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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/22904-8.txt b/22904-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..546e292 --- /dev/null +++ b/22904-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5974 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, I've Married Marjorie, by Margaret Widdemer + + +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: I've Married Marjorie + + +Author: Margaret Widdemer + + + +Release Date: October 6, 2007 [eBook #22904] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE + +by + +MARGARET WIDDEMER + +Author of + "Why Not," "The Wishing Ring Man," "You're Only + Young Once," "The Boardwalk," etc. + + + + + + + +A. L. Burt Company +Publishers +New York +Published by arrangement with Harcourt, Brace and Howe + +Copyright, 1920, by +The Crowell Publishing Company + +Copyright, 1920, by +Harcourt, Brace and Howe, Inc. + + + + +I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE + + +CHAPTER I + +The sun shone, that morning, and even from a city office window the +Spring wind could be felt, sweet and keen and heady, making you feel +that you wanted to be out in it, laughing, facing toward the exciting, +happy things Spring was sure to be bringing you, if you only went a +little way to meet them--just a little way! + +Marjorie Ellison, bending over a filing cabinet in a small and solitary +room, felt the wind, and gave her fluffy dark head an answering, +wistful lift. It was a very exciting, Springy wind, and winds and +weathers affected her too much for her own good. Therefore she gave +the drawer she was working on an impatient little push which nearly +shook the Casses down into the Cats--she had been hunting for a very +important letter named Cattell, which had concealed itself +viciously--and went to the window as if she was being pulled there. + +She set both supple little hands on the broad stone sill, and looked +downward into the city street as you would look into a well. The wind +was blowing sticks and dust around in fairy rings, and a motor car or +so ran up and down, and there were the usual number of the usual kind +of people on the sidewalks; middle-aged people principally, for most of +the younger inhabitants of New York are caged in offices at ten in the +morning, unless they are whisking by in the motors. Mostly elderly +ladies in handsome blue dresses, Marjorie noticed. She liked it, and +drew a deep, happy breath of Spring air. Then suddenly over all the +pleasure came a depressing black shadow. And yet what she had seen was +something which made most people smile and feel a little happier; a +couple of plump, gay young returned soldiers going down the street arm +in arm, and laughing uproariously at nothing at all for the sheer +pleasure of being at home. She turned away from the window feeling as +if some one had taken a piece of happiness away from her, and snatched +the nearest paper to read it, and take the taste of what she had seen +out of her mouth. It was a last night's paper with the back page full +of "symposium." She read a couple of the letters, and dropped the +paper and went back desperately to her filing cabinet. + +"Cattell--Cattell----" she whispered to herself very fast, riffling +over the leaves desperately. Then she reverted to the symposium and +the soldiers. "Oh, dear, everybody on that page was writing letters to +know why they didn't get married," she said. "I wish somebody would +write letters telling why they _did_, or explain to those poor girls +that say nobody wants to marry a refined girl that they'd better leave +it alone!" + +After that she hunted for the Cattell letter till she found it. Then +she took it to her superior, in the next room. Then she returned to +her work and rolled the paper up into a very small ball and dropped it +into the big wastebasket, and pushed it down with a small, neat +oxford-tied foot. Then she went to the window again restlessly, looked +out with caution, as if there might be more soldiers crossing the +street, and they might spring at her. But there were none; only a fat, +elderly gentleman gesticulating for a taxi and looking so exactly like +a _Saturday Evening Post_ cover that he almost cheered her. Marjorie +had a habit of picking up very small, amusing things and being amused +by them. And then into the office bounced the one girl she hadn't seen +that day. + +"Oh, Mrs. Ellison, congratulations! I just got down, or I'd have been +here before!" she gasped, kissing Marjorie hard three times. Then she +stood back and surveyed Marjorie tenderly until she wanted to pick the +wad of paper out of the basket and throw it at her. "Coming back to +you!" she said softly. "Oh, you must be thrilled!" She put her head +on one side--she wore her hair in a shock of bobbed curls which +Marjorie loathed anyway, and they flopped when she wished to be +emphatic--and surveyed Marjorie with prolonged, tender interest. "Any +time now!" she breathed. + +"Yes," said Marjorie desperately. "The ship will be in some time next +week. Yes, I'm thrilled. It's--it's wonderful. Thank you, Miss +Kaplan, I knew you would be sympathetic." + +One hand was clenching and unclenching itself where Miss Kaplan, +fortunately a young person whose own side of emotions occupied her +exclusively, could not see it. + +Miss Kaplan kissed her, quite uninvited, again, said "_Dear_ little +war-bride!" and--just in time, Marjorie always swore, to save herself +from death, fled out. + +It is all very well to be a war-bride when there's a war, but the war +was over. + +"And I'm married," Marjorie said when the door had swung to behind Miss +Kaplan, "for life!" + +She was twenty-one. She was little and slender, with a wistful, very +sweet face like a miniature; big dark-blue eyes, a small mouth that +tipped down a little at the indented corners, and a transparently rose +and white skin. She looked a great deal younger even than she was, and +her being Mrs. Ellison had amused every one, including herself, for the +last year she had used the name. As she sat down at her desk again, +and looked helplessly at the keen, dark young face surmounted by an +officer's cap, that for very shame's sake she had not taken away from +her desk, she looked like a frightened little girl. And she _was_ +frightened. + +It had been very thrilling, if scary, to be married to Francis Ellison, +when he wasn't around. The letters--the _dear_ letters!--and the +watching for mails, and being frightened when there were battles, and +wearing the new wedding-ring, had made her perfectly certain that when +Francis came back she would be very glad, and live happily ever after. +And now that he was coming she was just plain frightened, +suffocatingly, abjectly scared to death. + +"I mustn't be!" she told herself, trying to give herself orders to feel +differently. "I _must_ be very glad!" But it was impossible to do +anything with herself. She continued to feel as if her execution was +next week, instead of her reunion with a husband who wrote that he was +looking forward to---- + +"If he didn't describe kissing me," shivered poor little Marjorie to +herself, "so accurately!" + +She had met Francis just about a month before they were married. He +had come to see her with her cousin, who was in the same company at +Plattsburg. Her cousin was engaged to a dear friend of hers, and it +had made it very nice for all four of them, because Billy and Lucille +weren't war-fiancés by any means. They had been engaged for a couple +of years, in a more or less silent fashion, and the war had given them +a chance to marry. One doesn't think so much about ways and means when +the man is going to war and can send you an allotment. + +Francis, dark, quick, decided, with a careless gaiety that was like +that of a boy let out from school, had been a delightful person to pair +off with. And then the other two had been so wrapped up in the +wonderful chance to get married which opened out before them, that +marriage--a beautiful, golden, romantic thing--had been in the air. +One felt out of it if one didn't marry. Everybody else was marrying in +shoals. And Francis had been crazy over little Marjorie from the +moment he saw her--over her old-fashioned, whimsical ways, her small +defiances that covered up a good deal of shyness, over the littleness +and grace that made him want to pick her up and pet her and protect +her, he said . . . Marjorie could remember, even yet, with pleasure, +the lovely things he had said to her in that tense way he had on the +rare occasions when he wasn't laughing. She had fought off marrying +him till the very last minute. And then the very day before the +regiment sailed she had given in, and the other two--married two weeks +by then--had whisked her excitedly through it. And then they'd +recalled him--just two hours after they were married, while Marjorie +was sitting in the suite at the hotel, with Francis kneeling down by +her in his khaki, his arms around her waist, looking up at her +adoringly. She could see his face yet, uplifted and intense, and the +way it had turned to a mask when the knock came that announced the +telegram. + +And it seemed now almost indecent that she should have let him kneel +there with his head against her laces, calling her his wife. She had +smiled down at him, then, shyly, and--half-proud, half-timid--had +thought it was very wonderful. + +"When I see him it will be all right! When we meet it will all come +back!" she said half-aloud, walking restlessly up and down the office. +"It must. It will have to." + +But in her heart she knew that she was wishing desperately that the war +had lasted ages longer, that he had been kept a year after the end of +the war instead of eight months; almost, down deep in her heart where +she couldn't get at it enough to deny it, that he had been +killed. . . . Well, she had a week longer, anyway. You can do a great +deal with yourself in a week if you bully hard. And the ships were +almost always a much longer time getting in than anybody said they +would be, and then they sent you to camps first. + +Marjorie had the too many nerves of the native American, but she had +the pluck that generally goes with them. She forced herself to sit +quietly down and work at her task, and wished that she could stop being +angry at herself for telling Lucille that Francis had written he was +coming home. Because Lucille worked where she did, and had promptly +spread the glad tidings from the top of the office to the bottom, and +her morning had been a levee. Even poor little Mrs. Jardine, whose boy +had been killed before he had been over two weeks, had spoken to +Marjorie brightly, and said how glad she was, and silent, stiff Miss +Gardner, who was said never to have had any lovers in her life, had +looked at her with an envy she tried to hide, and said that she +supposed Marjorie was glad. + +"Well, it's two weeks, maybe. Two weeks is ages." + +Marjorie dived headfirst into the filing cabinet again, and was saying +to herself very fast, "Timmins, Tolman, Turnbull--oh, dear, +_Turnbull_----" when, very softly, the swinging-door that shut her off +from the rest of the office was pushed open again, and some one crossed +sharply to her side. She flung up her head in terror. Suppose it +should be Francis-- + +Well, it was. + +She had no more than time for one gasp before he very naturally had her +in his arms, as one who has a right, and was holding her so tight she +could scarcely breathe. She tried to kiss him back, but it was +half-hearted. She hoped, her mind working with a cold, quick +precision, that he could not tell that she did not love him. And +apparently he could not. He let her go after a minute, and flung +himself down by her in just the attitude that the knock on the door, +fifteen months ago, had interrupted. And Marjorie tried not to stiffen +herself, and not to wonder if anybody was coming in, and not to feel +that a perfect stranger was doing something he had no right to. + +It was to be supposed that she succeeded more or less, because when he +finally let her go, he looked at her as fondly as he had when he +entered, and began to talk, without much preface, very much as if he +had only been gone a half hour. + +"They'll let you off, won't they, for the rest of the day? But of +course they will! I almost ran over an old gentleman outside here, and +it comes to me now that he said something like 'take your wife home for +to-day, my boy!' I was in such a hurry to get at you, Marge, that I +didn't listen. My wife! Good Lord, to think I have her again!" + +She got her breath a little, and stopped shivering, and looked at him. +He had not changed much; one does not in fifteen months. It was the +same eager, dark young face, almost too sharply cut for a young man's, +with very bright dark eyes. The principal difference was in his +expression. Before he went he had had a great deal of expression, a +face that showed almost too much of what he thought. That was gone. +His face was younger-looking, because the flashing of changes over it +was gone. He looked wondering, very tired, and dulled somehow. And he +spoke without the turns of speech that she and her friends amused each +other with, the little quaintnesses of conscious fancy. "As if he'd +been talking to children," she thought. + +Then she remembered that it was not that. He had been giving orders, +and taking them, and being on firing-lines; all the things that he had +written her about, and that had seemed so like story-books when she got +the letters. His being so changed made it real for the first +time. . . . And then an unworthy feeling--as if she simply could not +face the romantic and tender eyes of all the office--everybody having +the same feelings about her that Miss Kaplan had, even if they were +well-bred enough to phrase them politely. + +"Shall we go?" she asked abruptly, while this feeling was strong in her. + +"Not for a minute. I want to see the place where my wife has spent her +last year . . ." + +He stood with his arm still around her--would he never stop touching +her?--and surveyed the office with the same sort of affectionate +amusement he might have given to a workbasket of hers, or a piece of +embroidery. Marjorie slipped from under his arm and put her hat on. + +"I'm ready now," she said. + +They walked out of the little office, and through the long aisle down +the center of the floor of the office-building, Marjorie, still +miserably conscious of the eyes, and the emotions behind the eyes, and +quite as conscious that they were emotions that she ought to be ashamed +of minding. + +"Now where shall we go for luncheon?" demanded Francis joyously, as +they got outside. He caught her hand in his surreptitiously and said +"You darling!" under his breath. For a minute the old magic of his +swift courtship came back to her, and she forgot the miserable +oppression of facing fifty years of wedded life with a stranger; and +she smiled up at him. Then, as he caught her hand in his, quite +undisguisedly this time, and held it under his arm, the repulsion came +back. + +"Anywhere you like," she answered his question. + +"We'll go to the biggest, wildest, wooliest place in the city, where +the band plays the most music," he announced. "Going to celebrate. +Come on, honey. And then I have a fine surprise for you, as soon as we +go back to the flat. Lucille won't be back till five, will she? And +thank goodness for that!" + +Lucille and Marjorie, pending the return of their husbands, shared a +tiny flat far uptown on the west side. Marjorie had described it at +length in her letters, until Francis had said that he could find his +way around it if he walked in at midnight. But his intimacy with it +made her feel that there was no place on earth she could call her own. + +"Tell me now," she demanded. + +Francis laughed again, and shook his head. + +"It will do you good to guess. Come now, which--Sherry's or the Plaza +or the Ritz?" + +"Sherry's--they're going to close it soon, poor old place!" + +"Then we'll celebrate its obsequies," said Francis, grinning cheerfully. + +Before he went he had smiled, somehow, as if he had been to a very +excellent college and a super-fine prep school of many traditions--as, +indeed, he had--but now it was exactly the grin, Marjorie realized, +still with a feeling of unworthiness, of the soldier, sailor, and +marine grinning so artlessly from the War Camp Community posters. In +his year of foreign service, Francis had shaken off the affectations of +his years, making him, at twenty-five, a much older and more valuable +man than Marjorie had parted with. But she didn't like it, or what she +glimpsed of it. Whether he was gay in this simple, new way, or grave +in the frighteningly old one, he was not the Francis she had built up +for herself from a month's meetings and a few memories. + +He smiled at her flashingly again as they settled themselves at the +little table in just the right spot and place they had chosen. + +"Wondering whether I'll eat with my knife?" he demanded, quite at +random as it happened, but altogether too close to Marjorie's feelings +to be comfortable. + +She colored up to her hair. + +"No--no! I _know_ you wouldn't do that!" she asseverated so earnestly +that he went off into another gale of affectionate laughter. + +And then he addressed himself to the joyous task of planning a luncheon +that they would never of them either forget, he said. He took the +waiter into their confidence to a certain degree, and from then on a +circle of silent and admiring service inclosed them. + +"But you needn't think we're going to linger over it, Marjorie," he +informed her. "I want to get up to where you live, and be alone with +you." + +"Of course," said Marjorie mechanically, saying a little prayer to the +effect that she needed a great deal of help to get through this +situation, and she hoped it would come in sight soon. She could not +eat very much. It was all very good, and the band played ravishingly +to the ears of Francis, who sent buoyantly across and demanded such +tunes as he was fondest of. There was one which they played to which +he sang, under his breath, a profane song which ran in part: + + "And we'll all come home + And get drunk on ginger pop-- + For the slackers voted the country dry + While we went over the top." + + +And then, when the meal was two-thirds over, Marjorie wished she hadn't +offered up any prayers for help to get through the situation. Because +softly up to their table strolled a tall, thin young man with a cane, +gray silk gloves, and a dreamy if slightly nervous look, and said +discontentedly, "Marjorie Ellison! How wonderful to find you here! +You will let me sit down at your table, won't you, and meet your +soldier-friend?" + +If Marjorie had never written to Francis about Bradley Logan it would +have been all right, quite a rescue, in fact. But in those too fatally +discursive letters; the letters which had come finally to feel like a +sympathetic diary with no destination, she had rather enlarged on him. +He had been admiring her at disconnected intervals ever since she first +met him. He had not been able to get in the army because of some +mysterious neurasthenic ailment about which he preserved a hurt +silence, as to details, but mentioned a good deal in a general way. It +kept him from making engagements, it made him unable to go long +distances; Marjorie had described all the scattered hints about it in +her letters to Francis, who had promptly written back that undoubtedly +the little friend had fits; and referred to him thereafter, quite +without malice, as, "your fit-friend." She had an insane terror, as +she introduced him, lest she should explain him to Francis in an +audible aside by that name. However, it was unnecessary. Francis +placed him immediately, it was to be seen, and was cold almost to +rudeness. Logan did not notice it much. He sat down with them, +declined the food Marjorie offered, ordered himself three slivers of +dry toast and a cup of lemonless and creamless tea, and sipped them and +nibbled them as if even they were a concession to manners. + +What really was the matter with Logan Marjorie was doomed never to +know. Francis told her afterwards, with a certain marital brevity, +that it was a combination of dry toast and thinking too much about +French poets. His literary affiliations, which he earned his living +by, had stopped short at the naughty nineties, when everybody was very +unhealthy and soulful and hinted darkly at tragedies; the period of the +Yellow Book and Aubrey Beardsley and Arthur Symons and Dowson, and the +last end of Wilde. He undoubtedly had the charming and fluent manners +of his time, anachronism though he was. And he talked a great deal, +and very brilliantly, if a bit excitedly. He plunged now, in his +charming, high, slightly too mannered voice, into a discussion with +Marjorie on the absolute rottenness of the modern magazine, considered +from the viewpoint of style. He overwhelmed them with instances of how +all magazines were owned by persons who neither had cultivation nor +desired any. Francis answered him very little, so Marjorie, wifely +before her time, found herself trying nervously to keep up with Logan, +and hurling more thoughts at him about Baudelaire than she had known +she possessed. As a matter of fact she'd never read any of him, but +Logan thought she had to his dying day, which says a good deal for her +brains. Presently Francis summoned the waiter in rather a martial +voice, demanded a taxi of him efficiently, and Marjorie found herself +swept away from Logan and taxi-ing extravagantly uptown before she knew +what she was at. + +Francis wasn't cross, it appeared. The first thing he did when he got +her in the cab was to sweep her close to him--the second to burst into +a peal of delighted laughter, and quote + + "I had a cow, a gentle cow, who browsed beside my door, + Did not think much of Maeterlinck, and would not, furthermore!" + + +"Heavens!" he ended, "that fool and his magazine editors! Nobody but +you could have been so patient with the poor devil, Marge." + +He leaned her and himself back in the cab, and stared contemplatively +out at New York going by. "And to think--and--to--think--that while +half of decent humanity has been doing what it's been doing to keep the +world from going to hell, that fool--that _fool_--has been sitting at +home nibbling toast and worrying about what is style! . . . I'll tell +him! Style is what I'll have when I get these clothes off, and some +regular ones. You'll have to help me pick 'em out, Marge. You'll find +I've no end of uses for a wife, darling." + +"I hope you'll make me useful," she answered in a small voice. +Fortunately she saw the ridiculousness of what she had said herself +before the constrained note of her voice reached her husband, and +began, a little nervously, to laugh at herself. So that passed off all +right. + +"Will life be just one succession of hoping things pass off all right?" +she wondered. And she did wish Francis wasn't so scornful about all +the things Logan said. For Logan, in spite of his mysterious +disability, was very brilliant; he wrote essays for real magazines that +you had to pay thirty-five cents for, and when Marjorie said she knew +him people were always very respectful and impressed. Marjorie had +been brought up to respect such things very much, herself, in a pretty +Westchester suburb, where celebrities were things which passed through +in clouds of glory, lecturing for quite as much as the club felt it +could afford. A celebrity who let you talk to him, nay, seemed +delighted when you let him talk to you, couldn't be as negligible as +Francis seemed to think him. . . . Francis didn't seem as if he had +ever read _anything_. . . . It was a harmless question to ask, at +least. + +"What did you read, over there?" she asked him. + +"We read anything we could get hold of that would take our minds," was +the answer, rather grimly. Then, more lightly, "When I wasn't reading +detective stories I was studying books on forestry. Did you know you +had married a forester bold, Marge?" + +"Of course I remembered you said that was what you did," she answered, +relieved that the talk was veering away, for one moment, from +themselves. + +"Poor little girl, you haven't had a chance to know very much about +me," he said tenderly. "Well, I know a lot more about it than I did +when I went away. Oh, the trees in France, dear! It's worse to think +of the trees than of the people, I think sometimes. I suppose that's +because they always meant a lot to me--very much as a jeweler would +feel badly about all the spoons the Crown Prince took home with +him. . . . Anyway, they wanted me to stay over there and do +reforestation. Big chances. But I didn't feel as if I could stay away +from little old New York--naturally Marge had nothing to do with +it--another hour. Would you have liked to go to Italy and watch me +re-forest, Marjorie?" + +Marjorie's "Oh, _no_!" was very fervent. She also found herself +thinking stealthily that even any one as efficient as Francis could not +reforest the city of New York, and that therefore any position he had +would very likely let her off. Maybe he might go very soon. + +With this thought in her mind she led the way up the three flights of +stairs to the tiny apartment she and Lucille Strong shared. If Francis +had not spoken as they reached the door she might have carried it +through. But just as she fitted her key in the door he did speak, +behind her, an arm about her. + +"In another minute you and I will be alone together; in our own +home--my wife----" + +He took the key gently from her hand; he unlocked the door, and drew +her in, with his arms around her. He pushed the door to behind them, +and bent down to kiss her again, very tenderly and reverently. And in +that instant Marjorie's self-control broke. