p> + +<p>"Even Di," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Lulu," said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let this +thing rest with us three?"</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Lulu quietly.</p> + +<p>"You will?"</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so."</p> + +<p>Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything."</p> + +<p>Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is." Aloud she said: +"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell."</p> + +<p>"I'll see to that," Dwight graciously offered.</p> + +<p>"Goodness," Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said no +more.</p> + +<p>"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, her +trim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton.</p> + +<p>"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Oh stop that!" Lulu said.</p> + +<p>Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now," he said, +"overlook the matter of the letter."</p> + +<p>Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and cried +out.</p> + +<p>"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the whole +thing happened!"</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that it +was popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the six +copies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words," looked +wistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased.</p> + +<p>"Got up quite attractive," he thought, and fastened the six copies in +the window of his music store.</p> + +<p>It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floor +and sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. +He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book.</p> + +<p>For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, +stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he really +getting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Of +late when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting.</p> + +<p>The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a dark +sateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was in +there, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blur +of his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realistic +illusion of personal loneliness.</p> + +<p>It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usually +attacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall and +the faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; or +when he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerful +and wonted—the question had not before attacked him among his red and +blue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshiny +morning.</p> + +<p>A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell a +piano.</p> + +<p>"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor.</p> + +<p>It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anything +else. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it.</p> + +<p>"You're out early," said he, participating in the village chorus of this +bright challenge at this hour.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, +leaned to see it the better.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had +not thought to say it before.</p> + +<p>"All right, thank you," said Lulu.</p> + +<p>"Was he—about the letter, you know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added, +"not to say anything about what was in the letter?"</p> + +<p>"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody +know now?"</p> + +<p>"No," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, +dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible +specks.</p> + +<p>"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Good-bye!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm going off—for a while. My satchel's in the bakery—I had my +breakfast in the bakery."</p> + +<p>"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything <i>wasn't</i> all right last +night?"</p> + +<p>"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight +forgave me."</p> + +<p>"Forgave you!"</p> + +<p>She smiled, and trembled.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about +this."</p> + +<p>He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast +area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a +piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the +comfort of his kindly indignation.</p> + +<p>"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any +more. I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"Then what are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the +hotel—they wanted a chambermaid."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said +Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw +you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag—" He stopped, stared.</p> + +<p>"You brought her back!" he deduced everything.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no—I mean—"</p> + +<p>"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just +what you did—you brought her back."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!"</p> + +<p>"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean +about your going after her?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You never told!"</p> + +<p>"They don't know she went."</p> + +<p>"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her +folks—I mean, right off. Before last night...."</p> + +<p>"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that—he'd <i>joke</i> her +about it after a while."</p> + +<p>"But it seems—"</p> + +<p>"Ina'd talk about disgracing <i>her</i>. They wouldn't know what to do. +There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father," Lulu +said.</p> + +<p>Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu's +reality he could grasp.</p> + +<p>"You're a trump anyhow," he affirmed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Lulu modestly.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was. He insisted upon it.</p> + +<p>"By George," he exclaimed, "you don't find very many <i>married</i> women +with as good sense as you've got."</p> + +<p>At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to the +truth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in some +amusement, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You've been a jewel in their home all right," said Cornish. "I bet +they'll miss you if you do go."</p> + +<p>"They'll miss my cooking," Lulu said without bitterness.</p> + +<p>"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there—"</p> + +<p>"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude which +lighted her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You made the whole place," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean just the cooking?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I mean—well, that first night when you played croquet. I felt +at home when you came out."</p> + +<p>That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look of +loveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I never +had but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking." She seemed to +feel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair up +nice." She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how the +ladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Cornish only.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye to +you—and there's one or two other places...."</p> + +<p>"I hate to have you go," said Cornish, and tried to add something. "I +hate to have you go," was all that he could find to add.</p> + +<p>Lulu rose. "Oh, well," was all that she could find.</p> + +<p>They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to the +door. He had begun on "Look here, I wish ..." when Lulu said +"good-bye," and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would have +said. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Lulu, and went, still laughing.</p> + +<p>Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her +head averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of all +proportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more—it +assailed him, absorbed him.</p> + +<p>He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting of +which he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down the +store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there was +the green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated that +green curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time it +occurred to him that he hated Warbleton.</p> + +<p>He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, +chin on chest, regarding it. No ... no escape that way....</p> + +<p>A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, her +face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter.</p> + +<p>"See," she said. "At the office was this...."</p> + +<p>She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read:</p> + +<p>" ... Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard from +her, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer +wrote to me.... I've never been any good—Dwight would tell you that if +his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain't +anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this.... I s'pose you +couldn't understand and I don't myself.... Only the sixteen years +keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so +downright good, that's what was the worst ... do you see what I want to +say ..."</p> +<br> + +<p>Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyes +there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. +Incredible dignity.</p> + +<p>"He didn't lie to get rid of me—and she was alive, just as he thought +she might be," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him +out."</p> + +<p>It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking.</p> + +<p>"Now you're free," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that ..." said Lulu.</p> + +<p>She replaced her letter in its envelope.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm really going," she said. "Good-bye for sure this time...."</p> + +<p>Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>"Don't say good-bye," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's late," she said, "I—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you go," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>She looked at him mutely.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word.</p> + +<p>He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybe +you've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. +Well, it's only five hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying.</p> + +<p>"That little Warden house—it don't cost much—you'd be surprised. Rent, +I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, but +then I didn't think—" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost near +as much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos—"</p> + +<p>He was startled by that "we," and began again:</p> + +<p>"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me."</p> + +<p>"But," said Lulu. "You <i>know</i>! Why, don't the disgrace—"</p> + +<p>"What disgrace?" asked Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "you—you----"</p> + +<p>"There's only this about that," said he. "Of course, if you loved him +very much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But I +didn't think—"</p> + +<p>"You didn't think what?"</p> + +<p>"That you did care so very much—about him. I don't know why."</p> + +<p>She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what I +done. I know that now."</p> + +<p>"I figured that way," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he saw +that she should know.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm—I'm awful lonesome +myself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reason +why I want to get married. I want some kind of a home."</p> + +<p>He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said.</p> + +<p>"I ain't never lived what you might say private," said Cornish.</p> + +<p>"I've lived too private," Lulu said.</p> + +<p>"Then there's another thing." This was harder to tell her. "I—I don't +believe I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law."</p> + +<p>"I don't see," said Lulu, "how anybody does."</p> + +<p>"I'm not much good in a business way," he owned, with a faint laugh. +"Sometimes I think," he drew down his brows, "that I may never be able +to make any money."</p> + +<p>She said: "Lots of men don't."</p> + +<p>"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I've +seen," he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I—I was +engaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd be +willing to try me, we would get along."</p> + +<p>Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you—"</p> + +<p>"Miss Di? Why," said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And," he added, +"she's a little liar."</p> + +<p>"But I'm going on thirty-four."</p> + +<p>"So am I!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't there somebody—"</p> + +<p>"Look here. Do you like me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!"</p> + +<p>"Well enough—"</p> + +<p>"It's you I was thinking of," said Lulu. "I'd be all right."</p> + +<p>"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her.</p> + +<br><hr style="width: 45%;"><br> + +<p>"And now," said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. +I've got something on."</p> + +<p>He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di was +not there.</p> + +<p>"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked.</p> + +<p>"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?"</p> + +<p>"Well, but, Dwight—we've got to do something."</p> + +<p>"As I told you this morning," he observed, "we shall do nothing. Your +sister is of age—I don't know about the sound mind, but she is +certainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where she +will."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where—"</p> + +<p>"You are a question-box," said Dwight playfully. "A question-box."</p> + +<p>Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm and +nursed it.</p> + +<p>"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long," she +remarked.</p> + +<p>"You should be sufficient unto your little self," said Dwight.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner."</p> + +<p>"I want some crust coffee," announced Monona firmly.</p> + +<p>"You'll have nothing of the sort," said Ina. "Drink your milk."</p> + +<p>"As I remarked," Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked.</p> + +<p>She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing to +play his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she <i>was</i> hot.</p> + +<p>"I am going," said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, +for an hour."</p> + +<p>"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?"</p> + +<p>"Borrowed it from the railroad company," said Dwight, with the triumph +peculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can't +imagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I can +remember—saw it every time I took the train—and yet I never once +thought of grandma."</p> + +<p>"My, Dwight," said Ina, "how good you are!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said he.</p> + +<p>"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, you +take Grandma Gates a baked apple—no. You shan't go till you drink your +milk."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it."</p> + +<p>"Drink it or mamma won't let you go."</p> + +<p>Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran.</p> + +<p>"The apple isn't very good," said Ina, "but it shows my good will."</p> + +<p>"Also," said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness for +others."</p> + +<p>"That's what I always think," his Ina said.</p> + +<p>"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired.</p> + +<p>"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try," Ina +confessed.</p> + +<p>"You didn't have to try," Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming when +I got rested up."</p> + +<p>She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie," she said, and the +corners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased in +vague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the front +door opened.</p> + +<p>"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common," Mrs. Bett +complained.</p> + +<p>But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Ina, in replica.</p> + +<p>"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughter +and put her hands upon her.</p> + +<p>"We wanted to tell you first," Cornish said. "We've just got married."</p> + +<p>"For <i>ever</i> more!" said Ina.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried with +hope.</p> + +<p>"No," Cornish said soberly. "We're married—just now. Methodist +parsonage. We've had our dinner," he added hastily.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason.</p> + +<p>"The bakery," Cornish replied, and flushed.</p> + +<p>"In the dining-room part," Lulu added.</p> + +<p>Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation.</p> + +<p>"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in a +bakery—"</p> + +<p>No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted the +fuss of a wedding.</p> + +<p>Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all," +he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie," she said, "why, Lulie. You +ain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett," Dwight cried. "She wasn't married +that first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!"</p> + +<p>Ina's little shriek sounded.</p> + +<p>"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have to +tell about Ninian now—and his other wife!"</p> + +<p>Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lulu +looked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face a +horrified realisation.</p> + +<p>"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You <i>will</i> have to tell now, won't you? Why I +never thought of that."</p> + +<p>At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give Grandma +Gates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patient +kindness to tuck her in.</p> + +<p>The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, +no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. and +Mrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station.</p> +<hr class="full"> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 10429-h.txt or 10429-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10429">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10429</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution.</p> + + + +<pre> +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +<a href="https://gutenberg.org/license">https://gutenberg.org/license)</a>. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">https://www.gutenberg.org</a> + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +<a href="http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06">http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06</a> + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/10429.txt b/old/10429.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..000e032 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5966 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Miss Lulu Bett, by Zona Gale + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Miss Lulu Bett + +Author: Zona Gale + +Release Date: December 10, 2003 [eBook #10429] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT*** + + +E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Dave Morgan, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +MISS LULU BETT + + +By ZONA GALE + + +1921 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. APRIL + + II. MAY + +III. JUNE + + IV. JULY + + V. AUGUST + + VI. SEPTEMBER + + + + + + + + +I + + +APRIL + +The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, +appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was a +gas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound. + +"Better turn down the gas jest a little," Mr. Deacon said, and stretched +up to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as a +man speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something to +say. + +"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, +eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful," too. In +October he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?" + +"We have creamed salmon," replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast," she +added, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should say +this so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Could +you leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring a +milkman's heart. + +"Well, now, let us see," said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principal +dish benignly. "_Let_ us see," he added, as he served. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that her +little triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remark +produced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped. + +"_What's_ this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "_No_ salmon?" + +"No," said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt her +power, discarded her "sir." + +"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before." + +"I don't want any," said Monona, in precisely her original tone. + +"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping; + +The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her head +until her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon's +eyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progeny +will not eat? What can be supplied? + +"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread." +One wondered how she thought of it. + +"No," said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affecting +indifference to this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twisted +her head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote. + +There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, +Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home with +us." And that was precisely the case. _They_ were not making her a +home, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden. + +"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon. + +Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, +not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, by +nature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette. + +"Yes!" shouted the child Monona. + +The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. +Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. For +Monona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others to +let her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons were +devoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, +grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, +anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in." The poor child was the +late birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she had +provided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had produced +her at all. + +"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming to +her supper?" + +"Tantrim," said Mrs. Deacon, softly. + +"Oh, ho," said he, and said no more. + +The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of high +vibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind of +self-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims," they +called these occasions. + +"Baked potatoes," said Mr. Deacon. "That's good--that's good. The baked +potato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any other +way. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it." + +"That's what I always think," said his wife pleasantly. + +For fifteen years they had agreed about this. + +They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicate +crunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touch +of the silver. + +"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed by +both parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyric +outburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost to +Mr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at that +age. That age, in Warbleton. + +A clock struck the half hour. + +"It's curious," Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must be +fully quarter to." He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" he +exclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time." + +"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina. + +"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck," he +reminded her. + +"Twenty-one, I thought." She was tentative, regarded him with arched +eyebrows, mastication suspended. + +This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by the +child Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang. + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to call +just at meal-time?" + +He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. +Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted +finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked +potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate +with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the +hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was +listening. + +A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was +divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with +this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was +notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. +Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper +with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his +hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, +resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and +remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow +wink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did in +the presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and then +drew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. +This was her conjugal rebuking. + +Swedenborg always uses "conjugial." And really this sounds more married. +It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever more +married than they--at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugal +jokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, +suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking _entendre_ in +the most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of her +life. + +And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time upon +the yellow tulip in the centre of his table. + +"Well, _well_!" he said. "What's this?" + +Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple. + +"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired. + +"Ask Lulu," said Mrs. Deacon. + +He turned his attention full upon Lulu. + +"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort of +ruff about the word. + +Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed. + +"It was a quarter," she said. "There'll be five flowers." + +"You _bought_ it?" + +"Yes. There'll be five--that's a nickel apiece." + +His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread. + +"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money to +spend, even for the necessities." + +His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and even +flesh. + +Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose the +dogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert--Lulu +isn't strong enough to work. What's the use...." + +She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, the +family beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else. + +"The justice business--" said Dwight Herbert Deacon--he was a justice of +the peace--"and the dental profession--" he was also a dentist--"do not +warrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home." + +"Well, but, Herbert--" It was his wife again. + +"No more," he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulu +meant no harm," he added, and smiled at Lulu. + +There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, +num, num-my-num," as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. She +seemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. There +was, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour. + +"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di," said +Ina sighing. + +"Let's see," said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?" + +He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for at +noon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Ina +played his game, always. She informed him, dutifully. + +"Oh, _ho_," said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mind +on these domestic trifles. + +"We told you that this noon," said Lulu. + +He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy. + +"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly--this was one of +his forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord. + +His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large +size, small size, present price, former price--she had them all. + +"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?" + +"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon +punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some +question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return +was always automatic: "_Her_bert!" + +"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert." + +She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed +upon her. It was his intention to be a case. + +Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was +not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat. + +"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the +butter-woman or get some creamery?" + +Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the +matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his +home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty +role. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to +turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation. + +"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at +meal-time," he said icily. + +Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now +with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would +look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her +plate. + +"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona. + +"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu. + +"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her +hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked +on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was +apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as +if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an +irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to +his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was +waiting his motion. + +At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her +aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. +Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted +her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active +child," Lulu ventured brightly. + +"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed. + +He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his +lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the +room. + +Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. +Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the half +hour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last night +twenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu did +not talk. + +"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think you +might be useful." + +Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed her +mind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force upon +the chip-pile. + +The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women brought +their work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, +watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She had +eight minutes more--seven--six--five-- + +Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, +groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in its +heap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flat +chest. + +Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun were +as near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus would +burn our sun to nothingness. + + * * * * * + +In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain all +over. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to make +an ordeal. + +Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, also +eighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, aped +him, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. +Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her as +its servant. + +Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. It +was Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, +Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by a +most reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and he +listened for her voice. + +Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, +bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see me +about?"--with a use of the past tense as connoting something of +indirection and hence of delicacy--a nicety customary, yet unconscious. +Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formality +that Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join the +church, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in the +parlour until he could attend at leisure. + +Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planned +deserted him. + +"I thought if you would give me a job," he said defencelessly. + +"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be either +irritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?" +he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistant +dentist--which? + +Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's where +his office was, wasn't there something ... It faded from him, sounded +ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now. + +There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. +Hold on, he said--hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking charge +of the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its own +grass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time after +that which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in his +garden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attention +early next month ... he owned two lots--"of course property _is_ a +burden." If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked ... Bobby +would care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thanked +Mr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, should +not stand in the way of his advancement. + +"Then that is checked off," said Mr. Deacon heartily. + +Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost upon +Di returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's. + +"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?" + +She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carrying +pink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voice +there was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. She +paused on the steps, a lovely figure. + +But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby. + +"Oh, hullo," said he. "No. I came to see your father." + +He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunched +about his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth +and brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her without +a glance. + +She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughed +loudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it. + +"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----" + +"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole +_school_ knows it." + +Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. He +entered upon a pretty scene. + +His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the child +Monona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea of +making the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her blue +hose, her bracelet, her ring. + +"Oh, and mamma," she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supper +and the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----" + +"Grammar, grammar," spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what he +meant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other. + +"Well," said Di positively, "they _were_. Papa, see my favour." + +She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it. + +Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. She +was often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, and +her role reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own. + +The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the +"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry _now?_" + +Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through the +room without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processes +her son-in-law's tone inhibited all this. + +"No," she said. "I'm not hungry." + +Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked from +one to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. She +brushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching an +intenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears. + +"We put a potato in the oven for you," said Ina. She had never learned +quite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, but +she never had ceased to resent them. + +"No, thank you," said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed the +situation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner of +Monona. + +"Mother," said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea." + +Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and her +eyes warmed. + +"After a little, maybe," she said. "I think I'll run over to see Grandma +Gates now," she added, and went toward the door. + +"Tell her," cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl." + +Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and whenever +the Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape the +house for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates--in lieu of, +say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendliness +which lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life. + +Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission. + +"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean," Ina +called after. + +"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitation +of his was somehow invested with the paternal. + +"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly. + +On the clock shelf lay a letter. + +"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot." + +"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there." Lulu was eager for her share +of the blame. + +"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?" + +Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps. + +"I know. I'm awfully sorry," Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get a +letter----" + +This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with a +greater importance. + +"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office," he admitted it. "Still, +my mail should have more careful----" + +He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon his +motions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them. + +"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?" + +"Something nice," Ina was sure. + +"Something surprising," Dwight said portentously. + +"But, Dwight--is it _nice?_" from his Ina. + +"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu." He leered at her. "It's company." + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina. "Who?" + +"From Oregon," he said, toying with his suspense. + +"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?" + +"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says." + +"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lips +parted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. South +America, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all." When was he coming +and what was he coming for? + +"To see me," said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don't +know what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker." + +Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledge +that she was not a charmer. + +The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert's +eyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, was +their progeny hurt? + +"Bedtime," his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her to +bed? I'm pretty tired." + +Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back and +shaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative. + +As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about and +snapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply: + +"Lulu. One moment!" + +He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on his +forehead was a frown. + +"You _picked_ the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously. + +Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borne +to the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the dark +stairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left her +breathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the child +Monona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slamming +the door. + + + + +II + + +MAY + +Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but every +morning it was dusted. By Lulu. + +She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, +and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leather +rocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back a +bit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz pattern +seemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes. + +Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight--in a perpetual +attitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, of +roaring a ready bass. + +And the black fireplace--there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, +fireless, and with a dust of ashes. + +In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pier +glass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. +Natural. + +This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herself +but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large +photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident +eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks--and each of the six were rounded and +convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass +you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands +and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's +brother. + +Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, +had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or +were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, +lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As +she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own +bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture +followed her, and she liked it. + +She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the +house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth +blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu +saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she +carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had +deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south +window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of +criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on +something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine +herself sharing. + +The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking. + +"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till +I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"--the village salutation +signifying kindly attention. + +Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily. + +The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, +and this she now divined, and said absently: + +"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more." + +"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun +of me all the time?" + +At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to +have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and +looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about +you." + +"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, were +they? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion. + +"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I--I never wanted to." Again +the upward look. + +"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything like +that." + +"Of course you didn't." She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyes +full. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you." + +She ran into the house. + +Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise of +some secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She was +thinking: + +"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But _how_ did she do that?" + +Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a manner +of speculation, at the photograph of Ninian. + +Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in his +understanding of the female character was sufficiently developed to +cause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhaps +that was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. +What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedly +toward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he could +return in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but it +was in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which he +seemed to be cooeperating without his conscious will. Continually he +glanced toward the house. + +These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobby +were eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt that +sweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more. + +She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take some +out to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?" + +It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill. + +After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to the +Chautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemed +to be that she never went anywhere. + +When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turned +aimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And she +thought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina and +Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the way +that a futurist receives the subjects of his art--forms not vague, but +heightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and always +motion--motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of all +was that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. The +perfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had her +dream as a saint her sense of heaven. + +"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp." + +She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took one +last look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed on +her Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would be +to-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon would +arrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameo +pin.... + +She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was not +there. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled at +her ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, +now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, and +her ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy of +leisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle. + +"Inie ought to make over her delaine," Mrs. Bett comfortably began. They +talked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear," +said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father." She +described it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They were +individuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to the +Deacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore no +relationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes were +bright. + +Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should have +a lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and a +dish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that she +knew--offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that this +woman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged. + +When she had eaten she grew sleepy--rather cross at the last and +inclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu's +defence, lifted an ancient weapon. + +"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if she +hadn't married?" + +Lulu said nothing. + +"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it. + +Lulu said no more. After a long time: + +"You always was jealous of Inie," said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed. + +As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from its +bracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirt +lifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news of +some other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate only +in her feet and her long hair. + +She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of +Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, +but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was no +possibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which she +made no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what. + +In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across +the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett +was asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother," Lulu had said, as her +mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off +the curse by calling it her "si-esta," long _i_.) Monona was playing +with a neighbour's child--you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as +they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there. + +A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. A +long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined. + +"Oh," said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, but +since I'm here--" + +He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen. + +"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said. + +"I'm her sister," said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last. + +"Well, I'm Bert's brother," said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?" + +He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down +heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair. + +"Oh, yes," said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep." + +"Don't call her, then," said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted." + +He said it absently, hardly looking at her. + +"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin," he added. + +Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing +to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as +heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk. + +"I thought maybe ..." said she, and offered it. + +"Thank _you_!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live," he +observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Ina +had a sister," he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of her +relatives----" + +Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully. + +"He has," she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good deal +of the work." + +"I'll bet you do," said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had +been violated. "What's your name?" he bethought. + +She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, her +hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were +given with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tells +something of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feel +in catastrophe--no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the +thing cannot possibly be happening. + +"You folks expect me?" he went on. + +"Oh, yes," she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for you +every day." + +"'See," he said, "how long have they been married?" + +Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years." + +"And a year before that the first one died--and two years they were +married," he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twenty +years since Bert and I have seen each other." + +"How awful," Lulu said, and flushed again. + +"Why?" + +"To be that long away from your folks." + +Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity of +her present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be so +awful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di--yes, and Ina, for twenty +years? + +"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he's +roamed around on his own." He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around on +his own," he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't know +that." + +"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carved +the crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?" + +"Maybe she does. Do you?" + +"Yes," said Lulu. + +"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamond +ring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years of +galloping about," he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer his +interests from himself to her. + +"Where?" she asked, although she knew. + +"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama." He searched his +memory. "Colombo," he superadded. + +"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desire +to see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But she +wanted passionately to meet her companion's mind. + +"It's the life," he informed her. + +"Must be," Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up. + +"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last. + +By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into a +passion of excitement. + +"Here," she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before +that we lived in the country." + +He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watched +her veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl," he was thinking. + +"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs.?" + +Lulu flushed in anguish. + +"Miss," she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. +Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "From +choice," she said. + +He shouted with laughter. + +"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it." He made his palms +taut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said. + +Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face. + +"Which kind of a Mr. are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutings +redoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her? + +"Never give myself away," he assured her. "Say, by George, I never +thought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married or +not, by his name!" + +"It don't matter," said Lulu. + +"Why not?" + +"Not so many people want to know." + +Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one ever +laughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at _her_. "Go it, old +girl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear. + +The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herself +round the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in the +heel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straight +hair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. She +began to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcely +articulate, then in vogue in her group. And, + +"Whose dog?" she shrieked. + +Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished something +that he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, +loose-lipped. + +"I'll bet I'm your uncle," said Ninian. + +Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona was +thrilled by this intelligence. + +"Give us a kiss," said Ninian, finding in the plural some vague +mitigation for some vague offence. + +Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such a +great big tall girl--they would have to put a board on her head. + +"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring. + +"This," said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps a +jewellery shop in heaven." + +The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twenty +other diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when the +sun comes up in the west. Of course--often! Some day he was going to +melt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, ever +after. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say----He did it all +gravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. This +was no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its own +sake. + +He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, the +braggart, the unbridled, unmodified male. + +Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, +softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In her +listening look, she showed herself a charming child. + +"It strikes me," said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do something +mighty interesting before you die." + +It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keep +something going, but Lulu was all faith. + +She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from her +fingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He was +completely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at his +picture and she was abashed and turned away. + +"Well, I hope so," she said, which had certainly never been true, for +her old formless dreams were no intention--nothing but a mush of +discontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit," she +said. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprising +longing to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "What +would the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mild +sense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance. + +"You're the stuff," he remarked absently. + +She laughed happily. + +The door opened. Ina appeared. + +"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be a +pedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chin +lifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu. + +"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm your +husband's brother. Ain't this Ina?" + +It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him. + +Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. It +gave one hope for the whole species. + +"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double _e_ to +the initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the _y_ sound squinted +in. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun. + +He kissed her. + +"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina's +conception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions--was his +train on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any one +could direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She must +telephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved fling +of her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea--she stood +taut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. How +unfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said. + +The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. +She must, she must participate. + +"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair. + +"Gracious sakes," said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn't +forget to give it to her." + +They adjourned to the porch--Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy was +presented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place." Ina +delightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, +the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m--m," rising inflection, +and the "I see," prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina said +that they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have a +family--but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using her +eyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and she +believed herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly ... + +She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, +banality, guffaw ... good will. + +And Lulu, peeping through the blind. + +When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a light +rain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, were +constrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintly +lustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, +looking in from some other level. + +"The only thing," said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain is +that I'm let off croquet." He rolled his r's, a favourite device of his +to induce humour. He called it "croquette." He had never been more +irrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, the +need to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous little +home--simple and pathetic desire. + +"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce a +little." + +"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, so +faintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form. + +Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing it +and rocking. + +"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man." She +spoke as if he were about the age of Monona. + +Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and human +relationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and she +would have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was she +forbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beast +beneath him. + +The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di and +Jenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, might +be heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been driven +from the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through the +dishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared about +resentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized upon +Monona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Monona +wriggled like a puppy, as hers. + +"Quiet, pettie," said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in her +teeth. + +"Well, sir," said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, but +mother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up." + +Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke of +this foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them through +the graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of her +he became his inner self. + +"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin," he said. + +To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tender +ardour. + +"Little," Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into a +nice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nin +into--say, Nin, what are you, anyway?" + +They laughed. + +"That's the question," said Ninian. + +They laughed. + +"Maybe," Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about his +travels. He is quite a traveller, you know," she said to the Plows. "A +regular Gulliver." + +They laughed respectfully. + +"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon," Mrs. Plow said. "You know we've +never seen _very_ much." + +Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seen +them: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For the +populations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soil +mighty poor pickings. And the business--say! Those fellows don't +know--and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian. + +He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He was +equipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts were +negligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninian +had been wrought upon by all his voyaging. + +"Tell you," said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to the +state fair, little did we think--" He told about running away to the +state fair. "I thought," he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might get +over to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not." + +The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there in +Warbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is never +so casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go to +Europe" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight had +somewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, and +his Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensively +covered her soft triumph. + +Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her first +observation. + +"Pity not to have went while the going was good," she said, and said no +more. + +Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. But +Ina frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there was +company, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. + +And it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_-- + +Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed--she +could not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finished +and set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. +And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. +She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral. + +Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jenny +upstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, coming +home with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and had +come full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying: + +"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I could +never marry just anybody. I'd _smother_." + +Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly to +their greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu. + +Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying." + +Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no." +"Because," she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right." + +But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had not +Lulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem--oh, no! Lulu could not +have heard properly. + +"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them," she thought now, sitting +by the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella. + +She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. +Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, then +resentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air. + +"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed," she thought, and +derived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again. + +Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen. + +Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog had +been fed. + +"I fed him," she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninian +entered. + +"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't you +come in the other room?" + +"Oh, I don't know." + +"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along.' +Then I remembered the dishes." He glanced about. "I come to help wipe +dishes." + +"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where she +got it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago." + +"Well then, what are you doing here?" + +"Resting." + +"Rest in there." He bowed, crooked his arm. "Senora," he said,--his +Spanish matched his other assimilations of travel-- + +"Senora. Allow me." + +Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating and +did not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. +But Ina looked up and said: + +"Well!"--in two notes, descending, curving. + +Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched white +skirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim of +white embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetually +she adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, her +long wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. +She was tense. She rocked. + +When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken at +last by Mrs. Bett: + +"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it," +she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forget +about. Monona, get off my rocker." + +Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said +"Darling--quiet!"--chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lower +teeth for the word's completion; and she held it. + +The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if it +would let up raining _at all_. Di and Jenny came whispering into the +room. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside. + +"Miss Lulu," he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, +because I knew how interested you are in travels." + +He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person who +most enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words that +he said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and she +dare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wanted +to hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one hand +to support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for the +rocking. + +Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one was +talking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but at +her. + + + + +III + + +JUNE + +On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said with +his manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?" + +Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-_day?_" + +"First class day, it looks like to me." + +Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, +but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources of +the house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, the +child Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, +elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about her +face. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never has +danced. Di gave a conservative assent--she was at that age--and then +took advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demanded +that Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, +partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little family +and Uncle Ninian would have been so nice," she sighed, with her consent. + +When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porch +and Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in a +blue-cotton house-gown. + +"Look here," said Ninian, "aren't you going?" + +"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no." + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember." + +"But why not?" + +"Oh, I never think of such a thing." + +Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said: + +"Lulu's a regular home body." + +And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like." + +"No," said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you," she added, formally. + +Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlingly +close--just beyond the blind, in fact: + +"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on." + +"Well," said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and you +come along." + +For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as a +possibility. She stared up at Ninian. + +"You can slip on my linen duster, over," Ina said graciously. + +"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know. + +"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one." + +They were having to wait for Di in any case--they always had to wait for +Di--and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was running +to make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down the +wrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linen +duster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair; +she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well. + +They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time in +her life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her and +the little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care what +Ina liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, was +enchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand. + +Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared from +nowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit. + +"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him. + +She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian. + +"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough," was all that she could get +to say. + +They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, across +the river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip of +warm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparable +fires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birth +nor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothing +to do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went and +tried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening the +condensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. +Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Lulu +did all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gone +for water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging her +to the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on their +return Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic. + +"Those who disregard the comfort of other people," he enunciated, "can +not expect consideration for themselves in the future." + +He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but he +delivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with her +teeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like a +little demon. + +As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad had +begun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller in +green fastnesses. He began: + +"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don't +get out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar the +bottle. Nature's tonic--eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See that +water. Could anything be more pleasant?" + +He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. +He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. +But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard to +be: + +"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard...." + +After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, and +Dwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's use +of that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and his +younger daughter. Ina was timid----not because she was afraid but because +she was congenitally timid--with her this was not a belief or an +emotion, it was a disease. + +"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?" + +Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river. + +"But you're not so very used----" + +Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth if +not he? + +Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in a +permanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, the +child Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. On +this pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. +It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of all +other men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she looked +up to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But let +him take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of any +horse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband by +preference. It was a phenomenon. + +Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody's +way. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and +wished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended not +to see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing to +remain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made no +explanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed. + +And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks and +herds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time. + +The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns +appeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, +the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the time +communicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had not +yet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement in +his presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To him +the air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facile +sympathy. + +"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hard +around here." + +"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished. + +"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess you +won't mind my asking." + +"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too." + +"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. You +want it, too. You told me you did--that first day." + +She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she had +never really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted she +knew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of this +role. + +"I guess you don't see how it seems," he said, "to me, coming along--a +stranger so. I don't like it." + +He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamond +obediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid air +of the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she was +feeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her. + +"They're very good to me," she said. + +He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never had +anybody really good to you. That's why." + +"But they treat me good." + +"They make a slave of you. Regular slave." He puffed, frowning. "Damned +shame, _I_ call it," he said. + +Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----" + +"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you ever +go anywheres?" + +She said: "This is the first place in--in years." + +"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!" + +"Not so much places like this----" + +"I see. What you want is to get away--like you'd ought to." He regarded +her. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman," he said. + +She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her: + +"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself." + +His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good," he said. +He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it," he mused, +"blamed if I do." + +"How I do what?" + +"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say." + +Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talk +like this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to any +one. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability to +speak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that other +Lulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speak +for her. As now: + +"It's my grand education," she said. + +She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light of +the warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and was +in her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she sat +stiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyes +rather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from her +came these sufficient, insouciant replies. + +"Education," he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too." He spoke a +creed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it." + +"Most folks are happy without an education," said Lulu. + +"You're not very happy, though." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +"Well, sir," said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm here +I'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city." + +"To the city?" + +"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you _one_ good time." + +"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been." + +"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell me +just what you like to eat, and we'll get it----" + +She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cooked +myself." + +He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intensely +experiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that future +merry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness that +he--some one--any one--was planning like this for her. + +Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house and +kept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others was +withdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves to +give off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpowering +personalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wanted +one. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, +frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs for +bait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. +There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone through +before Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged to +say, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with the +same zest with which he had discussed bait. + +"Bobby," said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not wait +for any old money." + +They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grown +from out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both--and +especially Di--so much wanted the experiences of attraction that they +assumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty role +required by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time. + +"Would you?" asked Bobby--but in the subjunctive. + +She said: "Yes. I will." + +"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, still +subjunctive. + +"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable." + +"Di," said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me." + +"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man--you know you are." + +Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it--but he passed it over. + +"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, +sparkling. + +Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his big +frame, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin and +full mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope +_now_. + +"I've planned eloping lots of times," she said ambiguously. + +It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he may +not always have been the principal, and he could not be sure ... But +she talked in nothings, and he answered her so. + +Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out of +the strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there sat +Dwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would. + +"Bertie, Bertie--please!" you heard his Ina say. + +Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would be +ignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knew +that he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oars +with: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it." + +"That's what I was thinking," said Ina, with a flash of anger. + +They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyed +crying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as an +echo. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this was +the last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. +Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of him +humour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Ina +kept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. +Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now remembered +it and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant. + +Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the sense +of disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. +Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no idea +how to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in the +river. Even Di ... He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which was +the signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid of +silence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome. + +But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homeward +beside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in her +sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He had +told Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean? +Suppose ... oh no; oh no! + +"Either lay still or get up and set up," Mrs. Bett directed her at +length. + + + + +IV + + +JULY + +When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairs +dressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waist +which she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. And +really, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, and +its wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck look +thinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" and +parted in the middle, puffed high--it was so that hair had been worn in +Lulu's girlhood. + +"_Well_!