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +"Oh, please don't touch me, just for a minute!" she exclaimed. +"Please--please--just stop a _minute_!" + +She did not realize that her tone was very much that of a patient +addressing a dentist. Francis's arms dropped, and he looked at her, +all the light going out of his face, and showing its weary lines. He +closed the door entirely, carefully. He went mechanically over to a +chair and sat down on it, always with that queer carefulness; he laid +his cap beside him, and looked at Marjorie, crouched against the door. + +"Please come over here and sit down," he said very courteously, but +with the boyishness gone from his voice even more completely than +Marjorie had wished. + +She came very meekly and sat opposite him, with a little queer cold +feeling around her heart. + +"Please look at me," he asked gently. She lifted her blue eyes +miserably to his, and tried to smile. But unconsciously she shrank a +little as she did so, and he saw it. + +"I won't touch you--not until you want me to," he began. "What's the +matter, Marjorie? Is it nerves, or are you afraid of me, or----" + +"It--it was just your coming so suddenly," she lied miserably. "It +upset me. That was all." + +In her mind there was fixed firmly the one thing, that she mustn't be a +coward, she must go through with it, she must pretend well enough to +make Francis think she felt the way she ought to. The Francis of +pre-war times would have been fooled; but this man had been judging men +and events that took as keen a mind as seeing through a frightened +girl. He looked at her musingly, his face never changing. She rose +and came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. She even +managed to laugh. + +"Do you mind my being upset?" she asked. + +"No," he said, "if that's all it is. But you have a particular kind of +terror about you that I don't like. Or I think you have." + +She took her hand away, hurt by the harshness of his voice--then, +seeing his face, understood that he was not knowingly harsh. She had +hurt him terribly by that one unguarded moment, and she would have to +work very hard to put it out of sight. + +"I--I haven't any terror----" she began to say. + +He made himself smile a little at that. + +"You mustn't have," he said. "We'll sit down on the davenport over +there that Lucille's grandmother gave her for a wedding-present--you +see how well I remember the news about all the furniture? And we'll +talk about it all quietly." + +"There's nothing to talk about," said Marjorie desperately. She went +obediently over to the davenport and sat down by him. + +"You were upset at seeing me?" he began. + +"It was--well, it was so sudden!" dimpled Marjorie, quoting the tag +with the sudden whimsicality which even death would probably find her +using. + +"And I still seem--do I seem like a strange person to you, dear?" he +asked wistfully. "You don't seem strange to me, you know. You seem +like the wife I love." + +The worst of it was that when Francis was gay and like a playmate, as +he had been at their luncheon before Logan came, she could feel that +things were nearly all right. But when he spoke as he was speaking now +the terror of him came back worse than ever. + +"No. No, you don't seem strange at all," she said. "Why should you?" +But while she spoke the words she knew they were not true. She looked +at him, and his face was like a stranger's face. She had known other +men as well as she had known her husband, except for the brief while +when she had promised to marry him. She took stock of his features; +the straight, clearly marked black brows under the mark the cap made on +his forehead; the rather high cheekbones, the clear-cut nose and chin, +the little line of black mustache that did not hide his hard-set and +yet sensitive lips; the square, rather long jaw--"He'll have deep lines +at the sides of his mouth in a few more years," she thought, and--"He's +much darker than I remembered him. But he has no color under the +brown. I thought he had a good deal of color . . ." She appraised his +face, not liking it altogether, as if she had never seen it before. +His hand, long, narrow, muscular, burned even more deeply than his +face, and with a fine black down lying close over it, seemed a hand she +had never seen or been touched by before. But that was his +wedding-ring--her wedding-ring--on the thin third finger. She even +knew that inside it was an inscription--"Marjorie--Francis----" and the +date of their wedding. Hers was like it. He had bought them and had +them inscribed with everything but the actual date before she had given +in; that had been put in, of course, the week before their marriage. +Oh, what _right_ had he to be wearing her wedding-ring? + +"Would you like a little time to think it over?" he asked heavily. + +She was irrationally angry at him. What right had he to think she +needed time to think it over? Why hadn't he the decency to be deceived +by her behavior? Then she stole another look at him, with all the +gaiety and youth gone out of his face, and made up her mind that the +anger ought to be on his side. But it apparently was not. + +"Oh, _please_ don't mind!" she begged him, abandoning some of her +defenses. "It's true, I do feel a little strange, but I'm sure it will +all come straight if--if I wait a little. You see, you were gone so +long." + +"Yes. I worried a lot about it on shipboard," he answered her +directly. His face did not lighten, but there was a sort of relief in +his tone, as if actually knowing the truth was better than being fenced +with. "I thought to myself--'I hurried her into it so. I wonder if +she really will care when I come back.' It was such a long time. But +then your letters were so sweet and loving, and I cared such a lot----" + +His voice broke. He had been talking on a carefully emotionless dead +level, but now he suddenly stopped as if he had come to the end of his +control. But he was only silent a moment, and went on: + +"I cared so much that I thought you must. That's a queer thing, isn't +it? You've known all your life that other people think if they care +enough the other person will care, and you know they're idiots. And +then your time comes, and you go and are the same old idiot +yourself. . . . Queer. Well, I'm sorry, Marjorie. Shall I go now? +We can think about what we'd better do next time we talk it over." + +"Oh, please, please!" begged Marjorie. "Oh, Francis, I feel like a +dog--a miserable, little coward-dog. And--and I don't know why you're +making all this up. I--I haven't said anything like what----" + +He put his arm around her, not in the least as if he were her lover. +It only felt protecting, not like a man's touch. + +"I would be glad to think you cared for me. But I am almost sure you +don't. Everything you have said, and every one of your actions since +we came in, have seemed to me as if you didn't. It isn't your fault, +poor little thing. It's mine for hurrying you into it. . . . +Marjorie, Marjorie--_do_ you?" + +There was an intense entreaty in his tone. But she knew that only the +truth would do. + +"No," she said, dropping her head. + +"I thought not," he said, rising stiffly and crossing to the door. +"Well, I'll go now. I'll come back some time to-morrow, whenever it's +most convenient for you, and we'll discuss details." + +She ran after him. She did feel very guilty. + +"Oh, Francis--Francis! Please don't go! I'm sure I'll feel the way I +should when I've tried a little longer!" + +He stopped for a moment, but only to write something down on a piece of +paper. + +"There's my telephone number," he said. "No, Marjorie, I can't stay +any longer. This has been pretty bad. I've got to go off and curl up +a minute, I think, if you don't mind. . . . Oh, dearest, don't you see +that I _can't_ stay? I'll have myself straightened out by to-morrow, +but----" + +He had been acting very reasonably up to now. But now he flung himself +out the door like a tornado. It echoed behind him. Marjorie did not +try to keep him. She sat still for a minute longer, shivering. Then +she began to cry. She certainly did not want him for her husband, but +equally she did not want him to go off and leave her. So she went over +to the davenport again, where she could cry better, and did wonders in +that line, in a steady, low-spirited way, till Lucille came breezily in. + +Lucille Strong was a plump, exuberant person with corn-colored hair and +bright blue eyes and the most affectionate disposition in the world. +She also had a quick, fly-away temper, and more emotions than +principles. But her sense of humor was so complete, and her sunniness +so steady that nobody demanded great self-sacrifice from her. Who +wouldn't give anybody the biggest piece of cake and the best chair and +the most presents, for the sake of having a Little Sunshine in the +home? At least, that was the way Billy Strong had looked at it. He +had been perfectly willing to put off his marriage until Lucille +decreed that there was money enough for her to have her little luxuries +after marriage, in order to eventually possess Lucille. People always +and automatically gave her the lion's share of all material things, and +she accepted them quite as automatically. She was a very pleasant +housemate, and if she coaxed a little, invisibly, in order to acquire +the silk stockings and many birthday presents and theater tickets which +drifted to her, why, as she said amiably, people value you more when +they do things for you than when you do things for them. + +"Why, you poor _lamb_!" she said with sincere sympathy, pouncing on the +desolate and very limp Marjorie. "What's the matter? Did Francis have +to go away from you? Look here, honey, you can have my----" + +What Lucille was about to offer was known only to herself, because she +never got any farther. Marjorie sat up, her blue eyes dark-circled +with tears, and perhaps with the strain she had been undergoing. + +"Yes," she said in a subdued voice. "He--he had to go. He'll be back +to-morrow." + +Lucille pounced again, and kissed Marjorie rapturously, flushed with +romance. + +"Oh, isn't it wonderful to have him back! And Billy may be back any +minute, too! Marge, what on earth shall we do about the apartment? It +isn't big enough for three; and I can't keep it on alone. And the +wretched thing's leased for six months longer. You know we thought +they'd be coming back together. But you and Francis can take it +over----" + +"I--I don't think we need to worry about that," said Marjorie, "for a +while longer. I've made up my mind to go on working. I'd be restless +without my work. Filing's really _very_ exciting when you're +accustomed to it----" + +Lucille released her housemate and leaned back on the davenport, the +better to laugh. As she did so she flung off her coat and dropped it +on the floor, in the blessed hope that Marjorie would pick it up, which +usually happened. But Marjorie did not. + +"Filing," Lucille said through her laughter, "is undoubtedly the most +stimulating amusement known to the mind of man. I wonder they pay you +for doing it--they ought to offer it as a reward! Oh, Marge, you'll +kill me! Now, you might as well be honest, my child. You know you +always tell me things eventually--why not now? What are your plans, +and did Francis bring any souvenirs? I told him to be sure to bring +back some of that French perfume that you wouldn't let him get you +because it was too expensive for his income. I wonder he ever +respected you again after that, incidentally. Did he?" + +"Did he respect me? I don't know, I'm sure," said Marjorie +dispiritedly. She knew that she would tell Lucille all about it in two +more minutes, and she did not want to. + +"No, darling! Did he bring the perfume?" + +"I don't know," said Marjorie. "Lucille, you haven't had your bath +yet." + +"Did you light the hot water for me?" + +"No, I forgot," said Marjorie. + +"All right, I'll light it," said Lucille amiably. She was deflected by +this, and trotted out into the tiny kitchen to light the gas under the +hot water heater. She came back in an exquisite blue crêpe negligee, +and curled herself back of Marjorie on the davenport while she waited +for the water to heat, and for Marjorie to tell her about it all. + +"I wish my hair curled naturally," she said idly, slipping her fingers +up the back of Marjorie's neck, where little fly-away rings always +curled. + +"I wish it did," said Marjorie with absent impoliteness. + +Lucille laughed again. + +"Come back, dear! Remember, I haven't any happy reunion to weep over +yet, and be sympathetic. And I have an engagement for dinner, and how +will I ever keep it if you don't tell me everything Francis said? When +did he see Billy last?" + +"He didn't say." + +"What _did_ he say?" + +"He said," said Marjorie, turning around with blazing eyes and pouring +forth her words like a fountain, "that he'd wondered if I really loved +him, and now he was sure I didn't. And that he'd come back some time +to-morrow and discuss details. And he gave me his telephone number, +and said he couldn't stay any longer, and it was pretty bad, and he had +to curl up----" + +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Stop! This is a bad dream you've had, or +something out of _Alice in Wonderland_! Francis never said he had to +curl up. Curl up _what_?" + +"Curl up himself, I suppose," said Marjorie with something very like a +sob. "I was perfectly rational and it made me feel dreadful to hear +him say it, and I knew just what he meant. Curl up like a dog when +it's hurt. Curl _up_!" + +"_Don't_! I _am_!" said Lucille. "If you issue any more orders in +that tone I'll look like a caterpillar. Now, what really did happen, +Marjorie?" she ended in a gentler tone and more seriously. + +She pulled Marjorie's head over on to her own plump shoulder, and put +an arm round her. + +"It was all my fault. I don't love him any more. I don't want to be +married to him. I didn't mean to show it, I meant to be very good +about it, but he knows so much more than he did when he went away. He +knew it directly. And now he's dreadfully hurt." + +"You poor little darling! What a horrid time you've been having all +this time everybody's been thinking you were looking forward to his +coming home. Why, you must have nearly gone crazy!" + +"It's worse for him," said Marjorie in a subdued voice, nestling down +on Lucille's shoulder. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Lucille comfortably. "Men can generally take +care of themselves. . . . But are you sure you don't love him the +least little bit?" + +"I'm afraid of him. He's like somebody strange. . . . It's so long +ago." + +"So long ago an' so far away, le's hope it ain' true!" quoted Lucille +amiably. "Well, darling, if you don't want to marry him you needn't--I +mean, if you don't want to stay married to him you needn't. I'm sure +something can be done. Francis is perfectly sure to do anything you +like, he adores you so." + +But this didn't seem to give comfort, either. And as the boiler was +moaning with excess of heat, Lucille dashed for the bathtub. She +talked to Marjorie through the flimsy door as she splashed, to the +effect that Marjorie had much better let her call up another man and go +out on a nice little foursome, instead of staying at home. But there +Marjorie was firm. She would have preferred anything to her own +society, but she felt as if any sort of a party would have been like +breaking through first mourning. + +So she saw Lucille, an immaculate vision of satins and picture hats, go +off gaily with her cavalier, and remained herself all alone in the +little room, lying on the sofa, going over everything that had happened +and ending it differently. She was very tired, and felt guiltier and +guiltier as time went on. Finally she rose and went to the telephone +and called the number Francis had left. + +The voice that answered her was very curt and very quiet. + +"Yes. . . . This is Captain Ellison. Yes, Marjorie? What is it?" + +It seemed harder than ever to say what she had to say in the face of +that distant, unemotional voice. But Marjorie had come to a resolve, +and went steadily on. + +"I called up to say, Francis, that I am ready to go with you anywhere +you want to, at any time. I will try to be a good wife to you." + +She clung to the telephone, her heart beating like a triphammer there +in the dark, waiting for his answer. It seemed a long time in coming. +When it did, it was furious. + +"I don't want you to go with me anywhere, at any time. I don't want a +wife who has to try to be a good wife to me." + +He hung up with an effect of flinging the receiver in her face. + +Marjorie almost ran back to the davenport--she was beginning to feel as +if the davenport was the nearest she had to a mother--and flung herself +on it in a storm of angry tears. He was unjust. He was violent. She +didn't want a man like that--what on earth had she humiliated herself +that way for, anyway? What was the use of trying to be honorable and +good and fair and doing things for men, when they treated you like +that? Francis had proposed and proposed and proposed--she hadn't been +so awfully keen on marrying him. . . . It had just seemed like the +sort of thing it would be thrilling to do. Well, thank goodness he did +feel that way. She was better off without people like that, anyhow. +She would go back home to Westchester, and live a patient, meek, +virtuous life under Cousin Anna Stevenson's thumb, as she had before +she got the position at the office or got married. She certainly +couldn't go back to the office and explain it all to them. At least, +she wouldn't. It would be better, even if Cousin Anna did treat +everybody as if they were ten and very foolish. . . . And she had +refused the offer of a nice foursome and one of Lucille's cheerful +friends, to stay home and be treated this way! + +She rose and went to the telephone again, with blazing cheeks. + +She called up, on the chance, Logan's number; and amazingly got him. +And she invited him on the spot to come over the next evening and have +something in a chafing-dish with Lucille and herself. Lucille, she +knew, had no engagement for that evening, and could produce men, +always, out of thin air. Marjorie chose Logan because Francis had said +he didn't like him. She had been a little too much afraid, before +that, of Logan's literariness to dare call him up. But that night she +would have dared the Grand Cham of Tartary, if that dignitary had had a +phone number and been an annoyance to Francis Ellison. + +Logan, to her surprise, accepted eagerly, and even forgot to be +mannered. He did, it must be said, keep her at the telephone, which +was a stand-up one, for an hour, while he talked brilliantly about the +Italian renaissance in its ultimate influence on the arts and crafts +movement of the present day. To listen to Logan was a liberal +education at any moment, if a trifle too much like attending a lecture. +But at least he didn't expect much answering. + +She went to the office, next day, in more or less of a dream. She was +very quiet, and worked very hard. Nobody said much to her; she took +care not to let them. When stray congratulations came her way, as they +were bound to, and when old Mr. Morrissey, the vice-head, said, "I +suppose we can't hope to keep you long now," and beamed, she answered +without any heartbeatings or difficulty. She was quite sure she would +never feel gay again; she had had so much happen to her. But it was +rather pleasant not to be able to have any feelings, if a little +monotonous. The only thing at all on her mind was the question as to +how much cheese a party of four needed for a rarebit, and whether Logan +would or could eat rarebits at night. And even that was to a certain +degree a matter of indifference. + +She finally decided that scallops à la King might be more what he would +eat. She bought them on her way home, together with all the rest of +the things she needed. Lucille had produced a fourth person with her +usual lack of effort, and it promised to be--if anything in life could +have been anything but flavorless--rather a good party. + +In fact, it was. It was a dear little apartment that the girls shared, +with a living-room chosen especially for having nice times in. It was +lighted by tall candles, and had a gas grate that was almost human. +There was a grand piano which took up more than its share of room, +there was the davenport aforesaid, there were companionable chairs and +taborets acquired by Lucille and kept by Marjorie in the exact places +where they looked best; there were soft draperies, also hemmed and put +up by Marjorie. The first thing visitors always said about it was that +it made them feel comfortable and at home. They generally attributed +the homelikeness to Lucille, who was dangerously near looking matronly, +rather than to Marjorie, who would be more like a firefly than a matron +even when she became a grandmother. + +Marjorie, with cooking to do, tied up in a long orange colored apron, +almost forgot things. She loved to make things to eat. Lucille, +meanwhile, sat on the piano-stool and played snatches of "The Long, +Long Trail," and the men, Lucille's negligible one and Marjorie's Mr. +Logan, made themselves very useful in the way of getting plates and +arranging piles of crackers. The small black kitten which had been a +present to Lucille from the janitor, who therefore was a mother to it +while the girls were out, sat expectantly on the edge of all the places +where he shouldn't be, purring loudly and having to be put down at +five-minute intervals. + +"I suppose this is a sort of celebration of your having your husband +back," said the Lucille man presently to Marjorie. He had been told +so, indeed, by Lucille, who was under that impression herself, Logan +looked faintly surprised. He, to be frank, had forgotten all about +Marjorie's having a husband who had to be celebrated. + +Marjorie nearly spilled the scallops she was serving at that moment, +and the kitten, losing its self-control entirely, climbed on the table +with a cry of entreaty for the excellent fish-smelling dishful of +things to eat. It was lucky for Marjorie that he did, because while +she was struggling with him Lucille answered innocently for her. + +"Yes, more or less. But he's late. Where's your perfectly good +husband, Marge?" + +"Late, I'm afraid," Marjorie answered, smiling, and wondering at +herself for being able to smile. "We aren't to wait for him." + +"Sensible child," Lucille answered. "I'm certainly very hungry." + +She drew her chair up to the low table the men had pushed into the +center of the room, sent one of them to open the window, rather than +turn out the cheerful light of the gas grate, and the real business of +the party began. + +It was going on very prosperously, that meal; even Mr. Logan was +heroically eating the same things the rest did, and not taking up more +than his fair share of the conversation, when there was a quick step on +the stairs. Nobody heard it but Marjorie, who stood, frozen, just as +she had risen to get a fork for somebody. She knew Francis's step, and +when he clicked the little knocker she forced herself to go over and +let him in. + +He came in exactly as if he belonged there; but after one quick glance +at the visitors he drew Marjorie aside into the little inner room. + +"Marjorie, I've come to say I was unkind and unfair over the telephone. +I've made up my mind that you are fonder of me than you know. I think +it will be all right--it was foolish of me to be too proud to take you +unless you were absolutely willing. Let me take back what I said, and +forgive me. I know it will be all right--Marjorie!" + +She gave him a furious push away from her. Her eyes blazed. + +"It never will be all right! It isn't going to have a chance to be!" +she told him, as angry as he had been when she called him up. "You had +your chance and you wouldn't take it. I don't want to be your wife, +and I never will be. That's all there is to say." + +She took a step in the direction of the outer room. He put out a hand +to detain her. + +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Don't!" + +"I'm going out there, and going to keep on having the nice time I had +before you came. If you try to do anything I'll probably make a scene." + +"You're going to give me one more chance," he said. "That's settled." + +She looked at him defiantly. + +"Try to make me," was all she said, wrenching her wrist out of his hand. + +"I will," said Francis grimly. + +She smiled at him brilliantly as he followed her into the room where +the others were. + +"I'm afraid there isn't any way," she said sweetly. + +Lucille, who had not seen Francis before, flew at him now with a +welcome which was affectionate enough to end effectually any further +ardors or defiances. + +"And you're in time for your own party after all," she ended, smiling +sunnily at him and pushing him into a chair. She gave him a plate of +scallops and a fork, and the party went on as it had before. Only +Marjorie eyed him with nervous surprise. "What will he do next?" she +wondered. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +What he did was to eat his scallops à la King with appetite, fraternize +cheerfully with Lucille's friend, whose name was Tommy Burke, and who +was an old acquaintance of his, speak to Marjorie occasionally in the +most natural way in the world, and altogether behave entirely as if it +really was his party, and he was very glad that there was a party. It +is to be said that he ignored Logan rather more than politeness +demanded. But Logan was so used to being petted that he never knew it. +Marjorie did, and lavished more attention on him defiantly to try to +make up for it. She thought that the evening never would end. + +After the food was finished it was to be expected that Lucille would go +to the piano, and play some more, and that the men would sit about +smoking on the davenport and the taborets, and that every one would be +pleasantly quiet. But Lucille did not. Instead, she and Francis +retired to the back room, leaving Marjorie and the others to amuse each +other, and talk for what seemed to Marjorie's strained nerves an +eternity of time. It was Francis who had called Lucille, moreover, and +not Lucille who had summoned Francis, as could have been expected. + +Finally the other men rose to go. Francis came out of the inner room +and went with them. Before he went he stopped to say to Marjorie: + +"I told you I wanted to talk things over with you. I'll be back in a +half-hour. You seem to be so popular that the only way to see you +alone is to get you in a motor-car, so if you aren't too tired to drive +around with me to-night, to a place where I have to go, I'll bring you +home safely. . . . I didn't mean to speak so sharply to you, Marjorie, +over the telephone. Please forgive me." + +"Certainly," said Marjorie coldly and tremulously. It could be seen +that she did not forgive him in the least. + +He went downstairs with the others, laughing with Burke, who had a +dozen army reminiscences to exchange with him, and bidding as small a +good-by as decency permitted to Logan. Marjorie heard him dash up +again, and then run down, as if he had left something outside the door +and forgotten it. Lucille came over to her and began to fuss at her +about changing her frock for a heavier one, and taking enough wraps. + +"Why, it's only a short drive," Marjorie expostulated. "And I'm not +sure that I want to go, anyway. I don't think there's anything more to +be said than we have said." + +Francis, with that disconcerting swiftness which he possessed, had come +back as she spoke. + +He came close to her, and spoke softly. + +"You used to like the boy you married, Marjorie. For his sake won't +you do this one thing? Give me a hearing--one more hearing." + +Lucille had come back again with a big loose coat, and she was wrapping +it round her friend with a finality that meant more struggle than poor +tired Marjorie was capable of making. After all, another half-hour of +discussion would not matter. The end would be the same. She went down +with them to the big car that stood outside, and even managed to say +something flippant about its looking like a traveling house, it was so +big. Francis established her in the front seat, by him, tucked a rug +around her, for the night was sharp for May, and drove to Fifth Avenue, +then uptown. + +She waited, wearily and immovable, for him to argue with her further, +but he seemed in no hurry to commence. They merely drove on and on, +and Marjorie was content not to talk. It was a clear, beautiful night, +too late for much traffic, so they went swiftly. The ride was +pleasant. All that she had been through had tired her so that she +found the silence and motion very pleasant and soothing. + +Finally he turned to her, and she braced herself for whatever he might +want to say. + +"Would you mind if we drove across the river for a little while?" he +asked. + +"Why--no," she said idly. "Out in the country, you mean?" + +He assented, and they drove on, but not to the ferry. They turned, and +went up Broadway, far, far again. + +"Where are we?" asked Marjorie finally. "Isn't it time you turned +around and took me back? And didn't you have something you wanted to +say to me?" + +"Yes----" he said absently. "No, we have all the time in the world. +There's no scandal possible in being out motoring with your husband, +even if you shouldn't get home till daylight." + +"But where _are_ we?" demanded Marjorie again. + +"The Albany Post Road," said Francis. This meant very little to +Marjorie, but she waited another ten minutes before she asked again. + +"Just the same post road as before," said Francis preoccupiedly, +letting the machine out till they were going at some unbelievable speed +an hour. "The Albany. Not the Boston." + +"Well, it doesn't matter to me _what_ post road," remonstrated +Marjorie, beginning rather against her will to laugh a little, as she +had been used to do with Francis. "I want to go home." + +"You are," said he. + +"Oh, is this one of those roads that turns around and swallows its own +tail?" she demanded, "and brings you back where you started?" + +"Just where you started," he assented, still in the same preoccupied +voice. + +She accepted this quietly for the moment. + +"Francis," she said presently, "I mean it. I want to go home." + +"You are going home," said Francis. "But not just yet." + +It seemed undignified to row further. She was so tired--so very tired! + +Francis did not speak again, and after a little while she must have +dropped off to sleep; for when she came to herself again the road was a +different one. They were traveling along between rows of pines, and +the road stretched ahead of them, empty and country-looking. She +turned and asked sleepily, "What time is it, Francis, please?" + +He bent a little as he shot his wrist-watch forward enough to look at +the phosphorescent dial. + +"Twenty minutes past three," he said as if it was the most commonplace +hour in the world to be driving through a country road. + +For a moment she did not take it in. Then she threw dignity to the +winds. She was rested enough to have some fight in her again. + +"I'm going home! I'm going home if I have to walk!" she said wildly. +She started to spring up in the car, with some half-formed intention of +forcing him to stop by jumping out. + +"Now, Marjorie, don't act like a movie-heroine," he said +commonplacely--and infuriatingly. He also took one hand off the +steering-wheel and put it around her wrist. "You can't go back to New +York unless I take you. We're fifty miles up New York State, and there +isn't a town near at all." + +Marjorie sat still and looked at him. The car went on. + +"I don't understand," she said. "You can't be going to abduct me, +Francis?" + +Francis, set as his face was, smiled a little at this. + +"That isn't the word, because you don't abduct your lawful wife. But I +do want you to try me out before you discard me entirely. And +apparently this is the only way to get you to do it." + +"What are you going to do?" she asked. + +"Want the cards on the table?" + +She nodded. + +"All the cards--now? Or would you rather take things as they come?" + +All this time the car was going ahead full speed in the moonlight. + +"Everything--now!" she said tensely. + +He never looked at her as he talked. His eyes were on the road ahead. + +"Just now--as soon as we get to a spot where it seems likely to be +comfortable, we're going to unship a couple of pup-tents from the back +of the car, and sleep out here. I have all your things in the back of +the car. If you'd rather, you can sleep in the car; you're little and +I think you could be comfortable on the back seat." + +She interrupted him with a cry of injury. + +"My things? Where did you get them?" + +"Lucille packed them. She worked like a demon to get everything ready. +She was thrilled." + +"Thrilled!" said Marjorie resentfully. "I'm so sick of people being +thrilled I don't know what to do. _I'm_ not thrilled. . . . I might +have known it. It's just the sort of thing Lucille would be crazy over +doing. I suppose she feels as if she were in the middle of a +melodrama." + +"I'm sorry, Marjorie, but there's something about you that always makes +people feel romantic. . . ." His voice softened. "I remember the +first time I saw you, coming into that restaurant a little behind +Lucille, it made me feel as if the fairy-stories I'd stopped believing +in had come true all over again. You were so little and so graceful, +and you looked as if you believed in so many wonderful things----" + +"Stop!" said Marjorie desperately. "It isn't fair to talk that way to +me. I won't have it. If you feel that way you ought to take me back +home." + +"On the contrary, just the reverse," quoted Francis, who seemed to be +getting cooler as Marjorie grew more excited. "You said you'd listen. +Be a sport, and do listen." + +"Very well," said Marjorie sulkily. She _was_ a sport by nature, and +she was curious. + +"I've taken a job in Canada--reforesting of burned-over areas. I had +to go to-night at the latest. It seemed to me that we hadn't either of +us given this thing a fair try-out. I hadn't a chance with you unless +I took this one. My idea is for you to give me a trial, under any +conditions you like that include our staying in the same house a couple +of months. I'm crazy over you. I want to stay married to you the +worst way. You're all frightened of me, and marriage, and everything, +now. But it's just possible that you may be making a mistake, not +seeing it through. It's just possible that I may be making a mistake, +thinking that you and I would be happy." + +Marjorie gave a little tense jerk of outraged pride at this rather +tactless speech. It sounded too much as if Francis might possibly tire +of _her_--which it wasn't his place to do. + +"And