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, +head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip. + +For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster--the old one. + +Ninian appeared, in a sack coat--and his diamond. His distinctly convex +face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once +more that bold sense of looking--not at him, for then she was shy and +averted her eyes--but at his photograph at which she could gaze as much +as she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Was +he not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were going +because she, Lulu, had brought about this party. + +"Act as good as you look, Lulie," Mrs. Bett called after them. She gave +no instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, +it seemed. + +Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard to +take it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, +now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to the +others with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off her +so-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage. + +The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. On +the train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulu +sat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she too +had been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boy +between them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over her +own, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman lifted +her eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking. + +Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in many +cities--as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in a +strange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown cafe, then popular +among business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, was +reached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes took +the air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, +changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "What +do you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing the +waiter with painstaking gruffness. + +"Not that they can touch _your_ cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, +settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust. + +Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was +a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his +wife, who now remarked: + +"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff." + +This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear--another mean +advantage. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite--no, over the other +way." + +"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Ina +inquired acidly. + +"I started to and then somebody always said something," said Lulu +humbly. + +Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against any +shadow. + +"Say, but you look tremendous to-night," Dwight observed to her. + +Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yet +flushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought: +"They're feeling sorry for Ina--nobody talking to her." She laughed at +everything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. +"How many folks keep going past," she said, many times. + +At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina's +isolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian's +attention. She therefore talked with him about himself. + +"Curious you've never married, Nin," she said. + +"Don't say it like that," he begged. "I might yet." + +Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this. + +"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't," Dwight +threw in with exceeding rancour. + +They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in the +third person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. It +was inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumed +for the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene about +them. But gradually her cheeks began to burn. + +"She'll cry," Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hat +is so pretty--ever so much prettier than the old one." But Ina said +frostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one. + +"Let us talk," said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down." + +He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardly +heard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her in +this confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his manner +was open to misinterpretation. + +In the nick of time, the lobster was served. + + * * * * * + +Dinner and the play--the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "Peter +Pan," chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at any +theatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortal +soul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all was +over, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurable +excitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more the +irrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident that +she was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon the +little doubling chin. + +They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. The +dog-kennel part--wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with the +rest of the play. + +"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook--he was my style," said +Dwight. + +"Well, there it is again," Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the real +play, either." + +"Oh, well," Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catch +everybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that." + +"And I didn't understand," said Ina, "why they all clapped when the +principal character ran down front and said something to the audience +that time. But they all did." + +Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished that +Monona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty that +she herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliest +light. + +Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I have +said that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemed +to her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening had +been to her a light from heaven--how could she find anything to say? She +sat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look moving +from one to another. At last Ninian looked at her. + +"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?" + +"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well." + +It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she had +not said enough. + +"You could hear everything they said," she added. "It was--" she +dwindled to silence. + +Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkled +dimples. + +"Excellent sauces they make here--excellent," he said, with the frown of +an epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all +laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he +meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this +sort, for an hour. + +"Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance +on the table." + +"Dwightie!" + +"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to read +the funeral service over us." + +"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian. + +In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating to +Dwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisive +endorsement of this proposal. + +"I shouldn't object," said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?" + +Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking at +her. She made an anguished effort to defend herself. + +"I don't know it," she said, "so I can't say it." + +Ninian leaned toward her. + +"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife," he pronounced. +"That's the way it goes!" + +"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those at +the near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood and +motherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu that +way.... + +Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it," he challenged. + +From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes +fought her battles, suddenly spoke out: + +"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband." + +"You will?" Ninian cried. + +"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could +join in, could be as merry as the rest. + +"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't +we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table. + +"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to--holy +things----what's the _matter_, Dwightie?" + +Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet. + +"Say, by George," he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state." + +"A civil wedding? Oh, well--" Ninian dismissed it. + +"But I," said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate." + +They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with the +indeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about and +returned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Ninian +continued to laugh. + +"I never saw one done so offhand," said Dwight. "But what you've said is +all you have to say according to law. And there don't have to be +witnesses ... say!" he said, and sat down again. + +Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showed +dark as she swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again. + +"Don't you let Dwight scare you," she besought Ninian. + +"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you ask +me." + +Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, and +now he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. +Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced her +and left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. It +was exactly like looking at his photograph. + +Dwight had recovered his authentic air. + +"Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, +I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city--no +one'll be the wiser." + +"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand." + +"Are you serious, Nin?" + +"Sure I'm serious." + +Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm. + +"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?" + +Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest," she said. + +"I am in earnest--hope to die," Ninian declared. He was on two legs of +his chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of his +earnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest. + +They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and there +was something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, about +this thing. + +Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre," he +cried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way--" +and was off. + +Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh," she said, "what will +mamma say?" + +Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant. + +"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian. + +For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touched +him. + +"Say," he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over again +somewhere, if you say so." + +"Oh," said Lulu, "if I thought--" + +He leaned and patted her hand. + +"Good girl," he said. + +They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plump +hands. + +Dwight returned. "It's a go all right," he said. He sat down, laughed +weakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the church +could tie you." + +"Good enough," said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?" + +"It's--it's all right, I guess," Lulu said. + +"Well, I'll be dished," said Dwight. + +"Sister!" said Ina. + +Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to trace +the processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of the +devil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhaps +the incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part. + +"I was going to make a trip south this month," he said, "on my way home +from here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and start +right off. You'd like that, wouldn't you--going South?" + +"Yes," said Lulu only. + +"It's July," said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard. + +It was arranged that their trunks should follow them--Ina would see to +that, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return to +Warbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett. + +"Mamma won't mind," said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more." + +They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tables +saw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, +indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime in +deafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march. + + * * * * * + +It was still early next day--a hot Sunday--when Ina and Dwight reached +home. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch. + +"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett. + +They told. + +Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched their +faces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her first +question was: + +"Who's going to do your work?" + +Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest. + +"Oh," she said, "you and I'll have to manage." + +Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning. + +"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts," she said. "I +can't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you." + +"We've had our breakfasts," Ina escaped from this dilemma. + +"Had it up in the city, on expense?" + +"Well, we didn't have much." + +In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu. + +"I should think," she said, "I should think Lulie might have had a +little more gratitude to her than this." + +On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left the +house some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company with +Bobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, so +young, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication. + +"That child," said Ina, "_must_ not see so much of that Larkin boy. +She's just a little, little girl." + +"Of course she mustn't," said Dwight sharply, "and if _I_ was her +mother--" + +"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps. + +To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Ina +announced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brother +Ninian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro_man_tic ... spoken +with that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey. + + + + +V + + +AUGUST + +Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim," brought on by nothing definable. +Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallen +silent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was ready +and Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from the +room and closed her bedroom door until it echoed. + +"She's got one again," said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go." + +He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside his +mother-in-law's door and knocked. + +No answer. + +"Mother, come and have some supper." + +No answer. + +"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever." + +No answer. + +"Come on--I had something funny to tell you and Ina." + +He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by this +woman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him away +unsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, +at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwight +made a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their evening +meal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceeding +facetiousness inquired how Bobby was. + +Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going to +tease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. It +depended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. She +now groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going to +take her and Jenny for ice cream that night. + +Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood. + +"I won't have you downtown in the evening," she said. + +"But you let me go last night." + +"All the better reason why you should not go to-night." + +"I tell you," cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have ice +cream...." He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconciling +element in his home. + +"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, +her parted lips. + +"You too, certainly." Dwight could not do enough for every one. + +Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let me +go." + +"That's why papa's going to take you this time," Ina said. + +These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another: + +"But," she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can _not_ go." + +"I don't want any more." Monona's look was honest and piteous. + +"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick." + +"No!" + +"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl." + +Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewing +high, and slowly. + +"See? She can eat if she will eat," Ina said to Dwight. "The only +trouble is, she will _not_ take the time." + +"She don't put her mind on her meals," Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, +bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter. + +Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths. + +"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired. + +"Certainly. The whole party." + +"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I." + +"Me, darling," said Ina patiently, punctiliously--and less punctiliously +added: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party." + +"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement." + +"Well," said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside--that important +engagement. I think we just will." + +"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I--" + +"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of your +grammar or shall I speak to you again?" + +"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than--than--than--" she looked +resentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evident +to her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to be +ashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, +frowning, put-upon. + +"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at one +impulse. Ina saw only the empty plate. + +"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child. + +The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulously +applied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this little +family. But there was no one to apply them. + + * * * * * + +When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked: + +"Nothing new from the bride and groom?" + +"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last." + +"See--where were they then?" + +He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Ina +played his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said. + +"I don't understand," she added, "why they should go straight to Oregon +without coming here first." + +Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly +in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs. + +"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters," Ina proceeded. "They're +so--so--" + +"You haven't had but two, have you?" + +"That's all--well, of course it's only been a month. But both letters +have been so--" + +Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had the +blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter +go at that. + +"I don't think it's fair to mamma--going off that way. Leaving her own +mother. Why, she may never see mamma again--" Ina's breath caught. Into +her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she +sometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten to +put some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in her +face as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from her +tantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. +In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love. + +Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of +the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. +Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett," but she shook +her head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived +to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jenny +arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, +and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside +her, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" cried +Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense +and living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett +left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the +old cripple, Grandma Gates. + +"Inie sha'n't have 'em," the old woman thought. + +And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom +she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom +she tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour had +gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to +have her come in. + +Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family +returned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny. + +"Look here," said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has _ice_ +cream put in her lap, like a queen?" + +"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice. + +"Vanilly sets better," Mrs. Bett said. + +They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creaking +board. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirt +over her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but the +warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its +particles. + +The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it was +Lulu. + + * * * * * + +"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Ina +cried out something. + +"How did you know?" Lulu asked. + +"Know! Know what?" + +"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma." + +She passed the others, and kissed her mother. + +"Say," said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o' +cream." + +"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What you +talking?" + +"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked. + +"Not a word." Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you--the +last from Savannah, Georgia." + +"Savannah, Georgia," said Lulu, and laughed. + +They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with a +little tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wise +upset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement. + +"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't he +here? Where is he?" + +"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time," Lulu said. + +"Oregon!" + +"You see," said Lulu, "he had another wife." + +"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly. + +"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. +But he isn't sure." + +"Nonsense," said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so." + +"I had to be sure," said Lulu. + +At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs to +bed at once." + +"It's only quarter to," said Monona, with assurance. + +"Do as mamma tells you." + +"But--" + +"Monona!" + +She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. +Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walking +slowly backward. + +"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was your +husband married?" + +"Yes," Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother." + +"Mercy," said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family." + +"Well, go on--go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it." + +Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation: + +"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out to +California and up the coast." On this she paused and sighed. "Well, then +at Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So he +told me." + +"Yes--well, what did he _say_?" Dwight demanded irritably. + +"Cora Waters," said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in San +Diego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him." + +"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did," said Dwight. + +"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, after +two years, she ran away again. That's all he knows." + +"That's a pretty story," said Dwight contemptuously. + +"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. And +she never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is," Lulu +said again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure." + +"Well, but mercy," said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?" + +"It might take a long time," said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want to +stay and not know." + +"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted. + +"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said he +thought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of course +that'd been hard--wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead." + +"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes were +simple. + +"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with a +curious emphasis. + +"I thought that, just at first," Lulu said, "but only just at first. Of +course that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me my +choice." + +"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed. + +"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice when +he told me, there in Savannah, Georgia." + +"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwight +asked. + +"Why, he'd got to thinking about it," she answered. + +A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street. + +"The only thing," she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish he +hadn't told me till we got to Oregon." + +"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said. + +Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving to +understand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking her +body. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee. + +"He felt bad too," Lulu said. + +"He!" said Dwight. "He must have." + +"It's you," Ina sobbed. "It's you. _My_ sister!" + +"Well," said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, +or I wouldn't have come home. I knew," she added, "it'd make Dwight feel +bad. I mean, it was his brother--" + +"Thank goodness," Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it." + +Lulu regarded her, without change. + +"Oh, yes," she said in her monotone. "People will have to know." + +"I do not see the necessity." Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too he +said "do not," always with Dwight betokening the finalities. + +"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled. + +"What difference does it make what they think?". + +"Why," said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like--you see they might--why, +Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them." + +"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is something +the whole town will have to know about?" + +Lulu looked at him with parted lips. + +"Say," she said, "I never thought about it being that." + +Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, +pray?" + +"Ninian's," said Lulu. + +"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feel +sorry for you. But the disgrace--that'd reflect on me. See?" + +"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?" + +Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leaves +her husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all." + +"I should hate that," said Lulu. + +"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you." + +"Dwight, Dwight," said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'll +hear--" + +As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve. + +"Lulie," she said, "was his other wife--was she _there_?" + +"No, no, mother. She wasn't there." + +Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad," +she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out." + +"No," Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother." + +Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, +but the large issues left her blank. + +Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, the +Deacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burner +and faced about, saying: + +"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, to +make your home with us in the future, on the old terms." + +"Well--" + +"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?" + +"No. He didn't give me any money--only enough to get home on. And I +kept my suit--why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken any +money!" + +"That means," said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to live +here--on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. +Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition--on condition that +this disgraceful business is kept to ourselves." + +She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, +quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing. + +"Truly, Lulu," said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. +But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd be +about all of us." + +Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth." + +Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu," he said, "are you _sure_ of +that?" + +"Sure?" + +"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?" + +"Proofs?" + +"Letters--documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he was +speaking the truth?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu. "Proofs--no. He told me." + +"He told you!" + +"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him to +have to do. What proofs--" She stopped, puzzled. + +"Didn't it occur to you," said Dwight, "that he might have told you that +because he didn't want to have to go on with it?" + +As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, +looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightly +fallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust she +began to rub at that. + +"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side. + +"I may as well tell you," he said, "that I myself have no idea that +Ninian told you the truth. He was always imagining things--you saw +that. I know him pretty well--have been more or less in touch with him +the whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever married +before." + +Lulu continued to rub at her skirt. + +"I never thought of that," she said. + +"Look here," Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had some +little tiff when he told you?" + +"No--no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina." + +She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile. + +"Evidently not," Dwight said drily. + +Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress--and my shoes--and my +hat. And another dress, too." She found the pins and took off her hat. +"He liked the red wing," she said. "I wanted black--oh, Dwight! He did +tell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mute +witness. + +Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too. + +"Even if it is true," said he, "I desire that you should keep silent +and protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts to +you for your own profit." + +"My own profit!" + +She said no more, but rose and moved to the door. + +"Lulu--you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't have +this known--even if it was so." + +"You have it in your hands," said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, for +anything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You also +have it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. That +is not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctly +unpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself." + +Lulu went on, into the passage. + +"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly. + +"Mamma," said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes--Dwight thinks +she's married all right now--and that it's all right, all the time." + +"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes," said Mrs. Bett, and left the room +with her daughter. + +Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice: + +"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?" + + * * * * * + +When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready. + +"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times." + +Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to the +table. + +"Lulu's the only one in _this_ house can cook the bacon so's it'll +chew," Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and held +contentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right. + +"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festive +toaster." He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, became +breezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well +back and gently shaken. + +Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that +she, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to +anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, +which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. She +stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly. + +Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. +Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her old +offices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested +milk toast and went to make it. + +"Mamma," Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Ninian +coming too?" + +"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions." + +"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?" + +"_No_. Don't say anything at all about her." + +"But, mamma. What has she done?" + +"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?" + +Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. But +now Dwight said: + +"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?" + +"I don't know," said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me like +a little girl now." + +"Shame, Di," said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the +side of Di. + +"I'm eighteen," Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school." + +"Then act so," boomed her father. + +Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and there +imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to +questions skilfully shaped. + +When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief," displayed a +hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed +him: + +"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address." + +"Well?" + +"Well, I wish you'd give it to me." + +Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem," he said, "that +you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu." + +"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?" + +"Certainly I have it." + +"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paper +and a pencil stump. + +"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not be sensible and leave +this alone? No good can come by--" + +"But why shouldn't I have his address?" + +"If everything is over between you, why should you?" + +"But you say he's still my husband." + +Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as +I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch +with him again." + +"You won't give it to me?" + +"My dear Lulu, in all kindness--no." + +His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different coloured +borders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she had +embroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her. + + * * * * * + +They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs. + +"_Where_ are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing that +Lulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, what +you so dressed up for?" + +Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, and +wore the tilting hat with the red wing. + +"Ninian bought me this," said Lulu only. + +"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well--out of +sight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her. + +"Why?" Lulu asked. + +"Why set people wondering till we have to?" + +"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned," said Lulu, and went +down the walk. + +Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her life +before," she said. + +She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down the +street. + +"That gives me the funniest feeling," said Ina, "as if Lulu had on +clothes bought for her by some one that wasn't--that was--" + +"By her husband who has left her," said Dwight sadly. + +"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she was +there; had been there the greater part of the day--most of the time +staring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu. + +"That's what it is, my little girl," said Dwight, and shook his head. + +"Well, I think it's a shame," said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninian +is a slunge." + +"Di!" + +"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to tell +everybody." + +"There is," said Dwight, "no need for secrecy--now." + +"Dwight!" said Ina--Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but it +must have been her lashes that looked so startled. + +"No need whatever for secrecy," he repeated with firmness. "The truth +is, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it." + +"But, Dwight--how awful for Lulu...." + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "has us to stand by her." + +Lulu, walking down the main street, thought: + +"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebody +behind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've got +to speak to her...." + +One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her some +version of: + +"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it _isn't_ Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, +what are you doing here? I thought...." + +"I'm back to stay," she said. + +"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, +but we were surprised! You're the sly one--" + +"My--Mr. Deacon isn't here." + +"Oh." + +"No. He's West." + +"Oh, I see." + +Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, could +invent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away. + +She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at the +post-office--with only one or two there had she to go through her +examination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for a +new ordeal. + +To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, a +slim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling. + +"Excuse me," said Lulu faintly. + +The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paper +which he held. + +"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?" + +"Let's see--you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?" + +"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he might +have given you his address--" she dwindled away. + +"Wait a minute," said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don't +you send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist." + +"I'll do that," Lulu said absurdly, and turned away. + +She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from them +all. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But when +she passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw her +reflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure. + +"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner. + +Abruptly her confidence rose. + +Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. They +were in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch with +Bobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantly +singing. + +Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't we +look like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. +Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Ina +looked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and ate +cardamom seeds. + +"Whom did you see?" Ina asked. + +Lulu named them. + +"See them to talk to?" from Dwight. + +Oh, yes. They had all stopped. + +"What did they say?" Ina burst out. + +They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more. + +Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women that +cock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all over +town. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out--should do so, in +fact. Still the story would be all over town. + +"Dwight," said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address." + +"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously. + +"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted." + +"My dear Lulu," Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. +Have you no delicacy?" + +Lulu smiled--a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner of +her mouth. + +"Yes," she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'm +married or not." + +Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use his +shoulders for the purpose. + +"I myself will take this up with my brother," he said. "I will write to +him about it." + +Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him _now_!" she cried. + +"Really," said Dwight, lifting his brows. + +"Now--now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materials +from their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before him +and stood by him. "Write to him now," she said again. + +"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd." + +She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight--and they didn't know whether +he had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him--oh, don't you +see? Help me." + +Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor even +to stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was to +look to her own male merely. + +"Well," she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his own +way? Wouldn't that be better?" + +She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, +wouldn't that be better? + +"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. +Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked +away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance. + +"Lulie," she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?" + +Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before. + +"You write that letter to Ninian," she said, "and you make him tell you +so you'll understand. _I_ know he spoke the truth. But I want you to +know." + +"M--m," said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it all +over town--as soon as you have the proofs." + +"I'm going to tell it all over town," said Lulu, "just as it is--unless +you write to him now." + +"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't." + +"I would," said Lulu. "I will." + +Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But then +he sneered. + +"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?" + +"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!" + +"I would," said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it." + +"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, +"unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now." + +"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked. + +"Leave everything," said Lulu. + +"Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not +say in what particulars, but Dwight knew. + +Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of +peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw. + +He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the +inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather +than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do +anything." + +He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in +secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it. + +"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu. + +Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows. + +"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." +He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's +nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. +He hummed a bar. + +"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked. + +Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too +dry," she said. + + * * * * * + +In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu. + +"I saw," said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything to +avoid having a scene--you know that." His glance swept a little +anxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired. + +"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it," she +now dared to say. "It's--it's not a nice position for Lulu." + +"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?" + +"Why, Ninian," said Ina. + +Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself," he said. "To tell you the truth, +I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in that +restaurant." + +"Why, but, Dwight--" + +"Brazen," he said. "Oh, it was brazen." + +"It was just fun, in the first place." + +"But no really nice woman--" he shook his head. + +"Dwight! Lulu _is_ nice. The idea!" + +He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know. + +Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, +was silent. + +"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I +should never think of you as sisters." + +"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life +behind her--but this was sweet and she could not resist. + +"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position +she's in--married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order +to get free. Now, no really nice woman--" + +"No really nice man--" Ina did say that much. + +"Ah," said Dwight, "but _you_ could never be in such a position. No, no. +Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere." + +Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as +might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed. + +"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with +ladylike feelings." + +It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until +ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young +voices. + +"Bobby," Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me as +if you really wanted to kiss me, to-night." + + + + +VI + + +SEPTEMBER + +The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality +(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above a +store which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, and +had suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies served +lunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months of +disuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to a +music man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired. + +The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his window +with sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissed +their hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, Dwight +Herbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door of +the new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, was +rubbing at the face of a piano. + +"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?" + +"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can," Dwight replied. +"Or," said he, "I might marry you free, either one." + +On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, the +idle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip. + +"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked him +once. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural--never +entered my head to be anything else. But _pianos_--" + +The music man--his name was Neil Cornish--threw up his chin in a boyish +fashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down the +Warbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound the +same. "I'm studying law when I get the chance," said Cornish, as one who +makes a bid to be thought of more highly. + +"I see," said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb. + +Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a little +inheritance some day--not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel a +certain confidence.... + +"_Don't_ it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew. + +Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never compared +Warbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively at +lunch: + +"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these +nights?" + +"Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it." + +"What if I brought him up to-night?" + +Up went Ina's eyebrows. _To-night_? + +"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," +Lulu contributed. + +Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. +This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight's +informal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, +now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guest +replied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved in +some pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness. + +They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the time +with a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was one +of the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked the +people--they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, already +liked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. +She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Come +to supper, all." Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. +Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgot +to introduce her. + +"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is never +anywhere." + +A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, grace +was to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a generic +appeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. And +there was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stages +of men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial of +taking food to nourish life--and more. + +At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh upon +her--perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, +crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear," she +said audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring." + +The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jests +about everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbleton +happenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish tried +hard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. +He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some more +stories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiously +pinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth and +thereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if it +could be from _that_. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping a +second time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed on +Di about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, first +thing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughed +heartily and lifted her glass of water. + +"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelated +effort to lift the talk to musical levels. + +"Well, do you know," said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don't +know a black note from a white one." + +"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily," said Di's mother. "But then +how can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried. + +"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales." For the first time it +occurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm really +studying law," he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, +from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them to +try over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out of +practice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Di +made one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, so +intolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be found +wanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who had +ensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think? + +Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, +"Don't you play, Miss--?" He had not caught her name--no stranger ever +did catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett," he explained +with loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu had +usually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons and +she had stopped "taking"--a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. +This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But now +Lulu was heard to say serenely: + +"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert--two weeks +ago." + +They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having had +experiences of which they did not know. + +"Yes," she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia." She flushed, and lifted +her eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course," she said, "I don't +know the names of all the different instruments they played, but there +were a good many." She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. +"They had some lovely tunes," she said. She knew that the subject was +not exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large," she +superadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it was +too warm." + +"I see," said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That he +too had been in Savannah, Georgia. + +Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and she +caught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?" +she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of the +provincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance to +maintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in that +town and that he was there for two hours. + +"I was there for a week." Lulu's superiority was really pretty. + +"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next. + +Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings--but at her "we" she +flushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. This +was the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life. + +After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try to +escape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate in +his insistence on the third person--"She loves it, we have to humour +her, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"--and more +of the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who looked +uncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paid +no attention to anybody that night, not because she had not been +introduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely as +another form of "tantrim." A self-indulgence. + +They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow and +Bobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended to +have forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She met +the objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, +set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company," +at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousness +she said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than ever +because she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to be +distinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was as +primitive as pollen. + +Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should have +outgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown none +of these things. + +"That just spoils croquet," she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have a +real game." + +From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among the +waterproofs, Lulu stepped forth. + +"I'll play a game," she said. + + * * * * * + +When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Ina +turned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. And +Ina's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, +primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert's +late wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood into +the functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. +Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, +strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that a +moral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. But +of course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verb +should be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or the +minister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never be +transitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But it +is. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to her +husband her incredible responsibility. + +"You know, Herbert," said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here _very_ +much, what we may expect." + +"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply. + +Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, +pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when she +didn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even play +her games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not to +understand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina _had_ to +please him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to please +nobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historical +home forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community. + +"He'll fall in love with Di," said Ina. + +"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in love +with her, _I_ should say." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?" + +"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of." + +"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight--a stranger so." + +"On the other hand," said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal about +him." + +With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about this +stranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a number +of stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks. + +"He has a little inheritance coming to him--shortly," Dwight wound up. + +"An inheritance--really? How much, Dwight?" + +"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?" + +"I _thought_ he was from a good family," said Ina. + +"My mercenary little pussy!" + +"Well," she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did really +accept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking older +man pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?" + +Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he left +all such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetual +rehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience. + +A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was something +overpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of his +negligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For he +looked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in the +street as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines of +his life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And a +preposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos near +the front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridors +of the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, and +furnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity in +phrasing, but how mean that little room would look--cot bed, washbowl +and pitcher, and little mirror--almost certainly a mirror with a wavy +surface, almost certainly that. + +"And then, you know," he always added, "I'm reading law." + +The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, +Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing. + +Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat of +her emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, the +beloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the role of +womanly little girl. + +"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried. + +As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightish +instrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in with +another lamp. + +"Do you need this?" she asked. + +They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and this +Lulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian's +photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed +the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands. + +"You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only +to those who--presumably--loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had +shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return. + +She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian had +bought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplessly +about. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called: + +"See here! Aren't _you_ going to sing?" + +"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? _Lulu_?" + +She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony at +being spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Album +of Old Favourites," which Cornish had elected to bring, and now she +struck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still, looking +rather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. +The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood a +little away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian's +picture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows +and watched Lulu. + +When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said +"ba-ird." + +"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!" + +"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted. + +Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned to +him now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal. + +"Lulu the dove," she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you." + +It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law. + +Cornish was bending over Di. + +"What next do you say?" he asked. + +She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, +lovely sacred song here," she suggested, and looked down. + +"You like sacred music?" + +She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said: +"I love it." + +"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece," Cornish +declared. + +Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face. + +"Give _me_ ragtime," he said now, with the effect of bursting out of +somewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly. + +Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smile +for him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look. + +"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge,'" Cornish suggested. "That's got up real +attractive." + +Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the very +one she had been hoping to hear him sing. + +They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge." + +"Oh," cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such a +perfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it. + +"Lulu is," said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have to +hear herself sing." + +It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About that +photograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, called +attention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing them +all. Everybody must have understood--excepting the Plows. These two +gentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and at +the melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from another +world. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetrating +plane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite of +earth, say, flowers and fire and music. + +Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ran +badly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running. + +"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them. + +"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I mean +that I'd know how to do? A job for money.... I mean a job...." + +She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them. + + * * * * * + +Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. She +heard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be right +there." + +Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he ran +down the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours that +night, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and she +could fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about two +hours of sleep the whole night long. + +Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought up +Dwight--"made him what he was," he often complacently accused her. It +was a note on a postal card--she had often written a few lines on a +postal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina get +her some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say that +she was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her while +she was still able to visit? If he was not too busy.... + +Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it up +by the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before they +left, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned the +postal card. + +And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight--you can't tell how long you'll +be gone?" + +"Of course not. How should I tell?" + +"No. And that letter might come while you're away." + +"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!" + +"Dwight--I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it--" + +"Opened it?" + +"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly--" + +"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly." + +"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?" + +"But you say you know what'll be in it." + +"So I did know--till you--I've got to see that letter, Dwight." + +"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you know +how I hate having my mail interfered with." + +She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that." She said +nothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousand +injunctions. + +"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu--if it occurs to her +to have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You might +ask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watch +Monona's handkerchief--the child will never take a clean one if I'm not +here to tell her...." + +She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus. + +In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward: + +"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threw +back his head and lifted his eyebrows. + +In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife. + +"Ina," he said. "It's _ma_. And she's going to die. It can't be...." + +Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there with +her." + +It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind of +fresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speak +through him and minister. + +Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came. + +Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail that +evening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, and +she carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. She +passed those who were surmising what her story might be, who were +telling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more than +they. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, and +spoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's foster +mother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed. + +Cornish stepped down and overtook her. + +"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two--" + +She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night--could you--" It +was as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease. + +Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed. + +"Come for supper," Lulu said. + +Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be.... Well, say! Such was his acceptance. + +He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in the +country with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return. + +Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were at +ease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. It +became one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was +_there_. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu had +picked flowers for the table--a task coveted by her but usually +performed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled a +vase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had made +ice-cream. + +"I don't see what Di can be thinking of," Lulu said. "It seems like +asking you under false--" She was afraid of "pretences" and ended +without it. + +Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he said +contentedly. + +"Kind of a relief, _I_ think, to have her gone," said Mrs. Bett, from +the fulness of something or other. + +"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile. + +"Why, my land, I love her," Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles and +chitters." + +Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straight +face. The honest fellow now laughed loudly. + +"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so _very_ much in love." And again +she thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinks +Ninian got tired of me." Deep in her heart there abode her certainty +that this was not so. + +By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu and +Cornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leaf +side-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she need +not see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisement +of dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferently +fingering both. + +"Monona," Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!" + +Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive," he said--it +was his formula of praise for his music. + +"But we can't try it over," Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come." + +"Well, say," said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of Old +Favourites here. Some of them we know by heart." + +Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something," she said, "there's some of these +I can play with one hand--by ear. Maybe--" + +"Why sure!" said Cornish. + +Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the +nights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality of +being Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In +her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it +looked even more abundant--but she had not dared to try it so until +to-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin +hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped +and strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud +pedal--the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "How +Can I Leave Thee," and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, +Long Ago," and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay." Beyond open doors, +Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers +ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar. + +"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: +"You're quite a musician." + +"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I've +never done this in front of anybody," she owned. "I don't know what +Dwight and Ina'd say...." She drooped. + +They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred and +quickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, +and poured this forth, even thus trampled. + +"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to," said +Cornish. + +"Oh, no," Lulu said again. + +"Sing and play and cook--" + +"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something." But this she +had not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened. + +"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought." + +"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work." + +"I see," said Cornish. "I never thought of that," he added. She caught +his speculative look--he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, +as who in Warbleton had not heard? + +"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. +This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned in +her an unspeakable relief. + +"Oh, no," Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked. + +"Yes, you are," she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'd +like 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell." + +Cornish frowned, trying to understand. + +"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair." + +"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have." + +"Oh, that--" said Cornish. "That's not right." + +"No. But there it is. It puts me--you see what it does to me. They +think--they all think my--husband left me." + +It was curious to hear her bring out that word--tentatively, +deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant. + +Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well...." + +Before she willed it, she was telling him: + +"He didn't. He didn't leave me," she cried with passion. "He had another +wife." Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself. + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news of +her state where there would be neither hardness nor censure. + +"We were in Savannah, Georgia," she said. "We were going to leave for +Oregon--going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he was +going out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I was +sitting the same as there. He opened the door again--the same as here. I +saw he looked different--and he said quick: 'There's something you'd +ought to know before we go.' And of course I said, 'What?' And he said +it right out--how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years she +ran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. +So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me." + +"No, no. Of course he didn't," Cornish said earnestly. "But Lord +sakes--" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable +and sat down. + +"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell--he thinks it isn't true. He +thinks--he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted--" Lulu +looked up at him. + +"You see," she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me." + +"But why don't you make your--husband--I mean, why doesn't he write to +Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth--" Cornish burst out. + +Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare +sweetness. + +"He has written," she said. "The letter's there." + +He followed her look, scowled at the two letters. + +"What'd he say?" + +"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he +comes back." + +"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. + +This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted +it with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You--you--you're +too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't." + +To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she +could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy. + +"And there ain't," said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I can +do." + +And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his +face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so +fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, +ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the +time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, +he was there, and she could talk to him. + +"It's--it's funny," Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just _could_ +know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she's +dead." + +This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand. + +"Sure you would," he said briefly. + +"Cora Waters," Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And +she never heard of me." + +"No," Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss. + +In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared. + +"I scraped up everything," she remarked, "and left the dishes set." + +"That's right, mamma," Lulu said. "Come and sit down." + +Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected +of her. + +"I don't hear any more playin' and singin'," she remarked. "It sounded +real nice." + +"We--we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma." + +"I use' to play on the melodeon," Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and +examined her right hand. + +"Well!" said Cornish. + +She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, when +she was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. She +rehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at old +fears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen--a +tragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At the +end she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she had +been telling the story of some one else. + +"Give us one more piece," she said. + +"Can we?" Cornish asked. + +"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old,'" Lulu said. + +"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish. + +They sang it, to Lulu's right hand. + +"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie," +cried, Mrs. Bett. + +Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then. + +Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. +Cornish rose to go. + +"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded. + +"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice was +sharp. + +"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything I +could do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?" + +That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her to +feel no intrusion. + +"Oh, thank you," she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel--" + +"Of course it is," said Cornish heartily. + +They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamour +from the grass, tiny voices, insisting. + +"Of course," said Lulu, "of course you won't--you wouldn't--" + +"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not," he repeated, "for +dollars." + +"But I knew you wouldn't," she told him. + +He took her hand. "Good-night," he said. "I've had an awful nice time +singing and listening to you talk--well, of course--I mean," he cried, +"the supper was just fine. And so was the music." + +"Oh, no," she said. + +Mrs. Bett came into the hall. + +"Lulie," she said, "I guess you didn't notice--this one's from Ninian." + +"Mother--" + +"I opened it--why, of course I did. It's from Ninian." + +Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and a +yellowed newspaper clipping. + +"See," said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hall +singer--married last night to Ninian Deacon--' Say, Lulie, that must be +her...." + +Lulu threw out her hands. + +"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He _was_ married to her, just like he +said!" + + * * * * * + +The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually at +the side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wanted +to see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking with +a troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like the +hair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruit +and honey upon the table seemed her only possible food. + +"You look troubled, Lulu," Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?" + +"No," said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask--quite a lot of places. I +guess the bakery is going to let me make cake." + +"I knew it would come to you," Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought that +this was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after the +cakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright and +quiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwight +never read from a book at table. + +"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know what +she wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceived +none. + +"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, +Lulu thought. + +"Well," said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me about +last night." + +"Last night?" + +"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where did +you go?" She turned to Jenny. + +Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across the +river and carried supper and then we came home." + +"What time did you get home?" + +"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was." + +Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed there +at Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on account +of Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To which +Lulu said an "of course," but first she stared at Jenny and so impaired +the strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go. + +"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers. + +Lulu wanted to say: "My husband _was_ married before, just as he said he +was." But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, +and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony. + +"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Lulu +spoke formally and her rehearsals were evident. + +Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her." + +With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at her +helplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually: + +"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yard +sitting in the hammock till all hours." + +Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on: + +"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't say +a word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters.' So I left her stay where +she was." + +"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone." + +"I forgot it," Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all--" She +talked of Ninian's letter. + +Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu's +softness and laxness. + +"I don't know what your mother'll say," said Lulu, "and I don't know +what people'll think." + +"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway," said Di, +and left the room. + +Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she was +anxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwight +and Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought of +Di's girlish folly, her irritating independence--"and there," Lulu +thought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew." Her mind dwelt +too on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. But +when all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She must +leave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him that +she had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to _do_? +The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof. + +Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight and +flat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about these +things. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one in +distress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strong +and swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu with +dragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative than +she had ever been. + +Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then humming +an air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through the +kitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on the +elm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden block +pavement. + +"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, like +the burden of a comic song. + +"Hush, mother," Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflicting +with her honesty. + +"Speak the truth and shame the devil," Mrs. Bett contended. + +When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Lulu +had heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectation +that she would join them. + +"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time," she thought, and for a time +said nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'd +better put her plate in the oven." + +Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating a +baked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting a +profile of passionate absorption. + +"Why, Di went off," she said. + +"Went off!" + +"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk." + +"She must have gone to Jenny's," said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do that +without telling me." + +Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" she +cried in sisterly enjoyment. + +It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at the +table that Mrs. Bett observed: + +"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel." + +"Her satchel?" + +"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it." + +"Mother," said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying a +satchel?" + +"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said I +didn't think Inie--" + +"Mother! Which way did she go?" + +Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way," she said. "I seen +her." + +Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railway +station. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city for +shopping, would be just about leaving. + +"Monona," said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. +Mother, you keep her--" + +Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cotton +dress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she was +still two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty +"pulling out." + +She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, +her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and to +the ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains and +perturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her: + +"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?" + +"Sure she did," said Lenny. + +"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now. + +"He went in on the Local," said Lenny, and his eyes widened. + +"Where?" + +"See." Lenny thought it through. "Millton," he said. "Yes, sure. +Millton. Both of 'em." + +"How long till another train?" + +"Well, sir," said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. +Seventeen was late this morning--she'll be along, jerk of a lamb's +tail." + +"Then," said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without me +paying till after--and you got to lend me two dollars." + +"Sure thing," said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railway +system at her feet. + +"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny's +signal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow express +slowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbed +aboard. + +Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do? +Millton! She had been there but once, years ago--how could she ever +find anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriff +or somebody--no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight and +Ina were going to be angry now! And Di--little Di. As Lulu thought of +her she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di to +sew. + +In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. +She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands to +her hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She was +pulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train. + +"Could you tell me," she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotel +in Millton?" + +Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia. + +The conductor looked curiously at her. + +"Why, the Hess House," he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meet +you?" he asked, kindly. + +"No," said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks--" Her voice trailed +away. + +"Beats all," thought the conductor, using his utility formula for the +universe. + +In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. +Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be a +new servant there. + +"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobby +entrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?" + +The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, it +seemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, +but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end of +the office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her. + +"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on your +book." + +Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, +showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names and +strange writing presented themselves there, he said: + +"Tried the parlour?" + +And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pen +divorced from his ear for the express purpose. + +In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's most +pressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers in +the Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of the +intensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-coloured +chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone. + +Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started +up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the +first thing that occurred to her: + +"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel." + +"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "My +goodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?" + +"For you," said Lulu. "You--you--you'd ought not to be here, Di." + +"What's that to you?" Di cried. + +"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----" + +Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she to +go on? "Di," she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why not +let us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this sounded +as if she were talking about a tea-party. + +"Who said we wanted to be married?" + +"Well, he's here." + +"Who said he's here?" + +"Isn't he?" + +Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu," she said, "you're a funny person to be +telling _me_ what to do." + +Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was married +happy, in a home." + +"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as I +think best." + +Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to find +something to say. "What do people say to people," she wondered, "when +it's like this?" + +"Getting married is for your whole life," was all that came to her. + +"Yours wasn't," Di flashed at her. + +Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. She +must deal with this right--that was what her manner seemed to say. And +how should she deal? + +"Di," she cried, "come back with me--and wait till mamma and papa get +home." + +"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one." + +"Well, but how young that is!" + +"It is to you." + +"Di! This is wrong--it _is_ wrong." + +"There's nothing wrong about getting married--if you stay married." + +"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know." + +"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And I +won't stay at home--I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten years +old." + +Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding. + +"Why, Di," she said, "do you feel that way too?" + +Di missed this. She went on: + +"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowed +to do a thing I feel. I want to be away--I will be away!" + +"I know about that part," Lulu said. + +She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di was +suffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had not +thought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, +so--asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House at +Millton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were let +alone? + +"You don't know what it's like," Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughed +at and paid no attention to, everything you say." + +"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?" + +She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If _this_ was why Di was +leaving home.... + +"But, Di," she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?" + +By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody," she said, "and +it might as well be him." + +"But is it him?" + +"Yes, it is," said Di. "But," she added, "I know I could love almost +anybody real nice that was nice to me." And this she said, not in her +own right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, or +else the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke through +her, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned its +face to be recognised. + +"Di!" she cried. + +"It's true. You ought to know that." She waited for a moment. "You did +it," she added. "Mamma said so." + +At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive its +truth. + +"I know what I want to do, I guess," Di muttered, as if to try to cover +what she had said. + +Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understood +Di, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Di +actually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that they +were both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were two +women. And she must make Di know that she understood her. + +"Di," Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. +Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you--" + +She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtue +of that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said: + +"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!" + +Lulu glanced down. "I know," she said, "but I guess you'll have to put +up with me." + +The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those who +examine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. +These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di kept +silence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing to +do with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "What +do you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply. + +"I mean I'm going to stay with you." + +Di laughed scornfully--she was again the rebellious child. "I guess +Bobby'll have something to say about that," she said insolently. + +"They left you in my charge." + +"But I'm not a baby--the idea, Aunt Lulu!" + +"I'm going to stay right with you," said Lulu. She wondered what she +should do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that bright +lobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. +And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in her +agonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes. + +Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, and +looked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing more +to say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive. + +They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room. + +Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession. + +The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, +came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glanced +sidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease. + +The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on an +importance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby--a Bobby who +wished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in the +Hess House at Millton. + +The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no less +than overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure upon +which he found himself. + +The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobby +into whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief. + +Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her role, +ignored Lulu. + +"Bobby! Is it all right?" + +Bobby looked over her head. + +"Miss Lulu," he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu." + +He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug. + +"Bobby," said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but she +can't. I've told her so." + +"She don't have to stop us," quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped." + +"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctive +in her melodrama. + +Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out. + +"We're minors," said he. + +"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that." + +"No. They knew _I_ was." + +"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?" + +"But I am." + +Di stared. "For pity sakes," she said, "don't you know how to do +anything?" + +"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head held +very stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin. + +"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we're +responsible--that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny...." + +"You wanted me to lie?" he said. + +"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib." + +"Well, but this--" he stared at her. + +"I never heard of such a thing," Di cried accusingly. + +"Anyhow," he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've told +our ages. We've got to have our folks in on it." + +"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded. + +"What else?" + +"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and be +married there." + +"Di," said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go." + +Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He replied +stonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her little +hand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulu +sitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge," Di +cried, and rose. + +Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don't +know what I can say." Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I've +told Di," she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. +Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take me +along, I guess." She spoke in a manner of distinct apology. + +At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at the +carpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation in +the eternal query: How did I get into it? + +"Bobby," said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?" + +This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di had +counted. He said loudly: + +"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you or +any other girl." + +Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like a +man in a story," she said, "as--as papa is." + +The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time to +stay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between the +lovers. + +"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, and +swallowed. + +"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out--" said Di. + +"I don't want to back out," Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but I +won't--" + +"Come on, Aunt Lulu," said Di grandly. + +Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought up +the rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Heads +turned to look at her. They passed into the street. + +"You two go ahead," said Lulu, "so they won't think--" + +They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, and +thought of her broken shoes. + +At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, he +said, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. And +Lulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all. + +"Aunt Lulu," said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. You +look as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here." + +"All right, Di," said Lulu humbly. + + * * * * * + +It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bett +stood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron. + +"Surprise for you!" she called brightly. + +Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall. + +"Darling!" + +She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw the +travelling bag. + +"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?" + +In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. She +now laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs. + +Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen. + +"Well, where have _you_ been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw such +a family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tell +anything." + +"Mamma knows a-plenty," snapped Mrs. Bett. + +Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down. + +"You'll catch it--you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill general +warning. + +Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about her +bag and now she says I don't know nothing," she complained. "There I +knew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her and +spoil her gettin' home." She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a good +notion not to eat a mouthful o' supper," she announced. + +"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've got +enough to get through to-night." + +Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him the +mysterious circumstance of the bag, could hear the exaggerated air of +the casual with which he always received the excitement of another, and +especially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, +and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pity +for Di, as if she herself were about to face them. + +There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cotton +dress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered the +dining-room. + +"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown." + +She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression--almost +as if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye. + +"_That_ shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, +aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!" + +Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head was +moving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought better +of it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on another +dress?" + +Lulu sat down in her place. "No," she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, +Dwight." + +"It seems to me--" he began. + +"I don't want any," said Monona. + +But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, +who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly: + +"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulu +been with mamma's new bag?" + +"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, that +alters it." + +"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly. + +"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt," said Dwight Herbert, "events +begin to event." + +"Come, Di, let's hear," said Ina. + +"Ina," said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? How +is----" + +Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his face +dropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes. + +"She'll never be any better," he said. "I know we've said good-bye to +her for the last time." + +"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu. + +"She knew it too," he said. "It--it put me out of business, I can tell +you. She gave me my start--she took all the care of me--taught me to +read--she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened his +eyes wide on account of their dimness. + +"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there," said +Ina, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of the +journey. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that +he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, +told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, +"Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow. + +"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she +went on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. About +the bag." + +"Oh, mamma," said Di, "let me eat my supper." + +"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first what +you've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?" + +"Yes," said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu. + +But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Di +would say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again. + +"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her--where in the world had you +been? Why, but you couldn't have been with her--in that dress. And yet +I saw you come in the gate together." + +"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly did +not so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?" + +"It's a good dress," Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's a +good dress. Lulie wore it on the street--of course she did. She was gone +a long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and _then_ she hadn't come." + +"Well," said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where were +you both?" + +One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, +identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacy +was incredible. + +"Put an end to this, Lulu," he commanded. "Where were you two--since you +make such a mystery?" + +Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father was +now clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herself +temporising, for the moment making common cause with Di. + +"Oh," she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if we +want one?" + +"Upon my word," Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don't +know about your secrets, Lulu." + +Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed to +bleed. + +"I'm glad for my dinner," remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me." +On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best to +make her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burst +in. + +"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there--come. I can't stand +it. What am I going to do?" + +"Di, dear," said Lulu. "Tell your mother--you must tell her." + +"She'll cry," Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa--and he'll never stop +talking about it. I know him--every day he'll keep it going. After he +scolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die--I'll die, Aunt Lulu." + +Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about? +I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting...." + +"Let's go out on the porch," said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, +Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way that +she knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in this +world.... + +Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress. + +"A bridal robe," said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu--what are _you_ wearing +a bridal robe for--eh?" + +She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, she +reflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour--had +not yet asked for his mail. + +It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the village +street came in--laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Lights +starred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on the +board walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish. + +Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the time +broken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clock +strike reassuring dawn. + +"Lulu," said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!" + +Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse," she said. + +Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sick +woman--and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Di +was curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply and +directly--the rarest of Di's manners, in fact not Di's manner at all. +Lulu spoke not at all--it was enough to have this respite. + +After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besetting +fear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived. + +And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, +recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobby +was plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. +It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And it +was no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully to +pierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know the +kind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her own +pride--you know how they do that?" + +"Well," said Ina, "my part, I think _the_ most awful thing is to have +somebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbed +and spiteful with such treatment." + +"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say my +prayers!" + +Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, +but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to hear +devotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their two +divided channels. + +She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossed +the lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort in +Mrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour. + +"Don't you help me," Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I can +help myself yet awhile." + +She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, she +said clearly: + +"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkin +eloped off together to-day. _He_!" The last was a single note of +laughter, high and brief. + +The silence fell. + +"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily. + +But Ina said tensely: "_Is_ it nonsense? Haven't I been trying and +trying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!" + +Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false. + +"Listen to that, Bobby," she said. "Listen!" + +"That won't do, Di," said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't you +try!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authentic +anxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity of +the moment by her indignation. + +"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manly +before them all. + +But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Here +was something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like a +mask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as if +the sound shattered a thousand filaments--where? + +"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened among +them. + +"Yes, papa," said Di, very small. + +"Answer your mother. Answer _me_. Is there anything to this absurd +tale?" + +"No, papa," said Di, trembling. + +"Nothing whatever?