so," Francis went on doggedly, "my proposition is that you go up +to Canada with me. There's a fairly decent house that goes with the +job. There won't be too much of my society. You need a rest anyhow. +I won't hurry you, or do anything unfair. Only let us try it out, and +see if we wouldn't like being married, exactly as if we'd had a chance +to be engaged before." + +"And if we don't?" inquired Marjorie. + +"And if we don't, I'll give you the best divorce procurable this side +of the water." + +"You sound as if it was a Christmas present," said Marjorie. + +She thought she was temporizing, but Francis accepted it as willingness +to do as he suggested. + +"Then you will?" he asked. + +"But--it's such an awful step to take!" + +Francis leaned back--she could feel him do it, in the dark--and began +to argue as coolly as if it were not three o'clock in the morning, on +an unfrequented road. + +"The most of the step is taken. You haven't anything to do but just go +on as you are--no packing or walking or letter-writing or anything of +the sort. Simply stay here in the car with me and end at the place in +Canada, live there and let me be around more or less. If there's +anything you want at home that Lucille has forgotten----" + +"Knowing Lucille, there probably is," said Marjorie. + +"----we'll write her and get it. . . . Well?" + +Marjorie took a long breath, tried to be very wide-awake and firm, and +fell silent, thinking. + +She was committed, for one thing. People would think it was all right +and natural if she went on with Francis, and be shocked and upset and +everything else if she didn't. Cousin Anna Stevenson would write her +long letters about her Christian duty, and the office would be +uncomfortable. And Lucille--well, Lucille was a blessed comfort. She +didn't mind what you did so long as it didn't put her out personally. +She at least--but Lucille had packed the bag! And you couldn't go and +fling yourself on the neck of as perfidious a person as _that_. + +And--it would be an adventure. Francis was nice, or at least she +remembered it so; a delightful companion. He wasn't rushing her. All +he wanted was a chance to be around and court her, as far as she could +discover. True, he was appallingly strange, but--it seemed a +compromise. And she had always liked the idea of Canada. As for +eventually staying with Francis, that seemed very far off. It did not +seem like a thing she could ever do. Being friends with him she might +compass. Of course, you couldn't say that it was a fair deal to +Francis, but he was bringing it on himself, and really, he deserved the +punishment. For of course, Marjorie's vain little mind said +irrepressibly to itself, he would be fonder of her at the end of the +try-out than at the beginning. . . . And then a swift wave of anger at +him came over her, and she decided on the crest of it. She would never +give in to Francis's courtship. He wasn't the sort of man she liked. +He wasn't congenial. She had grown beyond him. But he deserved what +he was going to get. . . . And she spoke. + +"It isn't fair to you, Francis, because it isn't going to end the way +you hope. But I'll go to Canada with you . . ." + +For a moment she was very sorry she had said it, because Francis forgot +himself and caught her in his arms tight, and kissed her hard. + +"If you do that sort of thing I _won't_!" she said. "That wasn't in +the bargain." + +"I know it wasn't," said Francis contritely. "Only you were such a +good little sport to promise. I won't do it again unless you say I +may. Honestly, Marjorie. Not even before people." + +This sounded rather topsy-turvy, but after awhile it came to Marjorie +what he meant--just about the time she climbed out of the car, sat on +its step, and watched Francis competently unfurling and setting up two +small and seemingly inadequate tents and flooring them with balsam +boughs. He meant that there would have to be at least a semblance of +friendliness on account of the people they lived among. She felt more +frightened than ever. + +Francis came up to her as if he had felt the wave of terror that went +over her. + +"Now you aren't to worry. I'm going to keep my word. You're safe with +me, Marge. I'm going to take care of you as if I were your brother and +your father and your cousin Anna----" + +She broke in with an irrepressible giggle. + +"Oh, please don't go that far! Two male relatives will be +plenty. . . . I--I really got all the care from Cousin Anna that I +wanted." + +He looked relieved at her being able to laugh, and bent over the tents +again in the moonlight. + +"There you are. And here are the blankets. We're near enough to the +road so you won't be frightened, and enough in the bushes so we'll be +secluded. Good-night. I'll call you to-morrow, when it's time to go +on. I know this part of the country like my hand, and here's some +water in case you're thirsty in the night. Oh, and here are towels." + +This last matter-of-fact touch almost set Marjorie off again in +hysterical laughter. Being eloped with by a gentleman who thoughtfully +set towels and water outside her door was really _too_ much. She +pinned the tent together with a hatpin, slipped off some of her +clothes--it did not seem enough like going to bed to undress +altogether, and she mistrusted the balsam boughs with blankets over +them that pretended to be a bed in the corner--and flung herself down +and laughed and laughed and laughed till she nearly cried. + +She did not quite cry. The boughs proved to have been arranged by a +master hand, and she was very tired and exceedingly sleepy. She pulled +hairpins out of her hair in a half-dream, so that they had to be sought +for painstakingly next morning when she woke. She burrowed into the +blankets, and knew nothing of the world till nine next morning. + +"I can't knock on a tent-flap," said Francis's buoyant voice outside +then. "But it's time we were on our way, Marjorie. There ought to be +a bathrobe in that bundle of Lucille's. Slip it on and I'll show you +the brook." + +She reached for a mirror, which showed that, though tousled, she was +pretty, took one of the long breaths that seemed so frequently +necessary in dealing with Francis, said "in for a penny, in for a +pound," and did as she was directed. The bath-robe wasn't a bath-robe, +but something rather more civilized, which had been, as a matter of +fact, part of her trousseau, in that far-off day when trousseaux were +so frequently done, and seemed such fun to buy. She came out of the +tent rather timidly. "Good gracious, child, that wasn't what I meant!" +exclaimed Francis, seeming appallingly dressed and neat and ready for +life. "It's too cold for that sort of thing. Here!" + +He picked up one of the blankets, wrapped it around her, gave her a +steer in a direction away from the road, and vanished. + +She went down the path he had pushed her toward, holding the towels +tight in one hand and her blanket around her in the other. It was +fresh that morning, though it was warm for May. And Francis seemed to +think that she was going to take a bath in the brook, which even he +could not have had heated. She shivered at the idea as she came upon +it. + +It was an alluring brook, in spite of its unheated state. It was very +clear and brown, with a pebbled bottom that you could see into, and a +sort of natural round pool, where the current was partly dammed, making +it waist-deep. She resolved at first to wash just her face and hands; +then she tried an experimental foot, and finished by making a bold +plunge straight into the ice-cold middle of it. She shrieked when she +was in, and came very straight out, but by the time she was dry she was +warmer than ever. She ran back to the tent, laughing in sheer +exuberance of spirits, and dressed swiftly. The plunge had stimulated +her so that when Francis appeared again she ran toward him, feeling as +friendly as if he weren't married to her at all. + +"It was--awfully cold--but I'm just as hungry as I can be!" she called. +"Was there anything to eat in the car, along with the towels?" + +Francis seemed unaccountably relieved by her pleasantness. This had +been something of a strain on him, after all, though it was the first +time such a thought had occurred to Marjorie. His thin, dark face +lighted up. + +"Everything, including thermos bottles," he called back. "We won't +stop to build a fire, because we have to hurry; but Lucille----" + +"Lucille!" said Marjorie. "Well, I certainly never knew what a wretch +that girl was." + +"Oh, not a wretch. Only romantic," said Francis, grinning. "I tell +you again, Marjorie, you have a fatal effect on people. Look at me--a +matter-of-fact captain of doughboys--and the minute I see that you +won't marry me--stay married to me, I mean--I elope with you in a coach +and four!" + +"I don't think you ought to laugh about it," said Marjorie, sobering +down and stopping short in her tracks. + +"Well, I shouldn't," said Francis penitently. "Only I'm relieved, and +a little excited, I suppose. You see, I like your society a lot, and +the idea of having it for maybe three months, on any terms you like, is +making me so pleased I'm making flippant remarks. I won't any more, if +I remember." + +And he apparently meant it, for he busied himself in exploring the car, +which seemed as inexhaustible as the Mother's Bag in the Swiss Family +Robinson, for the food he had spoken of. There was a large basket, +which he produced and set on a stump, and from which he took +sandwiches, thermos flasks, and--last perfidy of Lucille!--a tin box of +shrimps à la King, carefully wrapped, and ready for reheating. He did +it in a little ready-heat affair which also emerged from the basket, +and which Marjorie knew well. It was her own, in fact. Reheated +shrimps should have killed them both, more especially for breakfast. +But they never thought of that till some days later. Marjorie was so +overcome by finding her own shrimps facing her, so to speak, that +nothing else occurred to her--except to eat them. They made a very +good breakfast, during which Francis was never flippant once. They +talked decorously about the natural scenery--fortunately for the +conversation there was a great deal of natural scenery in their +vicinity--and somewhat about pup-tents, and a little about how nice the +weather was. After that they cleared up the pieces, repacked +everything like magic, and went on their way very amicably. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"And now that things are more or less settled, wouldn't you like to +know what we are going to do?" inquired Francis. + +"Haven't I anything to do with it?" inquired Marjorie, not crossly, but +as one seeking information. + +"Almost everything. But you don't know the road to Canada. I thought +we'd take it straight through in the car, but to-night we will be in +more civilized parts--in an hour or so, in fact--and you can get +straightened up a little--not that you look as if you needed to, but +after a night in the open one does feel more or less tossed about, I +imagine." + +Marjorie considered. Ordinarily at this hour she would be walking into +the office. She would be speaking with what politeness one can muster +up in the morning to Miss Kaplan, who was quite as exuberant at five as +at seven in the evening; she would be hoping desperately that she +wasn't late, and that if she was she would escape Mr. Wildhack, who +glared terrifyingly at such young women who didn't get down on schedule +time. Marjorie was not much on schedule time, but she always felt that +the occasions when she got there too late really ought to be balanced +by those when she came too early. Instead of all this, she was racing +north with the fresh wind blowing against her face, with no duties and +no responsibilities, and something that, but for the person who shared +it with her, promised to be rather fun. Just then something came to +her. She had an engagement for tea with Bradley Logan. + +Suddenly that engagement seemed exceedingly important, and something +that she should on no account have missed. But at least she could +write to him and explain. + +"Have you a fountain-pen?" she inquired of Francis, "and can I write +sitting here?" + +"If you don't mind writing on a leaf from my notebook. It's all I +have." + +She was privately a little doubtful as to the impression that such a +note would make on Mr. Logan, for she remembered one wild tale she had +heard from him about a man who spent his whole life in a secluded room +somewhere in France, experimenting on himself as to what sort of +perfumes and colors and gestures made him happiest. None of them had +made him happy at all, to the best of her remembrance; but the idea Mr. +Logan left her with was that he was that sort of person himself, and +that the wrong kind of letter-paper could make him suffer acutely. She +was amused at it, really, but a bit impressed, too. One doesn't want +to be thought the kind of person who does the wrong thing because of +knowing no better. Still, it was that or nothing. + +"Dear Mr. Logan," she began, more illegibly than she knew because of +the car's motion, "I am so sorry that I have not been able to tell you +in advance that I couldn't take tea with you. But Mr. Ellison has +taken me away rather suddenly. He had to go to Canada to take a +position. We hope we will see you when we get back." + +She did not know till much later that owing to the thank-you-ma'am +which they reached simultaneously with the word "suddenly" that when +Mr. Logan got that note he thought it was "severely," and that the bad +penmanship and generally disgraceful appearance of the loose-leaf +sheet, the jerky hand, and the rather elderly envelope which was all +Francis could find--it had been living in a pocket with many other +things for some time--gave him a wrong idea. Mr. Logan, to anticipate +a little, by this erroneous means, acquired an idea very near the +truth. He thought that Marjorie Ellison was being kidnapped against +her will, and made it the subject of much meditation. His nervous +ailment prevented him from dashing after her. + +Marjorie fortunately knew nothing of all this, for she was proud to the +core, and she would rather have died than let any one but Lucille, of +necessity in on it, know anything but that she was spending the most +delightful and willing of honeymoons. + +So when they found a little up-state town with a tavern of exceeding +age and stiffness, and alighted in search of luncheon, the landlord and +landlady thought just what Marjorie wanted them to think; that all was +well and very recent. + +She sank into one of the enormous walnut chairs, covered with +immaculate and flaring tidies which reminded her of Cousin Anna and +stuck into the back of her neck, and viewed the prospect with pleasure. +For the moment she almost forgot Francis, and the problem of managing +just the proper distance from him. There was a stuffed fish, +glassy-eyed and with cotton showing from parts of him, over the +counter. There were bills of forgotten railroads framed and hung in +different places. There was a crayon portrait of a graduated row of +children from the seventies hung over the fireplace, four of them, on +the order of another picture, framed and hanging in another part of the +room, and called "A Yard of Kittens." Marjorie wondered with pleasure +why they hadn't added enough children to bring it up to a yard, and +balanced things properly. The fireplace itself was bricked up, all +except a small place where a Franklin stove sat, with immortelles +sticking out of its top as if they aimed at being fuel. Marjorie had +seen immortelles in fireplaces before, but in a Franklin they were new +to her. She made up her mind to find out about it before she was +through. + +"Why--why, I'm not worrying about being carried off by Francis!" she +remembered suddenly. She had been quite forgetful of him, and of +anything but the funny, old-fashioned place she was in. She lay back +further in the walnut chair, quite sleepily. + +"Would you like to go upstairs now, ma'am?" the landlord said. She +looked around for Francis, but he was nowhere to be seen. She picked +up the handkerchief which had slipped from her lap, cast a regretful +look at the yard of kittens, and followed him. + +"Here it is, ma'am," said the landlord, and set the suitcase he had +been carrying down inside the door. She shut the door after her, and +made for the mirror. Then she said "Oh!" in a surprised voice, because +Francis was standing before it, brushing his hair much harder than such +straight black hair needed to be brushed. + +He seemed as much surprised as she. + +"Good heavens, I beg your pardon, Marjorie!" he said. "This isn't your +room. Yours is the next one." + +"I beg _your_ pardon, then," said Marjorie, with a certain iciness. + +"You can have this one if you like it better. They're next door to +each other. You know"--Francis colored--"we have to seem more or less +friendly. Really I didn't know----" + +He was moving away into the other room as he spoke, having laid down +his brush on her bureau as if he had no business with it at all. + +"This isn't my brush," she said, standing at the connecting door and +holding it out at arm's length. + +"No," said Francis. "I didn't know I'd left it. Thank you." + +He took it from her, and went into his own room. She pushed the door +to between them, and went slowly back and sat down on the bed. A quite +new idea had just come to her. + +Francis wasn't a relentless Juggernaut, or a tyrant, or a cave-man, or +anything like that really. That is, he probably did have moments of +being all of them. But besides that--it was a totally new idea--he was +a human being like herself. Sometimes things embarrassed him; +sometimes they were hard for him; he didn't always know what to do next. + +She had never had any brothers, and not very much to do with men until +she got old enough for them to make love to her. The result was that +it had never occurred to her particularly that men were people. They +were just--men. That is, they were people you had nothing in common +with except the fact that you did what they said if they were fathers, +or married them when the time came, if they weren't. But she had +actually felt sorry for Francis; not sorry, in a vague, rather pitying +way because she didn't love him--but sorry for him as if he had been +Lucille, when he was so embarrassed that he walked off forgetting his +own brush. She smiled a little at the remembrance. She really began +to feel that he was a friend. + +So when he tapped at her outside door presently and told her that +luncheon was ready, and that they had better go down and eat it, +instead of the severity for which Francis had braced himself, she +smiled at him in a very friendly fashion, and they went down together, +admiring the wallpaper intensely on their way, for it consisted of fat +scarlet birds sitting on concentric circles, and except for its age was +almost exactly like some that Lucille and Marjorie hadn't bought +because it was two dollars a yard. + +Luncheon proved to be dinner, but they were none the less glad of it +for that. And instead of freezing every time the landlord was +tactlessly emotional, Marjorie found that she could be amused at it, +and that her being amused helped Francis to be amused. + +She always looked back tenderly to that yard of kittens, and to those +other many yards of impossible and scarlet birds. They gave her the +first chance at carrying through her wild flight with Francis decently +and without too much discomfort. + +The rest of the trip to Canada was easier and easier. Once admitting +that Francis and she were friends--and you can't spend three days +traveling with anybody without being a friend or an enemy--she had a +nice enough time. She kept sternly out of her mind the recollection +that he was in love with her. When she thought of that she couldn't +like him very much. But then she didn't have to think of it. + +"Here we are," said Francis superfluously as they stopped at the door +of a big house that was neither a log cabin nor a regular house. + +Marjorie gave a sigh of contentment. + +"I admit I'm glad to get here," she said. + +She slipped out of the car in the sunset, and stood drooping a minute, +waiting for her bag to be lifted down. She was beginning to feel +tired. She was lonely, too. She missed everything acutely and all at +once--New York, the little apartment, Lucille, being free from +Francis--even the black kitten seemed to her something that she could +not live one moment longer without. She turned and looked at Francis, +trim and alert as ever, just steering the car around the side of the +house, and found herself hating him for the moment. He was so at home +here. And she hadn't even carfare to run away if she wanted to! + +"Well, now, you poor lamb!" said somebody's rich, motherly voice with a +broad Irish brogue. "You're tired enough to die, and no wonder. Come +along with me, darlin'." + +She looked up with a feeling of comfort into the face of a +black-haired, middle-aged Irishwoman, ample and beaming. + +"I'm Mrs. O'Mara, an' I know yer husband well. I kep' house for him +an' the other young gintlemen when they were workin' up here before the +fightin' began. So he got me to come an' stay wid the two of ye, me +an' Peggy. An' I don't deny I'm glad to see ye, for there does be a +ghost in this house!" + +The ending was so unexpected and matter-of-fact that Marjorie forgot to +feel lost and estranged, and even managed to laugh. Even a ghost +sounded rather pleasant and friendly, and it was good to see a woman's +face. Who or what Peggy might be she did not know or care. Mrs. +O'Mara picked up the suitcase with one strong arm, and, putting the +other round Marjorie in a motherly way, half led her into the house. + +"Ye'll excuse me familiarity, but it's plain to see ye're dead, +Miss--ma'am, I mean. Come yer ways in to the fire." + +Marjorie had been feeling that life would be too hard to bear if she +had to climb any stairs now; so it was very gladly that she let Mrs. +O'Mara establish her in a rude chaise-longue sort of thing, facing a +huge fire in a roughly built fireplace. The housekeeper bent over her, +loosening knots and taking off wraps in a very comforting way. Then +she surrounded her with pillows--not too many, or too much in her +way--and slipped from the room to return in a moment with tea. + +Marjorie drank it eagerly, and was revived by it enough to look around +and see the place where she was to dwell. It looked very attractive, +though it was not in the least like anything she had ever seen. + +Where she lay she stared straight into a fire of great logs that +crackled and burned comfortingly. The mantel over it was roughly made +of wood, and its only adornment was a pipe at one side, standing up on +its end in some mysterious manner, and a pile of Government reports at +the other. The walls were plastered and left so. Here and there were +tacked photographs and snapshots, and along one wall--she had to screw +her neck to see it--some one had fastened up countless sheets from a +Sunday supplement--war photographs entirely. She wondered who had done +it, because what she had seen of returned soldiers had shown her that +the last thing they wanted to see or hear about was the war. + +There were couches around the walls, the other chairs were lounging +chairs also. There was fishing-tackle in profusion, and a battered +phonograph on a table. It looked as if men had made themselves +comfortable there, without thinking much about looks. The only thing +against this was one small frilled chair. It was a most absurd chair, +rustic to begin with, with a pink cushion covered with white net and +ruffled, and pink ribbons anchoring another pink and net cushion at its +back. Mrs. O'Mara, hovering hospitably, saw Marjorie eying it, and +beamed proudly. + +"That's Peggy's chair," she said. "Peggy's me little daughter." + +"Oh, that's nice," said Marjorie. "How old is she?" + +"Just a young thing," said Mrs. O'Mara. "She'll be in in a minute." + +Marjorie leaned back again, her tea consumed, and rested. She was not +particularly interested in Peggy, because she was not very used to +children. She liked special ones sometimes, but as a rule she did not +quite know what to do with them. After a few sentences exchanged, and +an embarrassed embrace in which the children stiffened themselves, +children and Marjorie were apt to melt apart. She hoped Peggy wouldn't +be the kind that climbed on you and kicked you. + +A wild clattering of feet aroused her from these half-drowsy +meditations. + +"Here's Francis, mother! Here's Francis!" called a joyous young voice, +and Marjorie turned to see Francis, his eyes sparkling and his whole +face lighted up, dashing into the room with an arm around one of the +most beautiful girls she had ever seen, a tall, vivid creature who +might have been any age from seventeen to twenty, and who brought into +the room an atmosphere of excitement and gaiety like a wind. + +"And here's Peggy!" said Francis gaily, pausing in his dash only when +he reached Marjorie's side. "She's all grown up since I went away, and +isn't she the dear of the world?" + +"Oh, but so's your wife, Francis!" said Peggy naïvely, slipping her arm +from around his shoulder and dropping on her knees beside Marjorie. +"You don't mind if I kiss you, do you, please? And must I call her +Mrs. Ellison, Francis?" + +"Peggy, child, where's your manners?" said her mother from the +background reprovingly, but with an obvious note of pride in her voice. + +"Where they always were," said Peggy boldly, laughing, and staying +where she was. + +She was tall and full-formed, with thick black hair like her mother's, +not fluffy and waving like Marjorie's, but curling tight in rings +wherever it had the chance. Her eyes were black and her cheeks and +lips a deep permanent red. She looked the picture of health and +strength, and Marjorie felt like a toy beside her--fragile to the +breaking-point. She seemed much better educated than her mother, and +evidently on a footing of perfect equality and affection with Francis. + +Marjorie was drawn to her, for the girl had vitality and charm; but she +found herself wondering why Francis had never told her about this +Peggy, and why he had never thought of marrying her. + +"You wouldn't think this young wretch was only sixteen, would you?" +said Francis, answering her silent question. "Look at her--long +dresses and hair done up, and beaux, I hear, in all directions!" + +Of course. If Peggy had been scarcely past fourteen when Francis saw +her last, he couldn't have considered marrying her. Marjorie tried to +think that she wished he had, but found that she did not like to cease +owning anything that she had ever possessed, even such a belonging as +Francis Ellison. + +"That's very nice," she said inadequately, smiling at Peggy in as +friendly a manner as so tired a person could manage. "I'm glad I shall +have Peggy to be friends with while I'm up here." + +"Oh, me dear, ye'll be up here forever an' the day after, be the looks +of the job Mr. Francis has on his hands," said Mrs. O'Mara. + +"No, I won't," she began to say hurriedly, and then stopped herself. +She had no right to tell any one about her bargain with Francis. She +didn't want to, anyway. + +"The poor child's tired," said Mrs. O'Mara, whom, in spite of her +relation to Peggy, Marjorie was beginning to regard as a guardian +angel. "Come upstairs to yer room, me dear." + +Marjorie rose, with Francis and Peggy hovering about her, carrying +wraps and hats and suitcases; and Mrs. O'Mara led the way to a room on +the floor above, reached by a stair suspiciously like a ladder. + +"Here ye'll be comfortable," said Mrs. O'Mara, "and rest a little till +we have supper. Peggy will get you anything you want." + +But Marjorie declined Peggy. All she wanted was to rest a little +longer. + +She flung herself on the softly mattressed cot in one corner of the +room; and nearly went to sleep. + +She was awakened--it must have been quite sleep--by Francis, on the +threshold. His eyes were blazing, and he was evidently angry at her to +the last degree--angrier even than he had been that time in the city +when he nearly threw the telephone at her. + +"Is this the sort of person you are?" he demanded furiously. "Look at +this telegram!" + +Marjorie, frightened, rose from the couch with her heart beating like a +triphammer. + +"Let me see," she asked. + +He handed the telegram to her with an effect of wanting to shake her. + +"Am coming up to arrange with you about Mrs. Ellison," it said. "Know +all." + +It was signed by Logan. + +"Good heavens!" said Marjorie helplessly. + +"Knows all!" said Francis bitterly. "And that's the sort of girl you +are!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Marjorie froze in consternation. She had forgotten to allow for +Francis's gusts of anger; indeed, there had been no need, for since his +one flare-up over the telephone he had been perfectly gentle and +courteous to her. + +She stared at him, amazed. + +"But I didn't do anything to make that happen!" she protested. "I +never dreamed--why, I'd have too much pride----" + +"Pride!" thundered Francis. "It's plain cause and effect. You write +to that pup in New York, and I give you the envelope and paper--help +you straight through it, good heavens!--and you use my decency to +appeal to him for help, after you've agreed to try it out and see it +through!" + +Marjorie stiffened with anger. + +"I _was_ going to try it out and see it through," she countered with +dignity. "But if you treat me this way I see no reason why I should. +Even this housekeeper of yours would give me money to escape with." + +"Escape! You act as if you were in a melodrama!" said Francis angrily. +"We made a bargain, that's all there is to it; and the first chance you +get, you smash it. I suppose that's the way women act. . . . I don't +know much about women, I admit." + +"You don't know much about me," said Marjorie icily, "if you jump to +conclusions like that about me. Whatever that Logan man knows he +doesn't know from me. Have you forgotten Lucille?" + +"Lucille wouldn't----" began Francis, and stopped. + +"And why wouldn't she? Didn't she tell me that I was a poor little +pet, and that men could always take care of themselves and, then turn +around and help you carry me away? And it was carrying me away--it was +stealing me, as if I were one of those poor Sabine women in the history +book." + +They were fronting each other across the threshold all this time, +Francis with his face rigid and pale with anger, his wife flushed and +quivering. + +"I admit I hadn't thought of that," said Francis, referring presumably +to Lucille's possibilities as an informer, and not to Marjorie's being +a Sabine woman. + +Marjorie moved back wearily and sat on the bed. + +"And you were just getting to be such a nice friend," she mourned. "I +was getting so I _liked_ you. There never was anybody pleasanter than +you while we were coming up from New York. Why, you weren't like a +person one was married to, at all!" + +"More like a friend nor a 'usband," quoted Francis unexpectedly. + +Marjorie looked at him in surprise. Any one who could stop in the +middle of a very fine quarrel to see the funny side of things that way +wasn't so bad, her mind remarked to itself before she could stop it. + +"What do you mean?" she asked, mitigating her wrath a little. + +"Why, you know the story; the cockney woman who had a black eye, and +when the settlement worker asked her if her husband had given it to her +said, 'Bless you, no, miss--'e's more like a friend nor a 'usband!'" + +"Oh," said Marjorie, smiling a little. Then she remembered, her eyes +falling on the yellow paper Francis still held. There was still much +to be settled between them. + +"But, as you were saying about Mr. Logan----" + +"I was saying a lot I hadn't any business to about Mr. Logan," said +Francis frankly. + +"Then it's all right?" said Marjorie. "At least as far as you're +concerned?" + +He nodded. + +"Well," said she most unfairly, "it isn't, as far as I am. Francis, I +don't think we'd better think any more of ever trying to be married to +each other. It's too hard on the nervous system." + +Francis colored deeply. + +"What do you want to do?" he demanded. + +Marjorie paused a minute before she answered. The truth was, she +didn't know. She had definitely given up her New York position. She +liked it up here, very much indeed. She liked the O'Maras and the +house, and she was wild to get outdoors and explore the woods. Leaving +Francis out of the question, she was freer than she had been for years. +Altogether it was a bit hard to be entirely moved by lofty +considerations. She wanted to stay; she knew that. + +"Canada's a nice place," she began, dimpling a little and looking up at +Francis from under her eyelashes. + +"Oh, then----" he began eagerly. + +"And I want to stay, for perfectly selfish reasons," she went on +serenely. "But if my staying makes you think that there is any hope +of--of eventualities--I think I'd better go. In other words, I like +the idea of a vacation here. That's all. If you are willing to have +me as selfish as all that, why, it's up to you. I think myself I'm a +pig." + +"You will stay, but not with any idea of learning to like me better--is +that it?" + +"That's it," she said. "And, as I said, I feel colossally selfish--a +regular Hun or something." + +"That's because you used the word 'colossal,'" he said absently. "They +did, a lot. All right, my dear. That's fair enough. Yes, I'm +willing." + +"But no tempers, mind, and no expectations!" said Marjorie firmly, +making hay while the sun shone. + +"No," said Francis. He looked at her appraisingly. "You know," he +remarked, "the gamble isn't all one way. It's just possible that I may +be as glad as you not to see the thing through when we've seen +something of each other. I don't feel that way now, but there's no +telling." + +She sprang to her feet, angry as he had been. But he had turned, after +he said that, and gone quietly downstairs. + +The idea was new to her, and correspondingly annoying. +Francis--Francis, who had been spending all his time since he got back +trying to win her--Francis suggesting that he might tire of her! Why, +people didn't _do_ such things! And if he expected to tire of her what +did he want her for at all? + +She sprang up and surveyed herself in the glass that hung against the +rough wall, over a draped dressing-table which had apparently once been +boxes. Yes, she did look tired and draggled. Her wild-rose color was +nearly gone, and there were big circles under her eyes. And there was +a smudge on her face that nobody had told her a thing about. And her +hair was mussed too much to be becoming, even to her, who looked best +with it tossed a little. And there was not a sign of water to wash in +anywhere, and the room had no furniture except the cot and the +dressing-table---- + +Another knock stopped her here, and she turned to see young Peggy, +immaculate and blooming, at the door. + +"I just came to bring you towels, and to see that everything was all +right, and show you the way to the bathroom," she said most +opportunely. "We have a bathtub, you know, even up here in the wilds!" + +Marjorie forgot everything; home, husband, problems, life in +general--what were they all to the chance at a real bathtub? She +followed Peggy down the hall as a kitten follows a friend with a bowl +of milk. + +"O-o! a bathtub!" she said rapturously. + +Peggy threw open a door where, among wooden floor and side-wall and +ceiling and everything else of the most primitive, a real and most +enticingly porcelain bathtub sat proudly awaiting guests. + +"It'll not be so good as you've been used to," she said with more +suggestion of Irishry than Marjorie had yet heard, "but I guess you'll +be glad of it." + +"Glad!" said Marjorie. And she almost shut the door in Peggy's face. + +She lingered over it and over the manicuring and hairdressing and +everything else that she could linger over, and dressed herself in the +best of her gowns, a sophisticated taupe satin with slippers and +stockings to match. She'd show Francis what he was perhaps going to be +willing to part with! So when Mrs. O'Mara's stentorian voice called +"Supper!" up the stair, she had not quite finished herself off. The +sophisticated Lucille had tucked in--it was a real tribute of +affection--her own best rouge box; and Marjorie was on the point of +adding the final touch to beauty, as the advertisement on the box said, +when she heard the supper call. She was too genuinely hungry to stop. +She raced down the stairs in a most unsophisticated manner, nearly +falling over Francis and Peggy, who were also racing for the +dining-room. + +They caught her to them in a most unceremonious way, each with an arm +around her, and sped her steps on. She found herself breathless and +laughing, dropped into a big wooden chair with Francis facing her and +Peggy and her mother at the other two sides. It was a small table, +wooden as to leg under its coarse white cloth; but, oh, the beauty of +the sight to Marjorie! There were such things as pork and beans, and +chops, and baked potatoes, and apple sauce, and various vegetables, and +on another table--evidently a concession to manners--was to be seen a +noble pudding with whipped cream thick above it. + +"The food looks good, now, doesn't it?" beamed Mrs. O'Mara. "I'll bet +ye're hungry enough to eat the side o' the house. Pass me yer plate to +fill up, me dear." + +Marjorie ate--she remembered it vaguely afterwards, in her sleep--a +great deal of everything on the table. It did not seem possible, when +she remembered, also vaguely, all the things there had been; but the +facts were against her. She finished with a large cup of coffee, which +should have kept her awake till midnight; and lay back smiling drowsily +in her chair. + +The last thing she remembered was somebody picking her up like a small +baby and carrying her out of the dining-room and up the stairs to her +own bed, and laying her down on it; and a heavy tread behind her +carrier, which must have been Mrs. O'Mara's, for a rich voice that +belonged to it had said, "Shure it's a lovely sight, yer carryin' her +around like a child. It's the lovely pair yez make, Mr. Francis!" And +then she remembered a tightening of arms around her for an instant, +before she was laid carefully on her own cot and left alone. + +Mrs. O'Mara undressed her and put her to bed, she told her next +morning; but Marjorie remembered nothing at all of that. All she knew +was that the lady's voice, raised to say that it was time to get up, +wakened her about eight next day. + +It is always harder to face any situation in the morning. And +theoretically Marjorie's situation was a great deal to face. Here she +was alone, penniless, at the mercy of a determined young man and his +devoted myrmidons--whatever myrmidons were. Marjorie had always heard +of them in connections like these, and rather liked the name. Mr. +Logan was imminent at any moment, and a great deal of disagreeableness +might be looked for when he turned up and had it out with Francis. +Altogether the Sabine lady felt that she ought to be in a state of +panic terror. But she had slept well,--it was an excellent cot--the +air was heavenly bracing, Mrs. O'Mara was a joy to think of, with her +brogue and her affectionate nature, and altogether Marjorie Ellison +found herself wondering hungrily what there would be for breakfast, and +dressing in a hurry so that she could go down and eat it. + +Peggy, rosy and exuberant, rushed at her and kissed her when she got to +the foot of the stairs. + +"Oh, isn't it lovely to think you're here, and I've got somebody to +have fun with, and Francis has to be out a lot of the time? Do you +like to dance? There's a French-Canadian family down the road, two +girls and three boys, and seven or eight other men out working with +Francis, and under him, and if you only say you like to dance I'll +telephone them to-night. Mother said I was too young to dance--and me +three years learning at the convent!--but with you here sure she can't +say a word. Oh, do say you'll have a little dance to-night! Francis +dances, too, if you haven't stopped it in him." + +She stopped for a minute to take breath, and Marjorie clapped her hands. + +"I love to dance! Do have them up! Never mind whether Francis likes +it or not!" + +"Sure you have to mind what your own wedded husband likes," said the +Irish girl, shocked a little. "But unless he's been more sobered +than's likely by the big war, he'll be as crazy over it all as we are. +There's a dozen grand dance records on the phonograph, and sure a bit +of rosin on the floor and it'll be as fine as silk. Let's try them +now." + +She made for the phonograph and had a dance-record on it before +Marjorie could answer, and in another minute had picked the smaller +girl up and was dancing over the rough floor with her. And so Francis, +coming in a little apprehensively, found them flushed and laughing, and +whirling wildly around to the music of a record played much too fast. +Peggy, in an effort to show off heavily before Francis, came a cropper +over a stool at his feet, pulling Marjorie down in her fall; both of +them laughing like children as they fell, so that they could scarcely +disentangle themselves, and had to be unknotted by Francis. + +"Come on to breakfast now, you young wild animals," said he, his thin, +dark face sparkling all over with laughter as Marjorie had never seen +it. + +"I'm killed entirely," said Peggy. "I have to be taken." + +She made herself as limp and heavy as possible, and it ended in a +free-for-all scuffle which was finally shepherded into the dining-room +by Mrs. O'Mara, who was laughing so herself that she had to stop and +catch her breath. + +So there was little time to think of one's sad lot at breakfast, +either. And Peggy was so keen on the dance proposition that it took +all breakfast time to discuss it. + +"I'm taking the motor-cycle over to the clearing, and I don't think +I'll be back till night," said Francis unexpectedly when breakfast was +over. + +Peggy made a loud outcry. + +"Is this your idea of a honeymoon? Well, when my time comes may I have +a kinder man than you! And poor Marjorie sitting home darning your +socks, I suppose!" + +"No. Not at all. I have to go over first to take some things. When I +come back I'll take her, too, if she'd like to go. Think you'd enjoy +it, Marjorie?" + +"What is it?" she asked cautiously, not particularly willing to +implicate herself. + +"Well, it's a little cabin--or two little cabins, rather, and a +lean-to--several miles away. A motor-cycle can go there by taking its +life in its hands. It's in the middle of a clearing, so to speak; but +it's also in the middle of a pretty thick patch of woods around the +clearing. There's a spring, and a kettle, and we make open fires. +There are provisions in the lean-to, locked up so the deer can't get +them--yes, deer like things to eat. We go there to stay when there's +such work to do that it isn't convenient to come back and forth at +night. There are lots of rabbits and birds, and once in a while a +harmless little green snake--do you mind harmless snakes, my +dear?--comes and looks affectionately at you, finds you're a human +being, and goes away again rather disappointed. Once in a long while +an old bear comes and sniffs through the cracks of the lean-to in hopes +of lunch, and goes away again disconsolately like the snake. But only +once since I can remember. I tell you, Marjorie, I don't ever remember +having a better time than when I'd built a fire out there in an open +spot near the trees, and just lay on the ground with my hands behind my +head, all alone, and everything in the whole world so far away that +there wasn't a chance of its bothering me! Just trees and sky and +wood-smoke and the ground underneath--there's nothing like it in the +world!" + +He had flushed up with enthusiasm. Marjorie looked at him admiringly. +This was a new Francis, one she had never met. She had not realized +that any one could love that sort of thing--indeed, no one had ever +told her that such things existed. Her life had been spent between +Cousin Anna's little prim house with a pavement in front of it and a +pocket-handkerchief of lawn behind, and the tiny New York flat she had +occupied with Lucille. She had never really been out-of-doors in her +life. + +"Oh, please do take me!" she cried. + +He seemed extremely pleased at her asking. + +"I can't this first trip; the side-car will be full of junk that I have +to get over there. But I _would_ like to take you on my second trip, +about noon to-day. Or it may be later when I get back--it's quite a +distance." + +"That will be all right," said Marjorie sedately. "I'd like to rest a +little this morning, anyway." + +So Francis, with a light in his eyes, and whistling happily, fussed +about for a while assembling a mysterious collection of tools and +curious bundles, and rode blithely off in the general direction of what +looked like virgin forest. + +"And now we'll plan all about the dance," said Peggy gaily. + +"You will not, Miss! You'll plan how to help me clean the back cellar +this beautiful sunny morning that was just made for it," said her +mother sternly, appearing on the scene, and carrying off a protesting +Peggy. + +Marjorie, left alone, addressed herself to resting up in preparation +for the afternoon's trip. There was a big hammock on the porch, and +thither, wrapped in her heavy coat, she went to lie. She tried to +think out some plans for her future life without Francis; but the plans +were hard to make. There were so many wild things to watch; even the +clouds and sky seemed different up here. And presently when Peggy, no +more than healthfully excited by her hard morning's work on the cellar, +came prancingly out to enjoy more of her guest's society, she found her +curled up, asleep, one hand under her cheek, looking about ten years +old and very peaceful. + +"Isn't she the darling!" she breathed to her mother. + +"She is that!" said Mrs. O'Mara heartily. "But they've both got fine +young tempers of their own, for all they're so gay and friendly. +Somebody's going to learn who's rulin' the roost, when the first edge +of the honeymoon's off. And it's in me mind that the under-dog won't +be Mr. Francis." + +"Oh, mother! How can you talk so horridly?" remonstrated Peggy. "As +if they ever had any chance of quarreling!" + +"There's none," said Mrs. O'Mara wisely, "but has the chancet of +quarrelin' when they're man an' wife. An' why not? Sure it brightens +life a bit! 'Tis fine when it's over, as the dentist said to me whin +he pulled out the big tooth in me back jaw." + +"Well, I know _I'm_ never going to quarrel," said Peggy vehemently. + +"Then ye'd be a reformed character itself, an' why not start to curb +yer temper now?" said her mother. "I can mind a certain day----" + +But Peggy engulfed her mother in a violent embrace, holding her mouth +shut as she did so, and as Peggy was even taller than Mrs. O'Mara and +quite as strong, the ensuing struggle and laughter woke Marjorie. + +"Now, see that! An' take shame to yerself!" said Mrs. O'Mara +apologetically. "'Twas me angel girl here, Mrs. Ellison, explainin' by +fine arguments how peaceful-minded she is. Now let me away, Peggy, for +there's the meal to make." + +Peggy, laughing as usual, sat down unceremoniously by Marjorie. + +"I was just saying that I didn't see why married people should +quarrel," she explained, "and mother says that they all have to do some +of it, just to keep life amusing. _I_ think you and Francis get along +like kittens in a basket." + +"And does she think we quarrel?" inquired Marjorie sleepily, yet with +suspicion. + +Peggy shook her head with indubitable honesty. + +"No, she only says you will sooner or later. But that's because she's +Irish, I think; you know Irish people do like a bit of a shindy once in +awhile. I admit I don't mind it myself. But you Americans born are +quieter. When you quarrel you seem to take no pleasure whatever in it, +for all I can see!" + +Marjorie laughed irrepressibly. + +"Oh, Peggy, I do love you!" she said. "It's true, I don't like +quarreling a bit. It always makes me unhappy. It's my Puritan +ancestry, I suppose." + +"Well, you can't help your forebears," said Peggy sagely. + +"And now shall I call up the folks for the dance to-night?" + +"Oh, yes, do!" begged Marjorie, who had slept as much as she wanted to +and felt ready for anything in the world. + +She lay on in the khaki hammock in a happy drowsiness. The wind and +sunshine alone were enough to make her happy. And there was going to +be a dance to-night, and she could wear a little pink dress she +remembered . . . and pretty soon there would be luncheon, and after +that she was going off on a gorgeous expedition with Francis, where +there was a fire, and rabbits and maybe a nice but perfectly harmless +little green snake that would look at her affectionately . . . but +everybody looked at you affectionately, once you were married . . . it +was very warming and comforting. . . . + +She was asleep again before she knew it. It was only Francis's quick +step on the porch that woke her--Francis, very alert and flushed, and +exceedingly hungry. + +"Yes, yes, Mr. Francis, the food's been waitin' you this long time," +said Mrs. O'Mara, evidently in answer to a soul-cry of Francis's, for +he had not had time to say anything aloud. "Bring yer wife an' come +along an' eat." + +So they went in without further word spoken, and after all Marjorie +found herself the possessor of as good an appetite as she'd had for +breakfast. + +"Be sure to get back in time to dress for the dance," Peggy warned them +as they started off in the motor-cycle. "It's to be a really fine +dance, with the girls in muslin dresses, not brogans and shirtwaists!" + +"The girls?" asked Marjorie of Francis wonderingly. + +"I think she means that the men aren't to wear brogans, or the girls +shirtwaists," he explained, as they whizzed down what seemed invisible +tracks in a trackless forest. "Smell the pines--aren't they good?" + +Marjorie looked up, beaming. + +"Stunning!" she said. "I don't see how you ever wanted to come to New +York, after you'd had this." + +"After a long time of this New York is pleasant again," he said. "But +I hope you won't tire of this, my dear." + +"Oh, no!" she said fervently. "I'm crazy to go on, and see the cabins +you told me about. I can amuse myself there the whole afternoon, if +you have other things you want to do." + +"You dear!" said Francis. + +After that they were quiet, and rode on together, enjoying the glorious +afternoon. + +"Here we are," said Francis after about two hours on the motor-cycle. +He slipped off and held the machine for her to get out. + +"Oh," said Marjorie, "it's like something out of a fairy-book!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +They had gone through what seemed to Marjorie's city-bred eyes a dense +forest, but which Francis had assured her was only a belt of +woodland--quite negligible. And they had come out, now, on what +Francis called a clearing. It was thick with underbrush, little trees, +and saplings; while bloodroot flowered everywhere, and the gleam of +thickly scattered red berries showed even as they rode quickly over the +grass. In the center of things were the two cabins Francis had spoken +of; one quite large--Francis seemed given to understatement--and the +other of the conventional cabin size. + +"The larger one is where my men stay," he explained. "Two of them are +there now. That's why you see a red shirt through the window. Pierre +is probably leaving it there to dry. I'll take you through if you +like, but it's just a rough sort of place. The lean-to is the +cook-place. All that cabin has inside is bunks, and a table or two to +play cards on, as far as I remember. The other cabin----" + +He stopped short, and turned away, pretending to fuss over his +motor-cycle, which he had already laid down tenderly in just the right +spot and the right position. Marjorie, eager and swift, sprang close +to him like a squirrel. She did not look unlike one for the moment, +wrapped in the thick brown coat with its furry collar. + +"The other one! Oh, show me that, and tell me all about it!" she +demanded ardently. + +"The other one----" he said. "Well--it's nothing. That's where I +wanted to bring you to stay--before I knew there wasn't anything to it +but--this. I--fixed it up for--us." + +In spite of all the things she had against Francis, Marjorie felt for +the moment as if there was something hurting her throat. She was sorry +for him, not in a general, pitying way, but the close way that hurts; +as if he was her little boy, and something had hurt him, and she +couldn't do anything about it. + +"I'm--I'm sorry," she faltered, not looking at him. + +He had evidently expected her to be angry--could she have been angry so +much as all that?--for he looked up with a relieved air. + +"I thought you might like to go in there and rest while I went over to +where the work is being done," he said matter-of-factly. "I can't get +back to you or to the Lodge till just in time for Peggy's dance. But +you'll find things in the little cabin to amuse you, perhaps." + +"Oh, I don't need things in the cabin to amuse me!" said Marjorie +radiantly. "There's enough outside of it to keep me amused for a whole +afternoon! But I do want to see in." + +He took a key out of his pocket, and together they crossed the clearing +to where the little cabin stood, its rustic porch thick with vines. +Francis stood very still for a moment before he bent and put the key +into the padlock, and Marjorie saw with another tug at her heart that +his face was white, and held tense. She felt awed. Had it meant so +much to him, then? + +She followed him in, subdued and yet somehow excited. He moved from +her side with a sort of push, and flung open the little casement +windows. The scented gloom, heavy with the aromatic odors of +life-everlasting and sweet fern, gave place to the fresh keen wind with +new pine-scents in it, and to the dappled sunshine. + +"Oh, how _lovely_!" said Marjorie. "Oh, Francis! Do you know what +this place is? It's the place I've always planned I'd make for myself, +way off in the woods somewhere, when I had enough money. Only I +thought I'd never really see it, you know. . . . And here it is!" + +He only said "Is it?" in a sort of suppressed way; but she said no +more. She only stood and looked about her. + +There was a broad window-seat under the casement windows he had just +thrown open. It was cushioned in leaf-brown. A book lay on it, which +Marjorie came close to and looked at curiously. + +"Oh--my own pet 'Wind in the Willows!'" she said delightedly. "How +queer!" + +"No, not queer," said Francis quietly, from where he was unlocking an +inner door. + +So Marjorie said no more. She laid the book down a little shyly and +investigated further. The walls were of stained wood, but apparently +there were two thicknesses, with something between to keep the heat and +cold out, for she could see a depth of some inches at the door. There +was a perfectly useless and adorable and absurd balcony over the +entrance, and a sort of mezzanine and a stair by which you could get to +it; something like what a child would plan in its ideas of the kind of +house it wanted. There was a door at the farther end leading into +another room, and crossing the wooden floor, with its brown fiber rug, +Marjorie opened it and entered a little back part where were packed +away most surprisingly a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. + +"Why, it isn't a cabin--it's a bungalow!" she said, surprised. "And +what darling furniture!" + +The furniture was all in keeping, perfectly simple and straight-built, +of brown-stained wood. There was a long chair at one side of the +window-seat, with a stool beside it, and a magazine thrown down on the +stool. Everything looked as if it had just been lived in, and by some +one very much like Marjorie. + +"When did you do all this?" she asked curiously. + +"I didn't know you'd had any time for ages and ages. Was it----" + +"Was it for some other girl," was hovering on her lips. But she did +not ask the question. As a matter of fact, she didn't want to hear the +answer if it was affirmative. "You don't remember," he said quietly. +"I put in some time training recruits not far from here. No, of course +you don't remember, because I never told you. It was in between my +first seeing you, and the other time when I was going around with you +and Billy and Lucille. After I saw you that first time, when I had to +come back here, near as it was to my old haunts,--well, I didn't know, +of course, whether I was ever going to marry you or not. But--there +was the cabin, my property, and I had time off occasionally and nothing +to do with it. So--well, it was for the you I thought might possibly +be. It made you realer, don't you see?" + +Marjorie sank down as he finished, on the broad, soft window-seat; and +began to cry uncontrollably. + +"Oh--oh--it seems so pitiful!" he made out that she was saying finally. +"I--I'm so sorry!" + +Francis laughed gallantly. + +"Oh, you needn't be sorry!" he said, smiling at her, though with an +obvious effort. "I had a mighty good time doing it, my dear. Why, the +things you said, and the way you acted while I was doing it for +you--you've no idea how nice they were. You sat just----" + +"Oh, that was why the book was on the window-seat, and the other +things----" + +"That was why," nodded Francis. + +"And the stool close up to the lounge-chair----" + +He nodded. + +"You lay there and I sat by you on the stool," he said. "And you +whispered the most wonderful things to me----" + +"I didn't!" said Marjorie, flushing suddenly. "You know perfectly well +all the time that was going on I--the real Me--was being a filing-clerk +in New York, and running around with Lucille, and being bored with +fussy people in the office, and hunting up letters for employers and +hoping they wouldn't discover how much longer it took me to find them +than it did really intelligent people----" + +"No," said Francis, suddenly dejected, "you didn't. But--it was a nice +dream. And I think, considering all that's come and gone, you needn't +begrudge it to me." + +"I don't," said Marjorie embarrassedly. "I--I only wish you wouldn't +talk about it, because it partly makes me feel as if my feelings were +hurt, and partly makes me feel terribly self-conscious." + +"Then perhaps it _was_ you, a little," said Francis quietly. + +Marjorie moved away from him, and went into the kitchen again, with her +head held high to hide the fact that her cheeks were burning. He +hadn't any right to do that to her. Why, any amount of men might be +making desperate love to dream-Marjories--Mr. Logan, for +instance,--only his love-making would probably be exceedingly full of +quotations, and rather slow and involved. + +She turned, dimpling over her shoulder at Francis, who had been +standing in rather a dream, where she had left him. + +"Francis! Do you suppose any other men are doing that?" she asked +mischievously. "Supposing our good friend Mr. Logan, for instance, has +installed me in a carved renaissance chair in his apartment, and is +saying nice things to me----" + +"Marjorie!" + +"Well, you see!" said Marjorie. "It isn't a good precedent." + +"Well, I'm your husband," muttered Francis quite illogically. + +"Oh, this has gone far enough," said Marjorie with determination. And +she went back to the kitchen. + +"I'll leave you here, if that's the case," said Francis in a friendly +enough way. "I have to go over to the other cabin and see how things +are and then out to where some work is going on. Can you find +amusement here for awhile?" + +"Oh, yes," said Marjorie. She felt a little tired, after all; and a +little desirous of getting away from Francis. + +"Well, if you're hungry, I think there are some things in the kitchen; +and the stove is filled, and there are matches," he said in a +matter-of-fact way. She wondered if he intended her to get herself a +large and portentous meal. She did not feel at all hungry. + +"If you'll tell me when you think you'll be back for me I'll have a +little lunch ready for you before we go," she was inspired to say. + +"That's fine," said Francis with the gratitude which any mention of +food always inspires in a man. "Don't overwork yourself, though. You +must be tired yet from your trip." + +She smiled and shook her head. She went over to the door with him, and +watched him as he went away, as bonny and loving a wife to all +appearances as any man need ask for. Pierre, who had been