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?" + +"No, papa." + +"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this report +repeated, send them to _me_." + +"Well, but that satchel--" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less as +a function than as a leech. + +"One moment," said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the child +has said." + +There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had not +instinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she saw +Dwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself a +child in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as was +Dwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. She +burned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. She +threw up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this. + +"If you cannot settle this with Di," said Lulu, "you cannot settle it +with me." + +"A shifty answer," said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresenting +facts, you know, Lulu." + +"Bobby wanted to say something," said Ina, still troubled. + +"No, Mrs. Deacon," said Bobby, low. "I have nothing--more to say." + +In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. +It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everything +now. + +"Bobby," she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?" + +He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, +blurring. + +"And anyhow," said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We _didn't_ elope, did we?" + +"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby. + +The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. +But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take his +regret that they had not gone on. + +"Well, I came for one thing," said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn't +stand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di--I hate a lie. And now +to-night--" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather," he said, +"they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the way +I've lost you now." + +"Bobby!" + +"It's true. We mustn't talk about it." + +"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all." + +"You can't go back," said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that." + +She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turned +toward the house, and met Cornish leaving. + +"Miss Di," he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, remember +it's with me!" + +Her defence was ready--her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobby +might hear. + +She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a little +white thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains. + +"If," she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with Bobby +Larkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times a +day." + +"Really, darling?" cried Ina. + +"Really and truly," said Di, "and he knows it, too." + +Lulu listened and read all. + +"I wondered," said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see that +Bobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!" + +When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajoling +confidence: + +"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "_why_ did you and Di have the +black bag?" + +So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually: +"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?" + +"There are two letters on the parlour table," Lulu answered. To Ina she +added: "Let's go in the parlour." + +As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs to +bed--when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched her +extremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she were +half minded to claim the protection so long lost. + +Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little," said +he, tirelessly. + +Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, +said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement of +dental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he said +again, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "An +epistle from my dear brother Ninian." The words failed, as he saw the +unsealed flap. + +"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he had +no climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used on +small occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeper +horror than "You picked the flower"--once put to Lulu. + +She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly at +some one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horror +and sympathy, a nice half and half. + +"Your sister has been opening my mail," he said. + +"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian--" + +"It is _my_ mail," he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might open +it. Of course I told her no." + +"Well," said Ina practically, "what does he say?" + +"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is this +disregard of my wishes." His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, +devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be more +effectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?" + +Lulu was not looking at him. "None," she said--not defiantly, or +ingratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None." + +"Why did you do it?" + +She smiled faintly and shook her head. + +"Dwight," said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. +Hurry up." + +"She is," said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman." + +He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts. + +"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for a +month, you find that you were _not_ married to him." + +Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph. + +"You see, Dwight," she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. He +didn't just leave me." + +Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerably +worse off than if he had." + +"Oh, no," Lulu said serenely. "No. Why," she said, "you know how it all +came about. He--he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If he +hadn't--hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don't +you?" + +Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked. + +She said nothing. + +"Look here, Lulu," he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you say +about it the better, for all our sakes--_you_ see that, don't you?" + +"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell the +truth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs ..." + +"Tell who?" + +"Tell everybody. I want them to know." + +"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?" + +She looked at him now. "Your feeling?" + +"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?" + +"But it's me--it's me." + +"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'll +drop." + +"I want the people to know the truth," Lulu said. + +"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intend +to sue Ninian?" + +"Sue him? Oh no!" + +"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter." + +Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her hands +awkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of her +ear, she kept swallowing. + +"Tell you, Lulu," said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests are +the same in this thing--only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing to +you now. Is he?" + +"Why, no," said Lulu in surprise. + +"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell this +disgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What do +you say, Ina--considering Di and all?" + +"Oh, goodness," said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll never +get away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds." + +Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her straying +hair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic. + +"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plump +hands. "Oh, Dwight--when I think of it: What have I done--what have _we_ +done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband--be so protected, +so loved, when other women.... Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near to +Lulu. "You _know_ how sorry I am--we all are...." + +Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands were +stiffly joined. + +"Then," she said, "give me the only thing I've got--that's my pride. My +pride--that he didn't want to get rid of me." + +They stared at her. "What about _my_ pride?" Dwight called to her, as +across great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know my +brother did a thing like that?" + +"You can't help that," said Lulu. + +"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won't +shame us like this before all our friends." + +"You want me to promise what?" + +"I want you--I ask you," Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me that +you will keep this, with us--a family secret." + +"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!" + +It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out her +hands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't you +understand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life--on your +money. I've not been strong enough to work, they say--well, but I've +been strong enough to be a hired girl in your house--and I've been glad +to pay for my keep.... But there wasn't anything about it I liked. +Nothing about being here that I liked.... Well, then I got a little +something, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went off +on the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. And +then it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here and +went into your kitchen again--I don't know why I came back. I s'pose +because I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more--but +what have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to me +having folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'em +all wonder.... I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't...." + +"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?" +Dwight sneered. + +"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know--maybe he wanted me only just +because he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won't +have folks think he went and left me." + +"That," said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity." + +"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?" + +"And bring disgrace on us all." + +"It's me--it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terrible +tribal sense, was shattered by it. + +"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di." + +"_Di?_" He had Lulu's eyes now. + +"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking," said Dwight. + +"How would it hurt Di?" + +"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'd +hurt her?" + +"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?" + +"Why, it would shame her--embarrass her--make people wonder what kind of +stock she came from--oh," Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!" + +"Hurt her prospects, of course," said Dwight. "Anybody could see that." + +"I s'pose it would," said Lulu. + +She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, +her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt. + +"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina and +shuddered. + +"I'm talked about now!" + +"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn't +help that." This misstep was Dwight's. + +"No," Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his other +wife, either." + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "that's a crime." + +"I've done no crime," said Lulu. + +"Bigamy," said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches." + +"Even Di," Lulu said. + +"Lulu," said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let this +thing rest with us three?" + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu quietly. + +"You will?" + +"I s'pose so." + +Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything." + +Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is." Aloud she said: +"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell." + +"I'll see to that," Dwight graciously offered. + +"Goodness," Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said no +more. + +"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu," said Dwight. + +"I s'pose so," said Lulu. + +Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, her +trim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton. + +"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister," she murmured. + +"Oh stop that!" Lulu said. + +Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now," he said, +"overlook the matter of the letter." + +Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and cried +out. + +"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the whole +thing happened!" + + * * * * * + +Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that it +was popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the six +copies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words," looked +wistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased. + +"Got up quite attractive," he thought, and fastened the six copies in +the window of his music store. + +It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floor +and sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. +He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book. + +For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, +stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he really +getting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Of +late when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting. + +The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a dark +sateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was in +there, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blur +of his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realistic +illusion of personal loneliness. + +It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usually +attacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall and +the faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; or +when he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerful +and wonted--the question had not before attacked him among his red and +blue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshiny +morning. + +A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell a +piano. + +"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor. + +It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat. + +"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anything +else. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it. + +"You're out early," said he, participating in the village chorus of this +bright challenge at this hour. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu. + +He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, +leaned to see it the better. + +"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had +not thought to say it before. + +"All right, thank you," said Lulu. + +"Was he--about the letter, you know?" + +"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added, +"not to say anything about what was in the letter?" + +"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody +know now?" + +"No," Lulu said. + +At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, +dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible +specks. + +"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said. + +"_Good-bye!_" + +"Yes. I'm going off--for a while. My satchel's in the bakery--I had my +breakfast in the bakery." + +"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything _wasn't_ all right last +night?" + +"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight +forgave me." + +"Forgave you!" + +She smiled, and trembled. + +"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about +this." + +He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast +area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a +piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the +comfort of his kindly indignation. + +"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any +more. I can't do that." + +"Then what are you going to do?" + +"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the +hotel--they wanted a chambermaid." + +"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said +Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw +you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag--" He stopped, stared. + +"You brought her back!" he deduced everything. + +"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no--I mean--" + +"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just +what you did--you brought her back." + +"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!" + +"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean +about your going after her?" + +"No." + +"You never told!" + +"They don't know she went." + +"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her +folks--I mean, right off. Before last night...." + +"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that--he'd _joke_ her +about it after a while." + +"But it seems--" + +"Ina'd talk about disgracing _her_. They wouldn't know what to do. +There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father," Lulu +said. + +Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu's +reality he could grasp. + +"You're a trump anyhow," he affirmed. + +"Oh, no," said Lulu modestly. + +Yes, she was. He insisted upon it. + +"By George," he exclaimed, "you don't find very many _married_ women +with as good sense as you've got." + +At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to the +truth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in some +amusement, and said nothing. + +"You've been a jewel in their home all right," said Cornish. "I bet +they'll miss you if you do go." + +"They'll miss my cooking," Lulu said without bitterness. + +"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there--" + +"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude which +lighted her eyes. + +"You made the whole place," said Cornish. + +"You don't mean just the cooking?" + +"No, no. I mean--well, that first night when you played croquet. I felt +at home when you came out." + +That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look of +loveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I never +had but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking." She seemed to +feel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair up +nice." She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how the +ladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs." + +"Well, well," said Cornish only. + +"Well," said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye to +you--and there's one or two other places...." + +"I hate to have you go," said Cornish, and tried to add something. "I +hate to have you go," was all that he could find to add. + +Lulu rose. "Oh, well," was all that she could find. + +They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to the +door. He had begun on "Look here, I wish ..." when Lulu said +"good-bye," and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would have +said. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going." + +"So do I," said Lulu, and went, still laughing. + +Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, her +head averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of all +proportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more--it +assailed him, absorbed him. + +He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting of +which he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down the +store and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there was +the green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated that +green curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time it +occurred to him that he hated Warbleton. + +He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, +chin on chest, regarding it. No ... no escape that way.... + +A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, her +face unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter. + +"See," she said. "At the office was this...." + +She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read: + +" ... Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard from +her, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyer +wrote to me.... I've never been any good--Dwight would tell you that if +his pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain't +anything in my life makes me feel as bad as this.... I s'pose you +couldn't understand and I don't myself.... Only the sixteen years +keeping still made me think she was gone sure ... but you were so +downright good, that's what was the worst ... do you see what I want to +say ..." + + +Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyes +there was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. +Incredible dignity. + +"He didn't lie to get rid of me--and she was alive, just as he thought +she might be," she said. + +"I'm glad," said Cornish. + +"Yes," said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make him +out." + +It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking. + +"Now you're free," he said. + +"Oh, that ..." said Lulu. + +She replaced her letter in its envelope. + +"Now I'm really going," she said. "Good-bye for sure this time...." + +Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm. + +"Don't say good-bye," he said. + +"It's late," she said, "I--" + +"Don't you go," said Cornish. + +She looked at him mutely. + +"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?" + +"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word. + +He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybe +you've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. +Well, it's only five hundred dollars." + +His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying. + +"That little Warden house--it don't cost much--you'd be surprised. Rent, +I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, but +then I didn't think--" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost near +as much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos--" + +He was startled by that "we," and began again: + +"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me." + +"But," said Lulu. "You _know_! Why, don't the disgrace--" + +"What disgrace?" asked Cornish. + +"Oh," she said, "you--you----" + +"There's only this about that," said he. "Of course, if you loved him +very much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But I +didn't think--" + +"You didn't think what?" + +"That you did care so very much--about him. I don't know why." + +She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what I +done. I know that now." + +"I figured that way," said Cornish. + +They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he saw +that she should know. + +"Look here," he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm--I'm awful lonesome +myself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reason +why I want to get married. I want some kind of a home." + +He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason. + +"Of course," she said. + +"I ain't never lived what you might say private," said Cornish. + +"I've lived too private," Lulu said. + +"Then there's another thing." This was harder to tell her. "I--I don't +believe I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law." + +"I don't see," said Lulu, "how anybody does." + +"I'm not much good in a business way," he owned, with a faint laugh. +"Sometimes I think," he drew down his brows, "that I may never be able +to make any money." + +She said: "Lots of men don't." + +"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I've +seen," he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I--I was +engaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd be +willing to try me, we would get along." + +Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you--" + +"Miss Di? Why," said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And," he added, +"she's a little liar." + +"But I'm going on thirty-four." + +"So am I!" + +"Isn't there somebody--" + +"Look here. Do you like me?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Well enough--" + +"It's you I was thinking of," said Lulu. "I'd be all right." + +"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her. + + * * * * * + +"And now," said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. +I've got something on." + +He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di was +not there. + +"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked. + +"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?" + +"Well, but, Dwight--we've got to do something." + +"As I told you this morning," he observed, "we shall do nothing. Your +sister is of age--I don't know about the sound mind, but she is +certainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where she +will." + +"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where--" + +"You are a question-box," said Dwight playfully. "A question-box." + +Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm and +nursed it. + +"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long," she +remarked. + +"You should be sufficient unto your little self," said Dwight. + +"That's all right," said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner." + +"I want some crust coffee," announced Monona firmly. + +"You'll have nothing of the sort," said Ina. "Drink your milk." + +"As I remarked," Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry." + +"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked. + +She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing to +play his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she _was_ hot. + +"I am going," said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, +for an hour." + +"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?" + +"Borrowed it from the railroad company," said Dwight, with the triumph +peculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can't +imagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I can +remember--saw it every time I took the train--and yet I never once +thought of grandma." + +"My, Dwight," said Ina, "how good you are!" + +"Nonsense!" said he. + +"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, you +take Grandma Gates a baked apple--no. You shan't go till you drink your +milk." + +"I don't want it." + +"Drink it or mamma won't let you go." + +Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran. + +"The apple isn't very good," said Ina, "but it shows my good will." + +"Also," said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness for +others." + +"That's what I always think," his Ina said. + +"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired. + +"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try," Ina +confessed. + +"You didn't have to try," Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming when +I got rested up." + +She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie," she said, and the +corners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased in +vague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the front +door opened. + +"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common," Mrs. Bett +complained. + +But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish. + +"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward. + +"Well!" said Ina, in replica. + +"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughter +and put her hands upon her. + +"We wanted to tell you first," Cornish said. "We've just got married." + +"For _ever_ more!" said Ina. + +"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried with +hope. + +"No," Cornish said soberly. "We're married--just now. Methodist +parsonage. We've had our dinner," he added hastily. + +"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason. + +"The bakery," Cornish replied, and flushed. + +"In the dining-room part," Lulu added. + +Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation. + +"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in a +bakery--" + +No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted the +fuss of a wedding. + +Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all," +he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way." + +Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie," she said, "why, Lulie. You +ain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?" + +"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett," Dwight cried. "She wasn't married +that first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!" + +Ina's little shriek sounded. + +"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have to +tell about Ninian now--and his other wife!" + +Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lulu +looked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face a +horrified realisation. + +"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You _will_ have to tell now, won't you? Why I +never thought of that." + +At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give Grandma +Gates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patient +kindness to tuck her in. + +The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, +no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. and +Mrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS LULU BETT*** + + +******* This file should be named 10429.txt or 10429.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10429 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10429.zip b/old/10429.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbe4fc0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10429.zip |