dwelling in +the cabin along with his red shirt, for the purpose of doing a +much-needed housecleaning for himself and his mates, looked out at them +with an emotional French eye. + +"By gar, it's tarn nice be married!" he sighed, for his last wife had +been dead long enough to have blotted out in his amiable mind the +recollection of her tongue, and he was thinking over the acquirement of +another one. + +Meanwhile Marjorie went back to the cabin that had been built around +the dream of her, picked up "The Wind in the Willows," and tried to +read. But it was difficult. Life, indeed, was difficult--but +interesting, in spite of everything. Francis was nice in places, after +all, if only he wouldn't have those terrifying times of being too much +in earnest, and over her. It was embarrassing, as she had said. She +rose up and walked through the place again. It was so dainty and so +friendly and so clean, so everything that she had always wanted--how +_had_ Francis known so much about what she liked? + +She curled down on the window-seat, tired of thinking, and finally +slept again. It was the change to the crisp Canada air that made her +sleep so much of the time. + +She sprang up in a little while conscious that there was something on +her mind to do. Then she remembered. She had promised to get +luncheon--or afternoon tea--or a snack--for Francis before he went. +She felt as if she could eat something herself. + +"At this rate," she told herself, "I'll be as fat as a _pig_!" + +She thought, as she moved about, to look down at the little wrist-watch +that had been one of Francis's ante-bellum gifts to her. And it was +half-past five o'clock. Then it came to her that by the time she had +something cooked and they had made the distance back to the lodge it +would be time for the dance, and therefore that this meal would have to +be supper at least. It was more fun than cooking in the kitchenette of +the apartment, because there was elbow-room. Marjorie's housewifely +soul had always secretly chafed under having to prepare food in a +kitchen that only half of you could be in at a time. + +There was a trusty kerosene stove here, and a generous white-painted +cupboard full of stores and of dishes. She had another threatening of +emotion for a minute when she saw that the dishes were some yellow +Dutch ones that she remembered admiring. But she decided that it was +no time to feel pity--or indeed any emotion that would interfere with +meal-getting--and continued prospecting for stores. Condensed milk, +flour, baking-powder, and a hermetically-sealed pail of lard suggested +biscuits, if she hurried; cocoa and tins of bacon and preserved fruit +and potatoes offered at least enough food to keep life alive, if +Francis would only stay away the half-hour extra that he might. + +Heaven was kind, and he did. The biscuits and potatoes were baked, the +fruit was opened and on the little brown table with the yellow dishes, +and the bacon was just frizzling curlily in the pan when Francis walked +into the kitchen. + +If it seemed pleasantly domestic to him he was wise enough not to say +so. He only stated in an unemotional manner that there were eggs put +down in water-glass in the entry back; and as this conveyed nothing to +Marjorie he went and got some and fried them, and they had supper +together. + +"You're a bully good cook," he told her, and she smiled happily. +Anybody could tell you that much, and it meant nothing. Sometimes +dealing with Francis reminded her of a Frank Stockton fairy-tale in her +childhood, where some monarch or other went out walking with a Sphinx, +and found himself obliged to reply "Give it up!" to every remark of the +lady's, in order not to be eaten. + +"We won't have time to clear up much," was his next remark, looking +pensively at a table from which they had swept everything but one +biscuit and a lonely little baked potato which had what Marjorie termed +"flaws," and they had had to avoid. "But then, I suppose you might say +there wasn't much to clear. We'll stack these dishes and let Pierre or +somebody wash 'em. Us for the dance." + +They piled the yellow dishes in a gleeful hurry, and Francis went out +and disposed of the scraps and did mysterious things to the kerosene +stove. They were whizzing back the way they had come before Marjorie +had more than caught her breath. + +"We'll be a little late, if you have to do anything in the dressing +line. I have to shave," said Francis. + +Marjorie, who really wasn't used to men, colored a little at this +marital remark, and then said that she supposed that it must have been +hard not to do it in the trenches. + +"Oh, that was only the poilus," said Francis, and went on into a flood +of details about keeping the men neat for the sake of their morale. It +was interesting; but Marjorie thought afterward that perhaps it was +because anything would have been while she was whirring along through +the darkening woods in the keen, sharp-scented air. She loved it more +and more, the woods and the atmosphere, and the memory of the little +cabin. She promised herself that she would try some day to find the +place by herself. Maybe she could borrow a horse or a bicycle or some +means of locomotion and go seeking it in the forest. + +"Now hurry!" admonished Francis as he landed her neatly by the veranda. +"Don't let them stop you for anything to eat, as Mother O'Mara will +want to." + +So she scurried up to her room, not even waiting to hear the voice of +temptation, and began hunting her belongings through for something. It +was foolish, but she was more excited over the thought of this rough, +impromptu backwoods dance than she ever had been in the city by real +dances, or out with Cousin Anna at the carefully planned subscription +dances where you knew just who was coming and just what they were going +to wear. + +Finally she gave up her efforts at decision, and went out to find +Peggy. Her room, she knew, was on the third floor. + +"Come in!" said Peggy's joyous voice. Marjorie entered, and found +Peggy in the throes of indecision herself. + +"You're just what I wanted to see!" said she. "Would you wear this +green silk that's grand and low, but a bit short for the last styles, +or this muslin that I graduated in, and it's as long as the moral law, +and I slashed out the neck--but a bit plain?" + +"Why, that's just what I came to ask you," said Marjorie. "What kind +of clothes do you wear for dances like these?" + +"Well, the grander the better, to-night, as I was telling everybody +over the telephone. Mrs. Schneider, now, the priest's housekeeper, she +has a red satin that she'll be sure to wear,--and the saints keep her +from wearing her pink satin slippers with it, but I don't think they +can. It would be a strong saint at the least," said Peggy +thoughtfully. "I'd better be in my green." + +"Then I can wear----" said Marjorie, and stopped to consider. She had +one frock that was very gorgeous, and she decided to wear it. It would +certainly seem meek contrasted with Mrs. Schneider's red satin. + +"Come on, and I'll bring this, and we can hook each other up," Peggy +proposed ardently, and followed her down in a kimono. + +So they hooked each other up, except where there were snappers, and +admired each other exceedingly. Marjorie's frock was a yellow one that +Lucille had hounded her into buying, and she looked as vivid in it as a +firefly. + +Francis had been given orders to wear his uniform, which he was doing. +He looked very natural that way to Marjorie; there were others of the +men in uniform as well. There were perhaps twenty people already +arrived when the girls came downstairs, seven or eight girls and twelve +or fourteen men. And Marjorie discovered that young persons in the +backwoods believed in dressing up to their opportunities. Some of the +frocks were obviously home-made, but all were gorgeous, even in the +case of one black-eyed _habitant_ damsel who had constructed a +confection, copied accurately and cleverly from some advanced +fashion-paper, out of cheesecloth and paper muslin! + +One of the men was sacrificed to the phonograph, and for hours it never +stopped going. Records had been brought by others of the men and +girls, and Marjorie had never seen such gay and unwearied dancing. She +was tossed and caught from one big backwoodsman to another, the dances +being "cut-in" shamelessly, because the women were fewer than the men. +They nearly all danced well, French or Yankee or Englishmen. There +were a couple of young Englishmen whom she particularly liked, who had +ridden twenty miles, she heard, to come and dance. And finally she +found herself touched on the shoulder by her own husband, and dancing +smoothly away with him. + +"This isn't much like the last time and place where we danced," he +said, smiling down at her and then glancing at the big, bare room with +its kerosene lamps and bough-trimmed walls. "Do you remember?" + +She laughed and nodded. "Maxim's, wasn't it? But I like this best. +There's something in the air here that keeps you feeling so alive all +the time, and so much like having fun. In spite of all our tragedies, +and your very bad temper"--she laughed up at him impertinently--"I'm +enjoying myself as much as Peggy is, though I probably don't look it." + +"There isn't so much of you to look it," explained Francis. Their eyes +both followed young Peggy, where, magnificent in her green gown and +gold slippers, she was frankly flirting with a French-Canadian who was +no match for her, but quite as frankly overcome by her charms. "But +what there is," he added politely, "is very nice indeed." + +They laughed at this like a couple of children, and moved on toward a +less frequented part of the floor, for there was a big man in khaki, +one of Francis's men, who was coming dangerously near, and had in his +eye a determination to cut in. Francis and Marjorie moved downwards +till they were almost opposite the door. And as they were dancing +across the space before the door there was a polite knock on it. They +stood still, still interlaced, as an unpartnered man lounging near it +threw it open. And on the threshold, like a ghost from the past, stood +Mr. Logan. In spite of his mysterious nervous ailment he had nerved +himself to make the journey after Marjorie, and walked in, softly and +slowly, indeed, and somewhat travel-soiled, but very much himself, and +apparently determined on a rescue. Marjorie stared at him in horror. +Rescue was all right theoretically; but not in the middle of as good a +party as this. And what could Francis do to her now? + +What he did was to release her with decision, and come forward with the +courtesy he was quite capable of at any crisis, and welcome Logan to +their home. + +"You've caught us in the middle of a party," he concluded cordially, +"but I don't suppose you feel much like dancing. Perhaps after a +little something to eat and drink you'd like to rest a bit. Come speak +to Mr. Logan, my dear," he finished, with what Marjorie stigmatized as +extreme impudence; and Marjorie, in her firefly draperies, came forward +with as creditable a calm as her husband, and greeted Mr. Logan, after +which Francis called Mrs. O'Mara to show him to a room where he could +rest. + +"I came to talk to you----" began Mr. Logan as he was led hospitably +away. + +"I'll be at your service as soon as you've had a little rest and food," +said Francis in his most charming manner. + +He actually put his arm about Marjorie again and was going on with the +dance, when the telephone rang. The woman nearest it answered it, and +called Francis over excitedly. Marjorie, too proud to ask any +questions, was nevertheless eaten up with curiosity, and finally edged +near enough to hear above the phonograph. + +"You'll be all right till to-morrow? Very well--I'll be out then and +see what to do." + +"What's the matter?" demanded Peggy, who had no pride to preserve. + +Francis smiled, but looked a little worried, too. + +"Nothing very serious, but inconvenient. Pierre, the cook for the +outfit, suddenly decided to leave to-day, and did. He said he thought +it was time he got married again, and has gone in quest of a bride, I +suppose. The deuce of it is, we're so short-handed. Well, never +mind----" + +"If mother wasn't so silly about the ghosts," began Peggy. + +"Well, she is, if ye call it silly," said Mrs. O'Mara from where she +stood with her partner in all the glory of a maroon satin that fitted +her as if she were an upholstered sofa. "I'd no more go live in that +clearin' with the Wendigees, or whatever 'tis the Canucks talk about, +than in Purgatory itself. Wendigees is Injun goblins," she explained +to her partner, "and there's worse nor them, too." + +She crossed herself expertly, and in almost the same movement swept her +partner, not of the tallest, away in a fox-trot. She fox-trotted very +well. + +Marjorie went on dancing, and hoping that Mr. Logan would go to bed and +to sleep, or have a fit of nerves that would incapacitate him from +further interfering with her. But the hope was in vain, for Francis +appeared from nowhere in about fifteen minutes, and beckoned her to +follow him to where she knew Logan was waiting. + +The two men sat down gravely in the little wooden room where Logan had +been shown. It was Francis who spoke first. + +"Mr. Logan insists, Marjorie, that you appealed to him for rescue. He +puts it to me, I must say, very reasonably, that no sensible man would +travel all this way to bring back a girl unless she had asked him to. +He says that you wrote him that you were being treated severely." + +"I didn't! I never did!" exclaimed outraged Marjorie, springing up and +standing before them. "Show me my letter!" + +"Unfortunately," said Mr. Logan wistfully, "I destroyed it, because I +have always found that the wisest thing to do with letters. But I am +prepared to take my oath that you wrote me, asking me to help you. I +am extremely sorry to find that you are in such a position as +to--forgive me, Mr. Ellison, but it seems rather like it--to be so +dominated by this gentleman as not to even admit----" + +"You see what it looks like," broke in Francis, turning to his wife +furiously. "Never ask me to believe you again. I don't trust you--I +never will trust you. Nobody will, if you keep on as you've begun. Go +back with him, then--you're not my slave, much as you may pretend it." + +"I won't!" said Marjorie spiritedly. "I've had enough of this. I'll +stay here, if it takes ten years, till you admit that you've treated me +horribly, and misjudged me. I've played fair. I've no way of proving +it, against you two men, but I have! I'll prove it by any test you +like." + +"There's only one way you can convince me that one word you've said +since you came up here was the truth," he told her, suddenly quiet and +cold. "If you stay, of your own free will, out there in the clearing; +if you take over the work that Pierre fell down on this evening, and +stay there looking after me and my men--I'll believe you. There's no +fun to doing that, just work; it stands to reason that you wouldn't do +that for any reason unless to clear yourself. If you don't want to do +that, you may go home with this gentleman; indeed, I won't let you do +anything else. Take your choice." + +Marjorie looked at him for a moment as if she wanted to do something +violent to him. Then she spoke. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"I see what you mean," she said. "I wasn't sporting in the first +place--I wouldn't live up to my bargain. That's made you more apt to +believe that I've been acting the same way ever since. You don't think +I can see _any_thing through. Well--not particularly for your +sake--more for my own, I guess--I'm going to see this through, if I die +doing it. I'll stay--and take Pierre's place, Francis." + +Francis's severe young face did not change at all. + +"Very well," he said. + +"But you understand," she went on, "that I'm not doing this to win +anything but my own self-respect. And at the end of the three months, +of course, I shall go back to New York. And you'll let me go, and see +that I get free." + +"I wouldn't do anything else for the world," said Francis in the same +unmoved voice. + +"Very well, then--we understand each other." She turned to Logan, who +had sprung to his feet and tried to interfere a couple of times while +she talked. "And please remember that this arrangement does not go +beyond us three," she said. "I would prefer that no one else knew how +matters stood." + +Logan looked a little baffled. He was ten years older than either of +them, but so many actual clashing things happening had never come his +way before. His ten years' advantage had been spent writing stylistic +essays, and such do not fit one for stepping down into the middle of a +lot of primitive young emotions. He felt suddenly helpless before +these passionate, unjust, emotional young people. He felt a little +forlorn, too, as if the main currents of things had been sweeping them +by while he stood carefully on the bank, trying not to get his feet +wet. A very genuine emotion of pity for Marjorie had brought him up +here, pity more mixed with something else than he had been willing to +admit. It was the first thing he had done for a long, long time that +was romantic and unconsidered and actual. And it appeared that, after +all, he wasn't needed. Concentration on the nuances of minor +fifteenth-century poets had unfitted him for being swept on, as these +had been, by the world-currents. They had married each other, pushed +by the mating instinct in the air--the world's insistence on marriage +to balance the death that had swept it. Now they were struggling to +find their balance against each other, to be decent, to be fair, to +make themselves and each other what they thought they ought to be. He +could see what they were doing and why much more clearly than they +could themselves. But he couldn't be a part of it--he had stood aside +from life too long, with his nerves and his passion for artistic +details and pleasures of the intellect. + +But he bowed quietly, and smiled a little. He felt suddenly very tired. + +"Certainly it shall go no farther," he assured her. "And I owe you an +apology for the trouble which I fear I have ignorantly brought upon +you. If there is anything I can say----" + +She shook her head proudly, and Francis, fronting them both, made a +motion of negation, too. + +"You must be tired," he added to his gesture. "Or would you care to +watch the dancers awhile?" + +"No, I thank you," said Mr. Logan courteously in his turn. "If you +will tell me of some near-by hotel----" + +"There's only this," explained Francis. "But I think your room is +ready by now. Miss O'Mara--I'll call her--will show you to it." + +Peggy, summoned by a signal whistle from the ballroom, convoyed Logan +upstairs with abundant good-will and much curiosity. She had never +seen any one like him before, and took in his looks and belongings with +the intense and frank absorption of an Indian. Indeed, as she +explained to Marjorie, whom she met at the foot of the stairs, it was +only by the help of the saints and her own good decency that she didn't +follow him into his room and stay there to watch him unpack. + +"With the charming, purry voice he has, and all the little curlicues +when he finishes his words, and the little cane--does he never sleep +without it, would you say?--and the little Latin books he reads----" + +But here Marjorie pulled her up. + +"How on earth do you know he reads little Latin books?" + +Peggy flushed generously. + +"Well, if you must know, I gave one teeny weeny peek through the crack +in the door after I left him, and he was thrown down across his cot +like a long, graceful tomcat or leopard or something, and he pulled a +little green leather book out of his pocket and went to reading it on +the spot. 'Pervigilium Veneris,' its name was. All down the side." + +Marjorie had heard of it; in fact, in pursuance of her education Mr. +Logan had made her read several translations of it. It had bored her a +little, but she had read it dutifully, because she had felt at that +time that it would be nice to be intellectually widened, and because +Logan had praised it so highly. + +"Oh, yes, I know," she said. + +"And is it a holy book?" Peggy inquired. + +"Just a long Latin poem about people running around in the woods at +night and having a sort of celebration of Venus's birthday," said +Marjorie absently. It occurred to her Logan would have been worse +shocked if he could have heard her offhand summing-up of his pet poem +than he had been by her attitude about going back to New York with him. +But she had more important things on her mind than Latin poetry. When +Peggy met her she was on her way to go off and think them out. + +"Good-night, Peggy," she said. "I'm going to bed. I have to get up +early and go to work." + +Peggy laughed. + +"Don't talk nonsense. The dance isn't half over, and everybody's crazy +to dance with you. You can sleep till the crack of doom to-morrow, and +with not a soul to stop you." + +Marjorie shook her head, smiling a little. + +"No. I'm going over to the clearing to do the cooking for the men. I +told Francis I would, tonight." + +Peggy made the expected outcry. + +"To begin with, I'll wager you can't cook--a little bit of a thing like +you, that I could blow away with a breath! And you'd be all alone +there. Mother won't do it because she's afraid of wraiths"--Peggy +pronounced it "wraths," and it was evidently a quotation from Mrs. +O'Mara--"and it would be twice as scary for you. Though, to be sure, I +suppose you'd have Francis. I suppose that's your reason, the both of +you--it sounds like the bossy sort of plan Francis makes." + +This had not occurred to Marjorie. But she saw now that the only +plausible reason not the truth that they could give for her taking +Pierre's job was her desire to see more of her husband. + +"Well, it's natural we should want to see more of each other," she +began lamely. + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Peggy offhandedly, and with one ear pricked +toward the music. "But when my time comes I hope I won't be that bad +that I drag a poor girl off to do cooking, so I can see the more of +her." + +"You're getting your sexes mixed," said Francis coolly, strolling up +behind the girls. "Peggy, your partner is looking for you. I'll take +you over after luncheon to-morrow, Marjorie." + +"Very well," she said. "Good-night." + +If his heart smote him, as Marjorie's little, indomitable figure +mounted the stairs, shoulders back and head high, he made no sign of +it. Instead, in spite of the preponderance of men, he went back to the +dance, and danced straight through till the end had come. + +Marjorie went to bed, as she had said she would do. She did not go to +sleep. Marjorie, as has been said, was not brave--that is, she could +and did do brave things, but she always did them with her heart in her +slippers. She did not know what the cooking would be, but she was sure +it would be worse than she could imagine, and too much for her +strength. The only comfort was the recollection that the dear brown +cabin was hers to live in, every moment that she was not at work. She +would have that rest and comfort. There was the shelf of books chosen +for her by the far-off Francis who was not doubtful of her, and loved +her and dreamed about her, and built a house all around the vision of +her. And there might be times when she could hurry up a great deal, +and lie on the window-seat and look out at the woodlands and dream. + +She finally went to sleep. She wakened with a start, early, vaguely +remembering that there was a great deal to do. Full remembrance came +as she sprang out of bed and ran down the hall to her bath. She had to +pack, and after luncheon Francis would carry her off to imprisonment +with hard labor. And--why on earth was she doing it, when she could +still go back with Logan? For a long half hour she struggled with +herself, one minute deciding; to go back, the next deciding to stay. +Finally she faced the thing. She would see it through, if it killed +her. She would make Francis respect her, if it took six months instead +of three at hard labor. She would take the wages for the work she had +done, and go back home a free, self-respecting woman. + +She dressed herself quickly, and went down to breakfast, braced to play +her part before the O'Maras. Short as her time with them, she was fond +of them already. + +"I think your devotion is a bit hard on yer wife," remarked Mrs. +O'Mara, whom Peggy had put in possession of the facts. "If I were her, +I'd value an affection more that had less o' dishwashin' in it!" + +"She's helping me over a pretty hard place." Francis said this calmly. +But he flushed in a way that, as Marjorie knew, meant he was disturbed. +"You know every man counts just now, and labor is cruelly scarce. I'm +doing mine and a day-laborer's work besides, now. And the contract has +to be finished." + +"Well, of course, there's a gown or so for her in it," said Mrs. O'Mara +comfortably. "And 'tis no more than a woman should do, to help out her +man if he needs it. Have ye any aprons or work-dresses, me dear, for +if not Peggy and me will make ye some. We've a bolt of stuff." + +"No, and I'd be very glad if you would," said Marjorie, feeling the +thing more irrevocable every moment. + +"And rest this morning, and I'll pack for you," said Peggy +affectionately. She led Marjorie out to the swing herself, and went +upstairs to pack before she went to help her mother with the breakfast +dishes. + +Marjorie was too restless to lie still. She went out and walked about +the place, and came back and lay down, and so put in the interminable +hours till luncheon. After luncheon Francis appeared like the +messenger of doom he was, put her and a small bag in the side-car and +carried her off to her place of servitude. + +The ride, in spite of all, was pleasant. For a while neither of them +spoke. Then Francis did. + +"I feel as if this was unfair to you--for apparently the O'Maras think, +and I suppose everybody will, that you really are doing this to show +your fondness for me. I shall have to ask you to let them think so." + +"I have," she answered curtly. + +"You don't understand. I--I am going to have to stay in the cabin with +you. . . . There is the little upstairs balcony, I can bunk in that. +You know--the one over the door, with the little winding stair leading +up to it. I--I'm sorry." + +This was one more thing Marjorie hadn't counted on. But after all what +did it matter? She expected to be so deadly tired from the work she +had promised to do that she would never know whether Francis was in the +house at all. And if there really were bears once in awhile it would +really be better not to be all alone with them. + +"Very well," she said. She looked hungrily at the thick trees they +were speeding through. She supposed she would never have time to lie +out under a tree, or go hunting for flowers and new little wood-paths +again. She had read stories of lone, draggled women in logging-camps, +toiling so hard they hadn't even time to comb their hair, but always +wore it pulled back tight from their forehead. This wasn't a +logging-camp, but she supposed there was very little difference. + +She was very quiet for awhile. Francis, turning finally, a little +uneasy, found that she was quietly crying. It happened that he had +never seen her cry before. + +"Please, Marjorie!" he begged in a terrified voice. "Please stop! Is +there anything I can do?" + +"You have done everything," she said in a little quiet voice that tried +not to break, but did, most movingly, on the last word. + +She said nothing more after that. After awhile she got hold of +herself, dried her eyes, and began to watch the woods desperately +again, as if she would never see them any more. If she had but known +it, she was making Francis suffer as much as she was suffering herself. + +"I'll bring the rest of your things over now," he said, when he had +carried her little bag in and put it on her bed. He went out and left +her alone, in the little wood-walled bedroom with its high, latticed +windows, and Indian blankets and birch-bark trimmings. She lay on the +bed apathetically awhile, then she began to notice things a little. +There was a kodak on her bureau. There were snowshoes, too small for a +man surely--if you could tell of a thing the size of snowshoes--hanging +on the wall. There was a fishing-rod case, with something hanging near +it that she imagined was a flybook. There was a little trowel, and a +graceful birch-bark basket, as if some one might want to go out and +bring home plants. She got up finally, her curiosity stronger than her +unhappiness, and investigated. + +There was dust on everything. That is, except in one particular. On +top of each article she had noticed was a square, clean place about the +size of an envelope. There had been a note lying or pinned to each one +of the things. + +It occurred to Marjorie that a man who had not noticed the dust might +have overlooked one of the notes; and she commenced a detailed and +careful search. The kodak told no tales, nor the snowshoes. The +fishing-rod was only explanatory to the extent of being too light and +small for a man, and the basket's only contents were two pieces of +oilcloth, apparently designed to keep wet plants from dripping too much. + +She rose and tiptoed out into the living-room. There might be more +notes there. Her spirits had gone up, and she was laughing to herself +a little--it felt like exploring Bluebeard's castle. She investigated +the book case, shaking out every book. She ran up to the toy balcony +and even pushed out the couch there, noticing for the first time that +the balcony had curtains which could be drawn. But there was nothing +behind couch or curtains. She put her hands on the little railing and +looked down at the room below her, to see if she had missed anything. +And her eyes fell on a cupboard which was level with the wall at one +side, and had so escaped her eye heretofore. Also there was a +scrapbasket which might tell tales. + +She dashed down the little stair, and made for the scrapbasket, but +Francis was more thorough than she had thought, and it was empty. She +opened the cupboard and looked in--there was a little flashlight lying +near it, and she illuminated the dark with it. There in the cupboard +lay a banjo. + +"Gracious!" breathed Marjorie. "What a memory!" For she _could_ play +the banjo, and it appeared that she must have said so to Francis in +those first days. "He must have dashed home and made out lists every +night!" she concluded as she dragged it out. It was unstrung, but new +strings lay near it, coiled in their papers. And under the papers, so +like them that he had forgotten to destroy it, lay a veritable note. + +"It isn't really from him to me," she thought, her heart beating +unaccountably as she sat back on her heels and tore the envelope open. +"It's from the Francis he thought he was, to the Marjorie he thought I +was." + +But she read it just the same. + +"For my dear little girl, if she comes true," was the superscription. + +"I don't know whether you'll find this first or last, honey. But it's +for you to play on, sometimes, in the evenings, sitting on the +window-seat with me, or out on the veranda if you'd rather. But +wherever you sit to play it, I may stay quite close to you, mayn't I?" + +She was tired and overstrained. That was probably why she put both +arms around the banjo as if it was somebody that loved her, and cried +on it very much as if it were a baby. And when she went back to her +room to replace things as she had found them she carried it with her. + +She was calmer after that, for some reason. She had the illogical +feeling that some one had been kind to her. She put her things away in +the drawers, and even had the courage to lay out for herself the +all-enveloping gingham apron, much shortened, which Mrs. O'Mara had +loaned her till she and Peggy could run up some more. She supposed +Francis would want her to start in with the cooking that night. So she +put on her plainest dress and easiest shoes, and then, there being +nothing else to do, took the banjo out into the sitting-room and began +to string it. And as she strung she thought. + +She was going to have to be pretty close to Francis till her term of +service was up; she might as well not fight him. It would make things +easier all round if she didn't, as long as she had to keep on friendly +terms before people. + +The truth was, that she couldn't but feel softened to the man who had +written that boyish, loving note. "Even if it wasn't to the her he +knew now, it was to the Marjorie of last year, and she was a near +relation," thought the Marjorie of this year whimsically. + +So when Francis came back with the rest of her baggage he found her on +the window-seat with the banjo in her lap, fingering it softly, and +smiling at him. She could see that he was a little startled, but he +had himself in hand directly, and came forward, saying, "So you found +the banjo. I got it for you in the first place. Is it any good?" + +"Oh, did you?" inquired his wife innocently. "Yes, it's a very good +banjo. Maybe I'll find time to play it some day when the housework for +the men is out of the way. What do I do when I begin? And hadn't we +better go over now?" + +"I didn't expect you to start till to-morrow," he explained. "I've +taken one of the men off his regular work to attend to it till then." + +"Oh, that's kind of you," she answered, still friendly and smiling to a +degree that seemed to perplex him. "But perhaps you could take me over +to-night and show me. I'll get supper for us two here, if you like, +and afterward we can go over, and you can introduce me to your men as +the new cook. I hope they'll like me as well as Pierre." + +He looked at her still as if she were behaving in a very unexpected +way. A tamed Marjorie was something new in his experience; and +tameness at this juncture was particularly surprising. Francis was +beginning to feel like a brute, which may have been what his wife +intended. + +"That's very kind of you," he managed to say. "You're sure you are not +too tired for any of that?" + +"Being tired isn't going to count, is it?" she asked, smiling. "No, I +don't mind doing it. It will be like playing with a doll-house. You +know, I love this little place." + +In her wicked heart she was thinking, "He shall miss me--oh, if I can +keep my temper and be perfectly lovely for three months he shall miss +me so when I go and get my divorce that he will want to _die_!" And +she looked up at him, one hand on the banjo, as if they were the best +friends in the world. + +"It isn't time to get supper yet, is it?" she pursued. "You used to +like to hear me sing. Don't you want to sit down here by me while I +see how the banjo works, just for a little while?" + +"No!" said Francis abruptly. "I have to--I have to go and see after a +lot more work." + +He flung out the door, and it crashed after him. And Marjorie laughed +softly and naughtily to herself over the banjo, and pushed the note +that had dwelt within farther down inside her dress. "I wish I had the +rest!" said she. "Let me see. The kodak was for both of us to go out +and take pictures together, of course. The snowshoes--that would have +had to wait till winter. The basket and trowel were so we could plant +lots of lovely woodsy things we found around the cabin, to see if they +would take root. And he must have been going to teach me to fish. I +wonder why he wasn't going to teach me to shoot. There must be a rifle +somewhere--maybe it hasn't lost its note, if it was hidden hard enough. +And he remembered how I liked 'surprises.' He certainly would have +made a good lover if I hadn't----" + +She did not finish. She got up and hunted for the rifle, which was not +to be found. Then she went into the kitchen and hunted for stores, and +wondered how on earth a balanced menu could be evolved from cans and +dried things exclusively. But the discovery of a cache of canned +vegetables helped her out, and as she really was a good cook, and loved +cooking, what Francis returned to was not supper, but a very excellent +little dinner. And his wife had found time, as well, to dress herself +in the most fluffy and useless-looking of rosy summer frocks, with +white slippers. She looked more fragile and decorative and childish +than he had ever seen her, leaning across the little table talking +brightly to him about her adventures in the discovery of the things +that made up the meal. + +An old quotation about "breaking a butterfly upon a wheel" came to him +as she chattered on, telling him delightedly how she had made up her +mind to surprise him with tomato bisque if it was her last act, and how +she had discovered a box that was labeled "condensed milk," and opened +it with infinite pains and a hatchet; and how after she had nearly +killed herself struggling with it, she had finally opened it, and found +that what it really contained was deviled ham in small, vivid tins; and +how she triumphed over Fate by using the ham with other things for +_hors d'oeuvres_; and how she finally found powdered milk in other +tins, and achieved her goal after all. + +She was exactly as she would have been if all had gone well; and it is +not to be supposed that Francis could help feeling it. At first he was +quiet, almost gloomy; but presently, as she talked gaily on about all +the trifles she could think of--domestic trifles all of them, or things +to do with the cabin and its surroundings--he gave himself up to the +enjoyment of the hour. It was as if he said to himself, "I'll forget +for this little space of time that it isn't real." He looked +absorbedly into the little vivid face at the other side of the table, +and once, before he thought, put out his hand to take her hand where it +lay, little and slim and fragile-looking, on the table. He drew it +back quickly, but not before Marjorie had seen the instinctive motion. + +She smiled at him brilliantly, and touched him lightly on the shoulder +as she passed. + +"Come, help me, Francis," she said. "This is our house, you know, and +I mustn't do everything alone. And then I must hurry over to the other +cabin, and look over my new kingdom, and it would be a shame to do it +after your faithful slaves had gone to bed. They would have to get up +and dress and stand at attention, wouldn't they, when they heard your +august footstep?" + +She laughed openly at him as she went into the kitchen, and he followed +her and helped her clear away obediently and smiling. + +"And now, we'll go over," she said, when everything was in place again. +"Get me my long blue cape, Francis, please. It's hanging against the +door in my room." + +He came and wrapped her in it, and crossed with her the space between +the two cabins. + +"They're up yet," he said, and knocked on the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There was nothing surprising or exciting to behold when the door flew +open, and the two entered. + +"Oh, I've met you before," said Marjorie politely to the man who had +opened it. She had danced with him the night before, and it was +pleasant to find that she had not to deal entirely with strangers. He +was a tired-looking, middle-aged Englishman, with a tanned, plump face +that had something whimsical and what Marjorie characterized to herself +as motherly about it. And the fact that he was clad in a flannel shirt +and very disreputable overalls did not make him the less distinctively +gentle-bred. He greeted her courteously, and took out his pipe--a pipe +that was even more disreputable than his clothes. + +"Mrs. Ellison wanted to come over to-night and see what she had to do," +Francis explained. + +"You mean that you were in earnest about her volunteering to take +Pierre's place?" demanded the Englishman, looking at the little smiling +figure in pink organdy. + +"I know I look useless," interposed Marjorie for herself. "But Mr. +Ellison will tell you that I really can work hard. If somebody will +only show me a little about the routine I'll be all right." + +"I've taken over Pierre's job for the moment," he replied. "Assuredly +I'll show you all I can. But it's rough work for a girl." + +Marjorie smiled on. + +"Very well, show me, please," she demanded, as she would if the +question had been one of walking over red-hot plowshares. + +She stood and looked about her as he answered her, so intent that she +did not hear what he replied. + +The place had rows of bunks in various stages of untidiness. It was +lighted by two very smoky kerosene lamps, and had in its middle a table +with cards on it. Three men sat about the table, as if they did not +quite know whether to come forward and be included in the conversation +or not. At the further end Marjorie could see the door that led to the +cooking-place, and eyed it with interest. + +"These are all of the men who are here," Francis explained. "There is +another camp some miles further in the forest." + +"Am I to cook for them as well?" demanded Marjorie coolly. + +"Oh, no," the Englishman answered. He seemed deeply shocked at the +idea. "They have a cook. By the way, Mrs. Ellison, it is only poetic +justice that you should have taken over this job; for do you know that +the reason Pierre gave for his sudden flight in the direction of +marriage was that you and Mr. Ellison looked so happy he got lonesome +for a wife!" + +"Good gracious!" gasped Marjorie before she remembered herself. . . . +"That is--I didn't know our happiness showed as far off as that." + +She did not dare to look at Francis, whom she divined to be standing +rigidly behind her. "And now could you show me the place where I have +to cook, and the things to cook with?" + +Mr. Pennington--Harmsworth-Pennington was his veritable name, as she +learned later--took the hint and swept her immediately off to the +lean-to. The _tout-ensemble_ was not terrifying. It consisted of a +kerosene stove of two burners, another one near it for emergencies, a +wooden cupboard full of heavy white dishes, and a lower part to it +where the stores were. + +"The hardest thing for you will be getting up early," he said +sympathetically. "The men have to have breakfast and be out of here by +seven o'clock. And they take dinner-pails with them. Then there's +nothing to get till the evening meal." + +"Of course there'd be tidying to do," suggested Marjorie avidly, for +she hated disorder, and saw a good deal about her. + +"If you had the strength for it," said Pennington doubtfully. + +"Francis thinks I have," she answered with a touch of wickedness. + +Francis, behind her, continued to say nothing at all. + +She spent five minutes more in the lean-to with the opportune +Pennington, and gathered from him, finally, that next morning there +would have to be a big pot of oatmeal cooked, and bacon enough fried +for five hungry men. Griddle cakes, flapjacks, or breadstuff of some +kind had to be produced also; coffee in a pot that looked big enough +for a hotel, with condensed milk, and a meal apiece for their +dinner-hour. + +"I just give 'em anything cold that's left over," said Pennington +unsympathetically. "There has to be lots of it, that's all." + +Marjorie cried out in horror. + +"Oh, they mustn't have those cold! But--do they have to have all that +every morning?" + +"Great Scott, no!" exclaimed the scandalized Pennington. "Some days +they just have flapjacks, and some days just bacon and eggs and bread. +And sometimes oatmeal extra. I didn't mean that all these came at +once." + +She felt a bit relieved. + +"I'll be in to-morrow at six," she assured him, still smiling bravely. +"I think I can manage it alone." + +"One of us can always do the lifting for you, and odd chores," he told +her. + +After that she met the other men, and went back to the cabin. Francis +was still following her in silence. + +"How nice they are, even the grumpy ones!" + +she told him radiantly. "Don't forget to knock on my door in time +to-morrow, Francis." + +She gave him no time to reply. She simply went to bed. And in spite +of all that had come and gone she was so tired that she fell asleep as +soon as she was there. + +She was awakened by Francis's knock at what seemed to her the middle of +the night. Then she remembered that the pines shut off the light so +that it was high daylight outside before it was in here. A vague +feeling of terror came over her before she remembered why; and for a +moment she lay still in the unfamiliar bed, trying to remember. When +she did remember she was so much more afraid that she sprang out +hurriedly, because things, for some reason, are always worse when you +aren't quite awake. Or better. But there was nothing to be better +just now. + +She bathed and dressed with a dogged quickness, trying meanwhile to +reassure herself. After all, it was only cooking on a little larger +scale than she was used to. After all, it was only for a few months. +After all, she mightn't be broken down by it. And--this was the only +thing that was any real comfort--it would free her so completely of +Francis, this association with him, and the daily, hourly realization +that he had treated her in a cruel, unjust way, that when she went back +she would be glad to forget that he had ever lived; even the days when +he had been so pleasant and comforting. + +If Francis knew that the little aproned figure, with flushed cheeks and +high-held head, was terrified and homesick under the pride, he said +nothing. Nothing, that is, beyond the ordinary courtesies. He offered +to help her on with her cloak. After one indignant look at him she let +him. The indignation would have puzzled him; but Marjorie's feeling +was that a man who would doom you to this sort of a life, put you to +such a test as Francis had, was adding insult to injury in helping you +on and off with wraps. He, of course, couldn't grasp all this, and +felt a little puzzled. + +She walked out and over to the door of the lean-to, leaving him to +follow. + +Pennington's kind and motherly face was peering anxiously out. It came +to Marjorie that she was going to have a good deal of trouble keeping +him from taking too much work off her shoulders. Some men have the +maternal instinct strongly developed, and of such, she was quite sure, +was Pennington. She wondered what he was doing so far from England, +and what she could do to pay him back for his friendliness--for she +felt instinctively that she had a friend in him. + +Sure enough, he had started the big pot of water boiling for the +oatmeal, and was salting it as she entered. + +"Oh, let me!" she cried, and before his doubting eyes she began to stir +the oatmeal in. + +"I suppose there never was a double boiler big enough," she began +doubtfully. "It would save so much trouble." + +"We might make one out of a dishpan, perhaps, swung inside this pot," +he said. + +"And I always thought Englishmen weren't resourceful!" she commented, +smiling at him. "We'll try it to-morrow." + +Meanwhile, having stirred in all the oatmeal necessary, she lowered the +burners a little and began on the coffee. Then she saw the point of +the other stove, for she found she needed it for the bacon and +biscuits. The actual work was not so complicated; the thing that +appalled her was Pennington's insistence on the awful amount of food +needed for the six men and herself. But, of course, as she reminded +herself, there _was_ a difference between cooking for Cousin Anna and +herself on the maid's day out, or for Lucille and herself, and cooking +for six hungry men who worked in the open air at reforesting. She did +not quite know how people reforested, but she had a vague image in her +mind of people going along with armfuls of trees which they stuck in +holes. + +Presently the breakfast was prepared, and Pennington banged briskly on +a dishpan and howled "Chow!" in a way that was most incongruous. He +really should have been a Rural Dean, by his looks and his gentle, +almost clergymanly genial manners, and every time Marjorie looked at +him in his rough clothes she got a shock because he wasn't one. + +There was a long trestled table down the middle of the men's cabin, and +each man, streaming out, picked up a plate and got it filled with food, +and sat himself down in what seemed to be an appointed place. There +were mugs for coffee, and Marjorie, under Pennington's direction, set +them at all the places, and then went up and down filling them. There +was a tin of condensed milk on the table, set there by Pennington's +helpful hand. + +She ran up and down, waiting on her charges, and feeling very much as +if she were conducting a Sunday-school class picnic. The men, except +Pennington and the other young Englishman, who never talked to the last +day she knew him, seemed struck into terrified silence by their new +cook. + +And then a terrible thought came over her--it was rather a funny one, +though, for the excitement of doing all this new work had stirred her +up, rather than saddened her. She had never prepared any dinner-pails +for them. She fled back into the cook-place precipitately, snatched +the pails down from the shelf, and began feverishly spreading large +biscuits with butter and bacon. + +"There's marmalade in the big tin back of you," said Pennington's +softly cultivated Oxford voice from the doorway. "And if you fill the +small buckets with coffee they will take them, together with the rest +of their dinners." + +"But is that enough variety, just bacon and marmalade sandwiches?" she +asked. + +He nodded. + +"There are tinned vegetables that you can give them to-night, if you +wish." + +So, he helping her, they got the last dinner-pail filled before the +hungry horde poured out again. Each passed with a sheepish or +courteous word of thanks, took his pail and went on. It did not occur +to Marjorie till she saw Pennington go, eating as he went a large +biscuit, that he must have cut his own meal very short in order to help +her. + +"What nice people there are in the world!" she breathed, sinking on the +doorstep a minute to think and take breath. + +She sat there longer than she really should, because the air was so +crisp and lovely, and just as she was beginning to rise and go in to +the summoning dishes, a small striped squirrel trotted across the grass +and requested scraps with impudent wavings of his two small front paws. +So she really had to stay and feed him. And after that there was a +bird that actually seemed as if it was going to walk up to her, almost +as the squirrel had done. He flew away just at the most exciting +moment, but Marjorie didn't hold it against him. And then--why, then, +she felt suddenly sleepy and lay down with her cloak swathed around +her, under a tree, for just a minute. And when she looked at her +wrist-watch it was eleven o'clock. + +She felt guilty to the last degree. What would they say at the office +to a young woman who took naps in the morning? + +And then the blessed memory that there was no reason why she shouldn't +do exactly as she pleased with her time, so long as the dishes were +done after awhile, came to her. + +"There's no clock in the forest," she thought, smiling drowsily; and +lay serenely on the pine-needles for another half hour. + +When she did go in, the quantity of dishes wasn't so terrific. There +had been no courses. Each man had left behind him an entirely empty +plate and mug and knife and fork; that was all. And Marjorie seemed to +have more energy and delight in running about and doing things than she +had ever known she possessed, in the heavy New York air. She washed +the dishes and swept out the cabin with a gay good will that surprised +herself. She tried to feel like Cinderella or Bluebeard's wife or some +of the oppressed heroines who had loomed large in her past, but it +wasn't to be done. After that she was so hungry--her own breakfast had +been taken in bites, on the run--that she ate up all the remaining +biscuits, after toasting them and making herself bacon sandwiches as +she had for the men; quite forgetting that her own abode lay near, +filled to repletion with stores of a quite superior kind. The bacon +sandwiches and warmed-over coffee tasted better than anything she had +ever eaten in her life. + +And then there was a whole long afternoon ahead of her, before she had +to do a solitary thing for the men's supper! + +"I must have 'faculty'!" said Marjorie to herself proudly, thinking +more highly of her own talents than she ever had before. The fact that +as a filing-clerk she had not shone had made her rather meek about her +own capacities. She had always taken it impudently for granted that +she was attractive, because the fact had been, so to speak, forced on +her. But there had been a very humble-minded feeling about her +incapacity for a business life. Miss Kaplan, for instance, she of the +exuberant emotions and shaky English, had a record for accuracy and +speed in her particular line which was unsullied by a single lapse. +And Lucille, lazy, luxury-loving Lucille, concealed behind her +fluffinesses an undoubted and remorseless executive ability. Compared +to them Marjorie had always felt herself a most useless person. That +was why she always was meeker in office hours than out of them. And to +find herself swinging this work, even for one meal, without a feeling +of incapacity and unworthiness, made her very cheered indeed. The +truth was, she was doing a thing she had a talent for. + +"And I'm not tired!" she marveled. The change of air was responsible +for that, of course. + +She went back to her forgotten cabin, singing beneath her breath. It +had a rather tousled air, but in her new enthusiasm she went through it +like a whirlwind. She attacked her own room first, and created +spotless order in it. Then she went at the living-room. Then--it was +with a curious reluctance--she climbed the stairs to Francis's absurd +little curtained balcony. + +Francis, evidently, did not sleep so very well, or he had not that +night at all events. The couch was very tossed, one pillow lay on the +ground with a dent in its midst as if an angry hand had thrust it +there, and, most unfairly, hit it after it was down. The covers were +"every which way," as Marjorie said, picking them up and shaking them +out with housewifely care. Francis's pajamas and a shabby brown terry +bath-robe lay about the floor, the bathrobe in a ridiculously lifelike +position with both its sleeves thrown forward over the pillow, as if it +were trying to comfort it for all it had been through. + +Everything had aired since morning, so she disguised the couch again in +its slip-cover, put the cretonne covers back on the pillows, and the +couch stood decorous and daytime-like again. She laid her hand on the +pillow for a moment after she was all through, as if she were touching +something she was sorry for. + +"Poor Francis!" she said softly, smiling a little. "After all, he +isn't so terribly much older than I am." She felt suddenly motherly +toward him, and like being very kind. That maltreated pillow was so +funny and boylike. "It isn't a bit like the storybooks," she mused. +"In them you get all thrilled because a man is so masterful. Well," +Marjorie tried to be truthful, even when she was alone with herself and +the couch, "I guess I was thrilled, a little, when he carried me off +that way. I certainly couldn't have gone if I'd known about the +housework business. But now, the only part of him I like is when he +_isn't_ sitting on me. . . . I wonder if I'll ever be the same person, +after all this?" + +She never would. But, though she wondered, she did not really think +that she was changing or would change. As a matter of fact, she had +made more decisions, gone through more emotions, and become more of a +woman in the little time since Francis had carried her off than in all +her life before. The Marjorie of a year ago would not have answered +the challenge of her husband to prove herself an honorable woman by +taking over a long, hard, uncongenial task. She would have picked up +her skirts and fled back to New York with Logan. + +"I suppose it's the war," said Marjorie uncomfortably. "Dear me, I did +think that when the war was over it would be over. And everything +seems so _real_ yet. I wonder if when I'm an old, old lady talking to +Lucille's grandchildren I shall tell them, 'Ah, yes, my dears, your +Grand-aunt Marjorie was a very different person in the days before the +war! In those days you didn't have to be in earnest about anything. +You didn't even to have any principles that showed. Life wasn't real +and earnest a bit. People just went to tea-dances and talked +flippantly, and some of the men had drinks. And everybody laughed a +great deal, and it was decadent, and the end of an era, and a lot of +shocking things--but it wasn't half as hard as living now, because +there weren't standards, except when they were had by aunts and +employers and such people. Ah, them was the days!' And the +grand-nieces, or whatever relation they'll be to me, will look shocked, +because they'll be children of their time, and it will still be +fashionable to be earnest, and they'll say, 'Dear me, what a terrible +time to have lived in!' And they'll be a little bit envious. And +they'll say, 'And were even you frivolous?' And I'll sigh, and say, +'Yes, indeed, my dears! I married a worthy young man (as young men +went then) in a thoughtless moment, and then when he came back I +wouldn't stay married to him. But by that time the war was over, and +we'd all stopped being flippant and frivolous. So I washed dishes for +him three months before I went and left him.' And they'll commend me +faintly for doing that much, and go away secretly shocked." + +Marjorie was so cheered up by her own fervent imaginings by this time +that she stopped to sit down on the arm of a chair, all by herself, and +laugh out loud. And so Francis saw her, as he came in for something, +and looked up, guided by her laugh. He had scarcely heard her laugh +before for some time. She was perched birdlike on the arm of the chair +at the foot of his couch, just to be glimpsed between the draperies of +the balcony. She looked, to his eyes, like something too fragile and +lovely to be real. And she was laughing! That did not seem real, +either. She might have been pleasant, even cheerful, but this sprite, +swinging there and laughing at nothing whatever, almost frightened him. +For an awful moment he wondered if he had driven Marjorie mad. . . . +He had been unkind to her--hard on her, he knew. + +Before he could stop himself he had rushed up the stairs to the little +balcony. + +"Marjorie--Marjorie! What were you laughing about?" he demanded in +what seemed to her a very surprising way. + +"Why, don't you want me to laugh?" she demanded in her turn, very +naturally. + +"I--why--yes! But you frightened me, laughing all by yourself that +way." + +"Oh, I see!" said Marjorie, looking a little embarrassed. "People +often look surprised when I forget, and do it on the street. I think +about things, and then when they seem funny to me I laugh. Don't you +ever have thoughts all by yourself that you laugh over, when you're +alone?" + +Francis shook his head. He had a good mind, and a quick one, but he +did not use it as something to amuse himself with, as Marjorie did with +hers. He used it to work with. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," he said. "But----" + +"I know. It looked queer. I was just thinking how different everybody +and everything is since the war. We're all so much more grown up, and +responsible. And I was hearing myself talk to Lucille's grandchildren, +and tell them all about the days before the war, when everybody said +they just didn't care. . . . Aren't things different?" + +Francis nodded. + +"Yes, they're different. I don't know exactly how, but they are. And +we are." + +"Do you think you are?" + +Francis sat down on the couch, looked at her, bright-eyed and grave, +and nodded again. + +"Yes. All the values are changed. At least they are for me and most +of the men I came across. I don't think the women are so different; +you see, the American women didn't have anything much to change them, +except the ones who went over. We were in such a little while it +didn't have time to go deep." + +He meant no disparagement, but Marjorie flared up. + +"You mean me--and Lucille--and all the rest!" she accused him. "You're +quite wrong. That was just what I was telling Lucille's grandchildren. +We are different. Why, do you think I would have thought I owed you +anything--owed it to you to stay up here and drudge--before the war? I +never thought about being good, particularly, or honorable, or owing +things to people. Oh, I suppose I did, in a way, because I'd always +been brought up to play fair. But never with the top of my mind. You +know yourself, all anybody wanted was a good time. If anybody had told +me, when I was seventeen--I was seventeen when the war started, wasn't +I?--that I'd care more about standards than about fun, I'd have just +thought they were lying, or they didn't know. And right and wrong have +come to matter in the most curious way." + +"I think perhaps," he answered her--they had quite forgotten that they +were enemies by now--"that the war was in the air. Maybe the world +felt that there wouldn't be much chance for good times for it--for our +generation--again, and snatched at it. You know, for a good many years +things won't be the same, even for us in America, who suffered less, +perhaps, than any other nation in the world. Life's harder, and it +will be." + +"Oh, always?" demanded Marjorie. "You know, Francis, I always wanted +good times worse than anything in the world, but that isn't saying I +had them. I didn't. Won't I ever have any more? That few weeks when +I raced around with you and Billy and Lucille was really the first time +I'd been free and had fun with people I liked, ever since I'd been +born. And--and I suppose it went to my head a little bit." + +She looked up at him like a child who has been naughty and is sorry, +and he looked over at her, his face going tense, as it did when he felt +things. + +"I don't think we were exactly free agents," he said musingly. +"Something was pushing us. I'm not sorry . . . except that it was +hardly fair to you----" + +She leaned toward him impulsively, holding out her hand. He bent +toward her, flushing. They were nearer than they had been since that +day when his summons to war came. And then Fate--as Mr. Logan might +have said--knocked at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The two on the balcony moved a little away from each other. Then +Marjorie, coloring for no reason whatsoever, stepped down the toy +stairs that wound like a doll's-house staircase, and went to the door. + +It was Peggy O'Mara, no more and no less, but what a Peggy! She looked +like an avenging goddess. But it was not at Marjorie that her +vengeance was directed, it was plainly to be seen, for she swept the +smaller girl to her bosom with one strong and emotional arm, and said, +"You poor abused little lamb! I've come to tell you that I know all +about it!" + +Marjorie jerked herself away in surprise. For one thing, she had been +very much interested in the conversation she had been carrying on with +Francis, and had entirely forgotten that she might ever have had any +claim to feel abused. For another thing, Peggy knew more than she +should, if Logan had kept his promise. + +"Won't--won't you come in?" she asked inadequately. "And please tell +me what you mean." + +"Mean! I mean I know all about it!" said Peggy, who was sixteen only, +in spite of her goddess-build, and romantic. + +She came in, nevertheless, holding tight to Marjorie as if she might +faint, unaided; guided her to the downstairs couch, and sat down with +her, holding tight to her still. + +"Yes," said Marjorie, with a certain amount of coldness, considering +that she was being regarded as an abused lamb, "you said that before. +And now please tell me what it is that you know all about." + +"Well, if that's the way you take being defended," said Peggy with a +certain amount of temper, "I'll just go back the way I came!" + +"But, Peggy, I don't know anything about it!" she pleaded. "Please +tell me everything." + +"There's nothing much to tell," said Peggy, quite chilly in her turn. +But now she had more to face than Marjorie. Francis, militant and +stern, strode down the steps and planted himself before the girls. He +fixed his eye on Peggy in a way that she clearly was not used to stand +up under, and said, "Out with it, Peggy!" + +So Peggy, under his masculine eye, "made her soul." + +"It's nothing that concerns you, Francis Ellison!" she began. "It's +simply that I've learned how a man can treat a woman. And you--you +that I've known since I was a child! And telling me fairy-tales of +bold kidnapers and cruel husbands and all, and I never knowing that you +were going to grow up and be one!" + +Marjorie laughed--she couldn't help it, Peggy was so severe. Francis +looked at her again in some surprise, and Peggy was plainly annoyed. + +"I should say," said Francis with perfect calm, "that our honorable +friend Mr. Logan had been confiding in you. His attitude is a little +biased; however, let that pass. Just what did he say?" + +"Just nothing at all, except that you were a charming young man, and he +wished that he were as able to face the world and its problems as you," +Peggy answered spiritedly. "None of your insinuations about his honor, +please. And shame on you to malign a sick man!" + +"Oh, is Mr. Logan sick?" asked Marjorie, forgetting other interests. +She turned to Francis, forgetting their feud again, in a common and +inexcusable curiosity. "Francis! Now we'll know what it really was +that ailed him--the nervous spells, you know? I always _told_ you it +wasn't fits!" + +"How do you know it isn't?" said Francis. "Peggy hasn't said." + +"She wouldn't be so interested if it was," said Marjorie triumphantly. +"It takes an old and dear wife to stand _that_ in a man." + +They had no business to be deflected from Peggy and her temper by any +such consideration; but it was a point which had occupied their letters +for a year, off and on, and there had been bets upon it. + +"Let me see, I suppose those wagers stand--was it candy, or a Hun +helmet?" said Francis. + +"Candy," said Marjorie. "But it was really the principle of the thing. +Ask her." + +Francis turned back to Peggy, who was becoming angrier and angrier; for +when you start forth to rescue any one, it is annoying, even as Logan +found it, to have the rescue act as if it were nothing to her whether +she was rescued or not. + +"Now, what really does ail him, Pegeen?" he asked affectionately. "Did +you see him, or don't you know?" + +"Of course I saw him--am I not nursing him? And of course I know! +Poor man, the journey up here nearly killed him." + +"How? It seemed like a nice journey to me," said Marjorie +thoughtlessly. + +"There's no use pretending you're happy," said Peggy relentlessly. "I +know you're not. It's very brave, but useless." + +"But has he fits?" demanded Marjorie with unmistakable intensity. + +"He has not," said Peggy scornfully. "I don't know where you'd get the +idea. He fainted this morning when he tried to get up. He didn't come +down to breakfast, and we thought him tired out, and let him lie. But +after awhile, perhaps at nine or so, we thought it unnatural that any +one should be asleep so long. So I tiptoed up, because when you're as +fat as mother it does wear you to climb more stairs than are needful. +And there was the poor man, all dressed beautifully, even to his +glasses with the black ribbon, lying across the bed, in a faint." + +"Are you sure it was a faint?" the Ellisons demanded with one voice. + +Peggy looked more scornful, if possible, than she had for some time. + +"We had to bring him to with aromatic spirits of ammonia, and slapping +his hands. And the doctor says it's his heart. That is, it isn't +really his heart, but his nerves are so bad that they make some sort of +a condition that it's just as bad as if he had heart-trouble really. +Simulated heart-trouble, the doctor called it. You understand, he +doesn't pretend, himself; his heart makes his nerves pretend, as well +as I can make it out. Sure it must be dreadful to have nerves that act +that way to you. I wonder what nerves feel like, anyway." + +Peggy herself was getting off the topic, through her interest in the +subject. + +"But how did you find out that I was beating Marjorie?" inquired +Francis calmly, pulling her back. + +She shot a furious glance at him. + +"I wish you hadn't reminded me. I'd forgotten all about hating you for +your horrid ways. It was just before he came to. He thought he was +talking to you, and he said, 'You had no right to force her to do that +work, Ellison, it will kill her.'" + +"And was that all?" asked Marjorie. + +"Wasn't that enough? And I ask you, Marjorie Ellison, isn't it true? +Hasn't Francis forced you to come over here and do his cooking for him? +Oh, Francis, I can't understand it in you," said poor Peggy, looking up +at him appealingly. "You that were always so tender and kind with +every one, to make a poor little thing like Marjorie work at cooking +and cleaning for great rough men." + +Francis had colored up while she spoke. One hand, behind his back, was +clenching and unclenching nervously. He was fronting the two girls, +but turned a little away from Marjorie and toward Peggy, so Marjorie +could see it. Aside, from that he was perfectly quiet, and so far as +any one could see, entirely unmoved. Only Marjorie knew he was not +unmoved. That dark, thin, clenching hand--she had seen it before, +restless and betraying, and she knew it meant that Francis was angry or +unhappy. She felt curiously out of it all. She had made up her mind +once and for all to go through with her penance, if one could call it +that. Her mind was so unsettled and hard to make up that, once made up +on this particular point, she felt it would be more trouble to stop +than to go on. She leaned a little back against Peggy's guarding arm, +and let the discussion flow on by her. + +"Marjorie is free to go at any time; she knows that," he said. + +Marjorie looked at him full. She said nothing whatever. But Peggy's +Irish wit jumped at the right solution. + +"Yes, free to go, no doubt, but with what kind of a string to it?" she +demanded triumphantly. "I'll wager it's like the way mother makes me +free of things. 'Oh, sure ye can smoke them little cigarette things if +ye like--_but_ if ye do it's out of my door ye'll go!'" + +Marjorie thought it was time to take a hand here. Francis was standing +there, still, not trying to answer Peggy. He seemed to Marjorie +pitifully at their mercy; why, she did not know, for he had neither +said nor looked anything but the utmost sternness. And Marjorie +herself knew that he was not being kind or fair--that he had not been, +in his exaction. Still she looked at that hand, moving like a sentient +thing, and spoke. + +"Peggy, some day I'll tell you all about it, or Francis will. You and +Francis have been friends for a long, long time, and I don't want you +to be angry with him because of me--just a stranger. And for the +present, I can tell you only this, that Francis is right, I am doing +this of my own free will. You are a darling to come and care about +what happens to me." + +Peggy was softened at once. She pulled Marjorie to her and gave her a +sounding kiss. + +"And you're a darling, too, and you're not a stranger--don't we love +you for Francis's sake--oh, there, and I was forgetting! I suppose I'm +not to be down on you, Francis. But I couldn't help thinking things +were queer. It's not the customary way to let your bride spend her +honeymoon, from all I've heard. Oh, and it's five o'clock, and it +takes an hour and a half to get back, though I borrowed the priest's +housekeeper's bicycle." + +She sprang up, dropping from her lap the bundle of aprons which +Marjorie had waited for. + +"Mind, Francis, I've not forgiven you yet," she called back. "When +poor Mr. Logan is better I'll have the whole story out of him, or my +name's not Margaret O'Mara." + +She was on her bicycle and away before they could answer her. + +"And it's time I went over to the cook-shed," said Marjorie evenly, +rising, too, and beginning to unfasten the bundle of aprons. They were +a little hard to unfasten, from the too secure knots Mrs. O'Mara had +made, and she dropped down again, bending intently over them to get +them free. Suddenly they were pushed aside, and Francis had flung +himself down by her, with his head on her knees, holding her fast. + +"Oh, Marjorie, Marjorie!" he said. "Don't stay. I can't bear to have +you acting like this--like an angel. I've been unfair and unkind--it +didn't need Peggy to tell me that. Go on away from me. And forgive +me, if you can, some time." + +She looked down at the black head on her knees. It was victory, +then--of a sort. And suddenly her perverse heart hardened. + +"Please get up, Francis," she said in the same cold and even voice she +had used before. "I haven't time for this sort of thing; it's time I +went over and got the men their supper. They'll be ready for it at +six, Pennington said." + +He rose quietly and stood aside, while she took off the apron of Mrs. +O'Mara's that she had been making shift with, and put one of the new +ones on in its place, and went out of their cabin. She never looked +back. She went swiftly and straight to the cook-shed and began work on +the evening meal. There was a feeling of triumph in her heart. And +nothing on earth would tempt her to go now. Francis was beginning to +feel his punishment. And she wasn't through with him yet. + +She found an oven which sat on top of the burners, and had just managed +to lift it into its place when Pennington walked leisurely in behind +her. + +"I had to come back to get your husband," he explained, "and I thought +I'd see if you were in any troubles. Let me set that straight for you." + +He adjusted it as it should be, and lingered to tell her anything else +she might wish to know. + +"I'm going to give them codfish cakes for breakfast," she confided to +him, "a great many! But what on earth can I have for their dinners?" + +"There is canned corn beef hash," he suggested. "That would do all +right for to-night. Or you might have fish." + +"Where would I get it?" + +"Indians. They come by with strings of fish to sell, often. I think I +can go out and send one your way." + +"You speak as if there were Indians around every corner," she said. + +"No-o, not exactly," he answered her slowly. "But the truth is that I +saw one, with a string of fish, crossing up from the stream, not long +ago. As I was riding and he walking, I think it likely that I shall +intercept him on my way back. That is, if you want the fish." + +"Oh, indeed, I do," she assured him eagerly. "That is--do you think +the Indian--he won't hurt me, will he? And do you think he would clean +them for me?" + +"I think I can arrange that with him," Pennington, who was rapidly +assuming the shape of a guardian angel to Marjorie, assured her. + +"And now I must go and tell your husband that he's wanted down where +the men are." + +"Thank you," she said, looking up at his plump, tanned, rather quaint +face--so like, as she always thought, a middle-aged rector's in an +English novel--with something grotesque and yet pathetic about it. "I +don't know what I'd do without your help. In a day or so I may get to +the point where I'll be very clever, and very independent." + +She smiled up at him, and he looked down at her with what she +characterized in her own mind as his motherly expression. "You're such +a little thing!" he said as if he couldn't help it. Then, after a +hasty last inquiry as to whether there was anything more he could do, +he went off in search of Francis. + +She looked after him with a feeling of real affection. + +"He's the nearest I have to a mother!" she said to herself whimsically, +as she addressed herself to the preparation of the evening meal. She +had conceived the brilliant plan of doing the men's lunches, where it +was possible, the night before. In this way, she thought, though it +might take a little more time in the afternoon, it would make things +easier in the mornings. Such an atmosphere of hurry as she had lived +in that morning, while it had been rather fun for once, would be too +tiring in the long run, she knew. And the run would be long--three +months. + +The Indian came duly with the fish, all cleaned and ready to fry. She +was baking beans in the oven for to-morrow's luncheons. So she baked +the potatoes, too, and hunted up some canned spinach, and then--having +miscalculated her time--conceived the plan of winning the men's hearts +with a pudding. She was sure Pierre's cookery had never run to such +delicacies. And even then there was time to spare. The men were late, +or something had happened. So she looked to be sure that there was +nothing more she could do, and then strayed off to the edges of the +woods, looking for flowers. She found clumps of bloodroot, great +anemone-flowers that she picked by the handful. There were some little +blue flowers, also, whose name she did not know; and sprays of +wintergreen berries and long grasses. Greatly daring, she put one of +the low, flat vases she had found in her cabin in the center of the +men's trestle-table, and filled it with her treasure-trove. Then, a +little tired, she sat down by the table herself, resting for a moment +before the drove should come home. + +They were in on her before she knew it. She thought afterward that she +must have fallen asleep. How dainty and how winning a picture of home +she made for the rough men, she never thought. But the men did, and +the foremost one, a big, rough Yankee, instinctively halted on tiptoe +as he saw her, leaning back in her chair with her eyes shut. Marjorie +was not in the least fragile physically, but she was so little and +slender that, in spite of her wild-rose flush and her red lips, she +always impressed men with a belief in her fragility. + +"Look at there, boys!" he half said, half whispered; and the crew +halted behind him, looking at Marjorie as if she were some very +wonderful and lovely thing. + +The steps, or perhaps the eyes fixed admiringly on her, woke Marjorie. +She opened her eyes, and smiled a little. She had gone to sleep very +pleased, on account of the flowers, and of having arranged her work so +it fitted in properly. + +"Oh, you've come!" she said, smiling at them as a friendly child might +smile, flushed with sleep. "Did you have a hard day? Everything's +ready." + +She was up and out in the cook-shed, half-frightened of their friendly +eyes, before they could say any more. That is, to her. + +"Gosh, that's some wife of yours!" said one of them to Francis, who was +a little in the rear of the others. "But ain't she a little thing?" + +Francis simply said "Yes" constrainedly. He had heard all that before. +Pennington, who did not as a rule like girls, had been telling him what +a lucky devil he was, as they went over to the working place together. +He also had said that Marjorie was a little thing. And the note in his +voice as he said it had insinuated to Francis, who was all too +sensitive for such insinuations, that she was scarcely the type of +woman to cook for a men's camp. Francis felt quite remorseful enough +already. He sat down with the rest, while Marjorie brought in first +the big platter of fish, then the vegetables, and a big pitcher of +cocoa which she had made. + +"Some eats!" said another of the crew, and Marjorie dimpled +appreciatively. While she went out again, after something she had +forgotten, one of the Frenchmen whispered bashfully to Pennington, who +was Francis's assistant. He smiled his slow, half-mocking, half-kindly +smile, and passed it on to Francis. + +"Ba'tiste says that he wonders if the lady would sit down and eat with +us. Do you think she would, Ellison? It's a long time since any of us +had a lady keep house for us." + +"I'll ask her," said Francis, the taciturn. He would rather have done +a good many things than go to Marjorie with a request, as things stood +between them, but there was nothing else for it. He came on her, +standing on tiptoe at the cupboard, like a child, trying to reach down +a cup. She had counted one too few. + +He stood behind her and took it down, reaching over her head. + +"Oh, thank you, Mr. Pennington!" she said, taking it for granted that +it was her accustomed helper. + +"It isn't Pennington; it's--me," said Francis. "I--I wouldn't have +bothered you, but you see the men sent me out here on an errand." + +"The men sent you on an errand?" she said wonderingly. "That sounds +topsy-turvy. I thought you sent them on errands." + +"Not this kind. They want to know if you won't sit down and eat with +them to-night. The flowers and the food made a hit, and they agree +with everybody else in the world, as far as I can see," said Francis, +with bitterness in his voice, "that this is no work for you to be +doing." + +"Did they dare to say so?" said Marjorie angrily. + +"No--oh, no. Don't mind me, Marjorie. I'm a little tired and nervous, +I expect--like Logan," he ended, trying to smile. "Will you come?" + +"Why, of course!" said Marjorie instantly. "And I think it's _sweet_ +of them to want me! Tell them just to wait till I take my apron off, +and I'll be with them." + +He went back and she followed him and sat down. At first she felt +embarrassed, a little--she felt as if she were entertaining a large +dinner-party, and most of them strangers. But Pennington, her +unfailing comfort, was at one side of her, and the friendly, if +inarticulate, Ba'tiste at the other; and presently she was chattering +on, and liking it very much. + +None of the men had seen much of women for a long time. A couple of +the better-class ones went into town, or what passed for it, +occasionally, to such dances as the few women near by could get up. +But that was practically all they saw of girls. And this "little +thing"--it was a phrase they always used in speaking of her, till the +very last--with her pretty face and pretty, shy ways, and excellent +cooking--and more than all, her pluck--won them completely. + +And when she finally, with obvious delight in their delight, produced +the pudding, everything was over but the shouting, as they told her +husband afterward. She had been a bit apprehensive about it, but it +proved to be a good pudding, and large enough. Just large enough, +though. They finished it to the very last crumb, sauce and all, and +thanked her almost with tears. Pierre, it appeared, had not cooked +with any art, he had merely seen to it that there was enough stoking +material three times a day. From the moment of that meal on, anything +that Marjorie wanted of those men, to the half of their weekly wages, +was hers for the asking. + +She liked it very much. Everybody likes to be admired and appreciated. +She could not help casting a glance of triumph over at Francis, where +he sat maritally at the other end of the table, the most silent person +present. + +Pennington helped her clear away after supper. Indeed, competition to +help Marjorie clear away was so strong that Pennington had to use his +authority before the men settled down to their usual routine of +card-playing or lounging about on the grass outside. She accepted his +help gratefully, for she was beginning to feel as if she had always +known him. She did not think of him in the least as a man. He seemed +more like an earthly providence. + +"You know, I really am very strong," she explained to him as he said +something that betrayed his feeling that this work would be too much +for her. "I think I shall be able to do all this. Really, it isn't +anything more than lots of women have to do who keep boarders. And it +isn't for----" + +She stopped herself. She had been on the point of saying, "And it +isn't for long, anyway." She did not know what Francis had told the +men about their plans, or his plans for her cooking, and she was +resolved to be absolutely loyal to him. When she went he should have +nothing to say about her but that she had behaved as well as any woman +could. + +"If you're ready, we'll go back to the cabin, Marjorie," said Francis, +appearing on the edge of the threshold, looking even more like a +thundercloud than normal lately. + +She hung up the dishcloth, gave Pennington a last grateful smile, and +followed Francis back. + +"Pennington's a good fellow," he said abruptly as they gained their own +porch, "but I don't want you to have too much to do with him. He's +kindly and all that, but he's a remittance man." + +Marjorie's eyes opened wide with excitement at this. She had heard of +remittance men, but never seen one before. + +"How perfectly thrilling!" she said. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Francis looked at her as if she had said something very surprising. + +"Thrilling?" he said, apparently considering it the wrong adjective. + +She nodded. + +"Why, yes. I've read of remittance men all my life, but I never +dreamed I'd meet one. And--I always wanted to know, Francis," said +she, as she opened the door and walked in and settled herself cozily on +the window-seat. "What does he remit? They never say." + +"He doesn't remit," explained Francis rather disgustedly, following her +over and sitting down by her at the other corner of the seat. "Other +people do it." + +"'Curiouser and Curiouser! I begin to think I'm in Wonderland!'" she +quoted. "I think the easiest way for you to do will be just to tell me +all about remittance men, the way you do a child when it starts to ask +questions. Just what are they, and do they all look like Pennington, +and are they trained to be it, or does it come natural?" + +"A remittance man," Francis explained again, "is a term, more or less, +of disgrace. He is a man who has done something in his own country +which makes his relatives wish him out of it. So they remit money to +him as long as he stays away." + +If he expected to make Marjorie feel shocked at Pennington by this tale +he was quite disappointed. + +"And does Pennington get money for staying away, besides what he helps +you and gets?" she demanded. "What does he do with it all?" + +"I don't suppose it's a great deal," said Francis reluctantly. + +"Well, all I have to say is, I'm perfectly certain that if anybody's +paying Pennington to stay away from England, they're some horrid kind +of person that just is disagreeable, and doesn't know his real worth. +Why, Francis, he's helped me learn the ways here, and looked after me, +as if he was my mother. He's exactly like somebody's mother." + +Francis could not help smiling a little. Marjorie, when she wanted to +be--sometimes when she did not want to be--was irresistible. + +"But, Marjorie," he began to explain to her very seriously, "however +much he may seem like a mother, he isn't one. He's a man, though he's +rather an old one. And he did do things in England so he had to leave. +I don't want him to fall in love with you; it would be embarrassing for +several reasons." + +"But why should he fall in love with me?" she demanded innocently. +"Lots of people don't." + +"But, Marjorie," her husband remonstrated, "they do. Look at Logan, +now. No reason on earth would have brought him up here but being in +love with you. You might as well admit it." + +"All I ever did was to listen to him when he talked," said Marjorie, +shrugging one shoulder. She liked what Francis was saying, but she +felt in honor bound to be truthful about such things. "And besides +you, there was only one other man ever asked me to marry him--I mean, +not counting Logan, if you do count him. Oh, yes, and then there was +another one yet, with a guitar. He always said he proposed to me. He +wrote me a letter all mixed up, about everything in the world; and I +was awfully busy just then, selling tickets for a church fair of Cousin +Anna's. I never was any good selling tickets anyhow," explained +Marjorie, settling herself more nestlingly in her corner of the +window-seat; "and so when he said somewhere in the letter that anything +he could ever do for me he would do on the wings of the wind, I wrote +back and said yes, he could buy two tickets for the church fair. And, +oh, but he was furious! He sent the check for the tickets with the +maddest letter you ever saw; and he accused me of refusing him in a +cold and ignoring manner. And I'd torn up the letter, the way I always +do, and so I couldn't prove anything about it to him. But he didn't +come to the fair. Ye-es, I suppose that was a proposal. The man ought +to know, shouldn't he?" + +Francis was tired; he had a consciousness of having behaved unkindly +that weighed him down and made for gloom. He had come in with Marjorie +for the purpose of delivering an imposing warning. But he couldn't +help laughing. + +"I suppose so," he acknowledged. "Never mind, Marjorie, you didn't +really want him, did you?" + +She shook her head. + +"Oh, no. Nobody could. Or--wait, somebody must, because I think he's +married. But he wasn't the kind a girl that cared what she got wanted." + +But Francis went back to Pennington. + +"About Pennington," he began again. "You don't know how easy it is for +you to let a man think you're encouraging him, when you really aren't +saying a word or doing a thing, or think you aren't. I want you to +promise me you'll be very careful where he's concerned, even cold." + +"Cold!" she said indignantly. "But I'm married! You seem to forget +that!" + +Francis had not forgotten it in the least. He forgot it all too little +for his own comfort, he might have told her. But he was rebuked. + +"I didn't know you went on the principle that you had to act exactly +like a regular married woman," he apologized with meekness. + +"I do," she said shortly. + +He rose and went over to where the banjo lay and brought it back to +her. It was growing dusk now in the little cabin. + +"Play for me, and sing, won't you, Marjorie?" he asked abruptly. "I +haven't heard you for a long time." + +In Marjorie's mind there arose the memory of that boyish, loving little +note that she had found under the banjo, and for a minute her throat +clutched so that she couldn't answer. She had moments of being so +intolerably sorry for Francis that it hurt; quite irrational moments, +when he seemed to need it not at all. This was one. + +"Yes," she said, pulling herself together. "That is, if you will take +my word for it that I have no designs on poor old Mr. Pennington." + +"Of course I know you haven't," he said. "It was the other way about +that I was afraid of." + +"His having designs on me?" + +She laughed aloud as she began tuning her strings. It did seem like +the funniest thing she had ever heard. The picture of Pennington, girt +with a sack for an apron, with that plump, quaint face of his, and +those kindly, fussy ways, drying cups for her and having designs while +he did it--it was enough to make even Logan laugh, and _he_ had never +been known to be amused by anything that wasn't intellectual humor. + + "Just a-wearyin' for you," + +she began, in her soft little sympathetic voice, that wasn't much good +for anything but just this sort of thing, but could pull the +heartstrings out of you at it, and sang it through. She went on after +that without being asked, just because she liked it. She knew where +the simple chords were in the dark, and she sang everything she wanted +to, forgetting finally Francis, and the woods, and everything else in +the world except the music and the old things she was singing. + +When she had finally done, after an hour or so, and laid the banjo +across her lap and leaned back with a little laugh, saying "There! You +must be tired by this time!" Francis rose with scarcely a thank-you, +and walked out of the door. + +"I want a turn in the air before I come to bed," he said. + +Marjorie said nothing. She was sleepy, as usual--would she never get +over being sleepy up here?--and she laid the instrument on the floor +and stretched out thoughtlessly on the window-seat, instead of going +off to bed as she had been intending to do. As for her husband, he +walked across the veranda straight into a group of his listening men. +The music had drawn them over, and, regardless of mosquitoes, they were +sitting about on the steps, liking the concert. + +"We owe you a vote of thanks for importing that little wife of yours, +Ellison," said Pennington, getting up and stretching himself widely in +the moonlight. "Maybe if I do some more dishes for her, she'll come +and sing for us when she knows it, sometime soon." + +Francis had an irrational wish to hit Pennington. But there was no +reason why he should. Pennington's particular kind of flippancy was +merely a result of his having been, in those far days before he was a +remittance man, an Oxford graduate. So was his soft and charmingly +inflected voice. But, quite reasonlessly, it was all Francis could do +to respond with the politeness which is due to your almost +irreplaceable second-in-command on a rush job. His manners once made, +he decided that he didn't want the air, after all. He faced about, +saying good-night to the risen men, who responded jovially or +respectfully, according to their temperaments, and returned to the +cabin where he was, for all they knew, living an idyllic life with the +wife he adored and who adored him. + +He went over, drawn in spite of himself, to the window-seat where +Marjorie lay. There was enough moonlight to see her dimly, and he +could tell that she had, all in a minute, fallen asleep. She looked +very young and tired and childish in the shadows, with her lips just +parted, and her hands out and half open at her sides. + +"Marjorie! Marjorie, dear!" he said. "Wake up! It's time you were in +bed." + +He spoke to her affectionately, scarcely knowing that he said it. She +was very tired, and she did not wake till he put his hand on her +shoulder. Even then she just moved a little, and turned back to her +old position. + +He finally bent and lifted her to a sitting position, but she only lay +against him, heavy still with sleep. + +"Don't want to get up," she murmured, like a child. So finally he had +to do as he had done the night he brought her home, pick her up bodily +and lay her on her own bed. Her arms fell from his shoulders as he +straightened himself from laying her down. "'Night," she said, still +sleepily and half-affectionately; and Francis did not kiss her +good-night. But he did want to badly. Francis, unlike Marjorie, was +not sleeping well these nights. + +But then he was used to his work and she was not used to hers. He +called her quite unemotionally next morning, and she rose and went +through her routine as usual. All the camp watched its mascot +apprehensively, as if she might break--well, not every one, for two of +them were tough old souls who thought that hard work was what women +were "fur." But, aside from these unregenerates, they did more. Fired +by Pennington's example of unremitting help, they did everything for +her that thought could suggest. They brought her in posies for the +table; they swept out the cabin for her; they dried her dishes in +desperate competition; they filled the kerosene stoves so thoroughly +that there was always a dripping trail of oil on the floor, and +Pennington had to lay down the law about it; they ate what she fed them +gladly, and even sometimes forbore to ask for more out of a wish to +seem mannerly. + +And Marjorie liked it to the core. The lightening of the work was a +help, and it made things so that she was not more than healthfully +tired, though sometimes she felt that she was more than that; but, +being a woodland queen, as Pennington called it, was pleasantest of +all. She came to feel as the time went on, there alone in the clearing +with them, that they were all her property. She mended their clothes +for them, she settled their disputes, she heard their confidences and +saw the pictures of their sweethearts and wives, or, sometimes, +photographs of movie queens who were the dream-ideals of these simple +souls. Sometimes she went out to the place where they worked, before +the work moved too far away for her to reach it in a short time. And, +curiously enough, she found that she was not lonely, did not miss New +York, and--it seemed to her that it was a rather shocking way to +feel--she did not in the least feel a "lack of woman's nursing, or +dearth of woman's tears." + +She got along excellently without Lucille, Cousin Anna, and the girls +in the office. And, thinking it over sometimes at twilight, in those +rare moments when there weren't from one to three of the men grouped +adoringly around her, and Francis wasn't chaperoning her silently in +the background, she felt that the work was a small price to pay for the +pleasantness of the rest of her life there. Always before she had been +a cog in the machinery, wherever she had been. At Cousin Anna's she +was a little girl, loved and dominated. With Lucille she was free, but +Lucille, in compensation, helped herself to the ungrudgingly given +foreground. But here she was lady and mistress, and pet besides. In +short, the punishment Francis had laid out for her was only a +punishment to him. She could see that he felt guilty by spells. She +thought, too, that he had times of being fond of her. How much they +meant she could not tell. But in spite of his warnings she became +better and better friends with Pennington, always exactly, at least as +far as she was concerned, as if he were a maiden aunt of great kindness +and experience. Indeed, Pennington, she thought, was what kept her +from missing girls so. + +He never told her anything about himself. He might or might not have +been a remittance man; but he mentioned no remittances, at least. Once +he spoke of his childhood, the kind of childhood she had read sometimes +in English children's books, not like her own prim American suburban +memories of Sunday-school and being sent to school and store, and +sometimes playing in her back yard with other little girls. He had had +a pony, and brothers and sisters to play with, and a governess, she +gathered; and an uncle who was an admiral, and came home once to them +in his full uniform, as a treat, so they could see how he looked in it. +And there had been a nurse, and near by was a park where the tale went +that there were goblins. But it all must have been very long ago, she +thought, because Pennington looked forty and over. And all his stories +stopped short before he was ten. After that he went to Eton, he told +her, and told her no more. + +She did not ask. She liked him, but, after all, he was not an +important figure in her life. The goal she never forgot was Francis's +admission that she was an honorable woman; and, underneath that, +Francis's missing her terribly when she was through and left. Still, +when Pennington would come and demand tea from her of a Sunday, and she +would sit in her little living-room, or out on the veranda, with the +quaint yellow tea-set that was a part of the furnishings, and pour it +for him and one or two of the other men, she would like having him +about. He talked as interestingly as Logan, but not as egotistically. +She felt as if she were quite a wonderful person when he sat on the +step below her, and surrounded her with a soft deference that was +almost caressing, but not quite. And in spite of Francis's warnings +she made more and more of a friend of him. + +The explosion came one Sunday afternoon in June. She came out on the +veranda, as usual, with her tea-tray, about four, and waited for her +court. Peggy came over once in awhile on Sundays, too. Logan never +came. Peggy had never said any more about him since her one outburst, +but Marjorie knew that he was ill yet, and being nursed by the O'Maras. +This day no Peggy appeared. Indeed, nobody appeared for some time, and +Marjorie began to think of putting away the tea-things and considering +the men's supper. And then, just as she had come to this resolve, +Pennington came through the woods. + +He was not sauntering in a seemingly aimless manner, as he usually did. +He was walking straight for her, as if she were something he had been +aiming for for hours. And he did not drop at her feet negligently on +the steps, as he usually did, and call her some fanciful name like +"Queen of the Woodlands," or "Lady Marjorie." He sat erectly on a +chair across from her, and Marjorie bethought herself that he was very +much like a curate making a call. The kindly expression was always on +his face, even when he was most deeply in earnest, and he was +apparently in earnest to-day. + +"I stopped the other men from coming," began Pennington with no +preface. "I wanted to have a long talk with you. I want to tell you a +story." + +"I wish you would," she said, though she had had so many scenes of late +that, without any idea what was coming, a little tremor of terror crept +around her heart. She leaned back in her rustic rocker, there on the +veranda, and looked at him in her innocent, friendly fashion. He +paused a little before he began. + +"Once upon a time," he began abruptly, "there was a man who had a very +fair start in life. His people saw to it that everything was smooth +for him--too smooth, perhaps. He didn't realize that he could ever be +in a position where they wouldn't be able to straighten things out for +him. He was a decent enough chap; weak, perhaps, but kind, at least. +He went to school and college, and finally took orders, and was given a +living in a county near where his people lived. Life went along easily +enough for him, and perhaps a bit stupidly. Too stupidly. He got +bored by it. So after a while he gambled. He played the stock-market. +Presently he used some money that was not his--that had been intrusted +to him by another. He lost that. So he had to give up +everything--home, friends, profession, country--and go and live in a +strange country. His people, good always, straightened things out for +him, at a great sacrifice; but they made it a condition that he should +stay where he was. Time went on, and things were forgotten. And the +people who had made him promise not to return died. They left him, in +dying, some money. Not a great deal, but enough to keep him +comfortably. And he didn't know what to do. He was happy, for the +first time in his life, with a little friend he had found, some one +almost like a daughter, some one who seemed, in humble ways, to need +him to help her in what wasn't a very easy part of her life. So he +stayed yet a little longer. And presently he found that he was in +danger of something happening. He had never been very good at making +himself feel as he wished to feel, or at holding his feelings to what +they should be, let us say. And his feelings for this little daughter +were not quite, he was afraid, like a father's. But he still did not +know what to do, Marjorie. She would never care, and there were +reasons why he did not want or expect her to. It was only that he +wondered which was right--which he ought to do." + +Pennington stopped. + +Marjorie colored up. + +"What--what do you mean? Why--why do you tell me about it?" + +"Because," said Pennington, "I would like to know what you think that +man ought to do. Ought he to go back home, against his people's wish, +but where he belongs, and try to pick up the rest of his life there, or +do you think that the need of him over here is enough to counterbalance +the danger he runs? You see, it's rather a problem." + +Marjorie was a perfectly intelligent girl. She knew very well that +Pennington was, at last, telling her the outlines of his own pitiful +story. And he was leaving the decision in her hands. + +She sat quietly for awhile, and tried to think. It was hard to think, +because there was a queer, hazy feeling in her head, and her hands were +hot. She had felt unusually excited and energetic and gay earlier in +the day, but that was all gone, and only the hazy feeling left. She +did not want to move, or, particularly, to speak. She wondered if a +trip she had made that afternoon before to a little swampy place, where +she had sat and strung berries for an hour, had been bad for her. + +But there was Pennington--he looked very large, suddenly, and then +seemed to fade away far off for a minute, and have to be focused with +an effort--and he had to be answered. + +"I think," she said hesitatingly, "that he ought to do what seemed to +him right, without thinking of his feelings, or--or any one else's." + +"But that's just the trouble. He couldn't see which _was_ right." + +Marjorie tried to focus harder than ever. She wanted to be unselfish, +and tell him the thing that was right to do, at any cost--though she +had not realized how much Pennington's help and society had been to +her. She felt a terror at the idea of his going, the more because she +felt ill. But that didn't count--that mustn't count. You have no +right to let a man stay where he may fall in love with you, merely +because you need him for a maiden aunt or something of the sort. And +that was the ultimate and entire extent of her affection for him, +strong though it had come to be. + +"I think--I think that man had better go back to the place where he had +really belonged at first," she said in a low voice. "No matter how +much the girl missed him, or needed him, she had no right to want him +to be hurt by staying near her." + +"You really think that?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. And then incoherently, "Oh, Mr. Pennington, I do +want to be good!" + +She meant that she had done enough wrong, in acting as she had toward +Francis in the first place. She felt now, very strongly, that all the +trouble had come from her cowardice when Francis came home. She should +have shut her teeth and gone through the thing, no matter what her +personal feelings had been at first. It would all have come out right +then. She knew now that she and Francis, the plunge once taken, could +have stood each other. And she would have kept her faith. She had +learned the meaning of honor. + +"You are good," said Pennington in a moved tone. "Then--I have my +answer. Yes--I'll go back." + +She leaned her heavy head on the chair-back again. He seemed once more +suddenly remote. + +"I--I wish you weren't going," she said, only half conscious of what +she said. + +He leaned forward, suddenly moved, and caught her hand hard. Still in +that dream, she felt him kiss it. She did not care. And then, still +in the dream, Francis's quick tread up the steps, and his sharp voice-- + +"And I believed in you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +She looked at him in a blind sort of way. His words made only a hazy +impression; but neither of the men could know that. + +"Believed in me?" she echoed, smiling faintly. "Why, did you?" + +"Yes," said Francis with a concentrated fury that reached even her +confused senses. "But I never will again! I thought--I was beginning +to think--you were the sort of woman you said. But you're just a +flirt. Any man is better than the one you're married to." + +"I--I think you want me to go," she said, trying to see him. She could +see two Francises, as a matter of fact, neither of them clearly. + +"Yes, I do. Either of these men you've befooled can see you on your +way. And I'll start divorce proceedings, or you may, immediately." + +He said more than that; but that was all she could get. The words hurt +her, in spite of their lack of meaning. Francis hated her; he thought +she was a bad girl, who never kept her word. And she wasn't. + +"I--I want to be good," she said aimlessly, as she had said to +Pennington a little earlier. "I"--she lost the thread again--"I'll go." + +She rose, dropping the cup and saucer on her knee, and not stopping to +pick them up. She caught hold of the doorpost to carry her in, and +dropped down on a seat inside. It was not that she was weak, but she +felt giddy. She wondered again if it was the swamp. Probably. She +finally made her way back to her own room, mixed herself some spirits +of ammonia and took it, and sat down to pull herself together. Through +the wooden partition she could hear the furious voices of the men on +the porch outside. She wondered if Francis would say more dreadful +things to her while he took her over in the side-car. She hoped not. + +Presently the dizziness departed for a few minutes, and she tried to +pack. She did not seem able to manage it. If she was allowed to stay +at the Lodge with the O'Maras, she could send Peggy over to gather up +her things. Yes, that would be the best way to do. + +She pinned on her hat and drew her cloak around her, just as she was, +and came out. Pennington and Francis were standing up, facing her, and +having a quarrel which might last some time. + +"I'm ready," she said weakly. + +She knew she should have stood up there, and told Francis how unkind +and unjust and bad-tempered and jealous he was, and defend herself from +his accusations. But she was too tired to do it; and besides, words +seemed so far away, and feelings seemed far away, too. Francis and the +work at the cabin and Pennington, with his kind, plump, rueful face, +and even the O'Maras and Logan, seemed suddenly unreal and of little +account. The only thing that really mattered was a chance to go +somewhere and lie down and sleep. Perhaps she could lean back a little +in the side-car as he took her over. + +Francis broke off short in what he was saying, and went without looking +at her toward the place where he kept his motor-cycle. Perhaps he +thought that it did not matter, now, whether he left her with +Pennington or not. + +Pennington, for his part, turned around--he had been standing so that +his back was toward her--and began to speak. Marjorie thought he was +saying something to the effect that he was very sorry that he had made +this trouble for her, and that he had been trying to explain; and +thought he could make Francis hear reason when he had cooled off. + +"It doesn't really matter," she said wearily. "Only tell him to hurry, +because I'm--so--sleepy." + +She sank into the chair where she had been sitting before Francis +appeared, and leaned back and shut her eyes. Pennington, with a +concerned look on his face, came nearer her at that, and looked down at +her, reaching down to feel her pulse. She moved her hand feebly away. + +"Francis--wouldn't like it," she said; and that was the last thing she +remembered distinctly, though afterwards when she tried she seemed to +recall hearing Pennington, very far off in the distance, calling +peremptorily, "Ellison! Ellison! Come here at once!" + +She wondered faintly why Pennington should want to hurry him up. It +was about this time that she quietly slipped sidewise from her chair, +and was in a little heap on the veranda before he could turn and catch +her, or Francis could respond to the summons. + +"This is what you've done," was what Pennington said quietly when +Francis reappeared. He did not offer to touch Marjorie or pick her up. + +Francis flung himself down on his knees beside his wife. Then he +looked up at Pennington, with a last shade of suspicion in his eyes. + +"What do you think it is?" he asked. "Is she really fainting?" + +"You young fool, no!" said Pennington. "She's ill." + +"Ill!" said Francis, and gathered her up and laid her on the settee at +the other end of the porch. "What's the matter, do you think? Is it +serious?" + +His words were quiet enough, but there was a note of anguish in his +voice which made Pennington sorry for him in spite of himself. But he +did not show much mercy. + +"It is probably overwork," he said. "We've all done what we could to +spare her, but a child like this shouldn't be put at drudgery, even to +satisfy the most jealous or selfish man. You've had a china cup, my +lad, and you've used it as if it was tin. And it's broken, that's all." + +Francis looked down at Marjorie, holding her head in his arms. It lay +back limply. Her eyes were half open, and her heart, as he put his +hand over it, was galloping. Her cheeks were beginning to be scarlet, +and her hand, when he reached down and touched it, burned. He looked +up at Pennington with an unconscious appeal, unmindful of the older +man's harsh words. + +"Do you think she'll die?" he asked. + +"I have no way of knowing. If she does, you have the consolation of +knowing that you've done what you could toward it." + +"Oh, my God, don't, Pennington!" cried out Francis, clutching Marjorie +tighter unconsciously. "It's as true as gospel. But let up now. Get +somebody. Do something, for heaven's sake! You know about medicine a +little, don't you?" + +"Take her inside and put her to bed," Pennington commanded shortly. +"I'll take your motor-cycle and go for Mother O'Mara. I can get a +doctor from there by to-morrow, perhaps." + +Francis gathered the limp little body up again without a word. Only he +turned at the door for a last appeal. + +"Can't you tell at all what it is?" + +"Fever, I think. She's caught malarial fever, perhaps. She wouldn't +have done if she'd been stronger. Take her in." + +So Francis carried his wife over the threshold, into the little brown +room he had decked for her so long ago, and laid her down again. Her +head fell back on the pillow, and her hands lay as he dropped them. He +stood back and looked at her, a double terror in his heart. She would +never love him again. How could she? And she would die--surely she +would die, and he had killed her. + +"I'm--going," she said very faintly, as a sleep-talker speaks. She was +not conscious of what she said, but it was the last straw for Francis. +He had not slept nor eaten lately, and he had worked double time all +day to keep his mind from the state of things, ever since he had +brought her back. So perhaps it was not altogether inexcusable that he +flung himself on the floor by the bedside and broke down. + +He was aroused after awhile by the touch of Marjorie's hand. He lifted +his head, thinking she had come to and touched him knowingly. But he +saw that it was only that she was tossing a little, with the +restlessness of the fever, and his heart went down again. + +He pulled himself up from the bedside, and went doggedly at his work of +undressing her and putting her to bed. + +She was as easy to handle as a child; and once or twice, when he had to +lift or turn her in the process of undressing, he could feel how light +she was, and that she was thinner. She had always been a little thing, +but the long weeks of work had made her almost too thin--not too thin +for her own tastes, because, like all the rest of the women of the +present, she liked it; but thin enough to give Francis a fresh pang of +remorse. He felt like a slave-driver. + +When he had finished his task, he stood back, and wondered if there was +anything else he could do before Pennington came back with Mrs. O'Mara, +and with or without a doctor. He felt helpless, and as if he had to +stand there and watch her die. He got water and tried to make her +drink it--ineffectually--he filled a hot water bottle and brought it +in, and then thought better of it. She had a fever already. Then he +thought of bathing her in cold water; but he could not bring himself to +do that. He had already done enough that she would hate him for, in +the way of undressing her. He must never tell her he had done +that. . . . But she would hate him anyway. So he ended by sitting +miserably down on the floor beside her, and waiting the interminable +hours that the time seemed until the others returned. + +He had expected Mrs. O'Mara to reproach him, as Pennington had, as +being the person to blame for Marjorie's state. But the dear soul, +comforting as always, said nothing of the sort. She said very little +of any sort, indeed; she merely laid off the bonnet and cloak she had +come in, and went straight at her work of looking after Marjorie. Only +on her way she stopped to give Francis a comforting pat on the shoulder. + +"It's not so bad but it might be worse," she said. "Anybody might git +them fevers without a stroke of work done. An' she's young an' strong." + +Francis looked up at her in mute gratitude from where he sat. + +"An' now clear out, lie down and rest, down on the couch or annywhere +ye like, till I see what's to be done to this girl," she went on. + +He went out without a word, and sat down on the window-seat, where the +banjo lay, still, and picked it up mechanically. He could see +Marjorie, now, with it in her hands, singing to it for the men--or, +sometimes, just for him. How gay she had been through everything, and +how plucky, and how sweet! And just because she was gay he had thought +she was selfish and fickle, and didn't care. And because she had never +said anything about how hard the work was, he had thought--he could +forgive himself even less for this--that it wasn't hard. Looking back, +he could see not one excuse for himself except in his carrying her off. +That might have worked all right, if he could have kept his temper. He +let his mind stray back over what might have been; suppose he had +accepted Logan's following her up here as just what it was--the whim of +a man in love with Marjorie. Suppose he had believed that Pennington +could kiss his wife's hand without meaning any harm; suppose, in fine, +that he had believed in Marjorie's desire and intention to do right, +even if she had been a coward for a few minutes to begin with? + +Then--why, then-- + +By this time, perhaps, he could have won her back. If he had not laid +down the law to her--if he had not put her to the test. What business +had a man in love to make terms, anyhow? It was for him to accept what +terms Marjorie had chosen to make for him. + +He flung himself down on his knees by the window-seat, heedless of any +one who might come or go. + +"Oh, God," prayed Francis passionately, as he did everything. "Give me +another chance! Let her get well, and give me one little chance then +to have her forgive me! I don't care what else happens if that only +does!" + +He did not know how long he knelt there, praying with such intensity +that he sprang aside when some one touched him on the shoulder. + +"She's goin' to be all right in the long run," said Mrs. O'Mara. "I +gev' her a wee drink o' water, an' she kem to herself fur a minute. +An' I says, 'Me dear, where did ye git yer fever?' An' she says, 'The +swamp, I think. Don't I have to travel to-day? I'm in bed.' An' I +says, 'Not to-day nor anny day till ye want, me child,' and she turns +over an' snuggles down like a lamb. An' I've sponged her off with cool +water, an' she feels better, though she's off agin, an' I'm afraid the +fever'll be runnin' up on us before the doctor can git here." + +"You mean she isn't sensible now?" demanded Francis, whose eyes had +lighted up with hope when she began to speak. + +"Well, not so's ye could talk to her. An' ye might excite her. Them +they loves does often." + +"Then I wouldn't," said Francis recklessly. "Oh, Mother O'Mara, I've +been such a brute----" + +"Hush, hush now, don't ye be tellin' me. Sure we're all brutes wanst +in awhile. Ye feel that way because the child's sick. Now go out and +watch fer the doctor, or do annything else that'll amuse ye." + +He obeyed her as if he were a little boy. He was so miserable that he +would have done what any one told him just then--if Logan, even, with +his cane and his superciliousness, had given him a direction he would +probably have obeyed it blindly. + +Mrs. O'Mara went back to the sick-room. How much she knew of the +situation she never told. But Peggy was not a secretive person, and +Peggy had arrived at a point with Logan where he told her a good deal, +if she coaxed. They never got it out of the old lady, at any rate. + +Marjorie was quieter, but still not herself. Mrs. O'Mara, who was an +experienced nurse, did not like the way she had collapsed so +completely. She was afraid it was going to be a hard illness, and she +knew Francis was breaking his heart over it. + +"Still it may be a blessin' in a way," she said half aloud. "You never +can tell in this world o' grief and danger. I wonder has she people +besides Mr. Francis. They've never either of them said." + +The doctor came and went, and Monday morning dawned, when Francis had +to go to work whether or no. And Pennington quietly took over +Marjorie's duties again, and the men tiptoed up to the cabin where she +lay, and asked about her anxiously, and young Peggy came over and took +turns with her mother in the nursing, and Logan, much more robust and +tanned than he had been in several years of New York life in heated +apartments, came with her and sat on the porch waiting till she came +out; and Francis saw him there, and thought nothing of it except that +he was grateful to him for being interested in Marjorie. + +He realized now that it was all he need ever have thought. But he +realized so many things now, when it might be too late! + +The days went on relentlessly. Finally they decided to send for her +cousin, the only relative she had. Francis was a little doubtful as to +the wisdom of this, for he knew that Marjorie had never been very happy +with her cousin, but it was one of those things which seem to have to +be done. And just as they had come to this resolution; a resolution +which felt to Francis like giving up all hope, Marjorie took a little +turn for the better. + +It was not much to see. She was a little quieter, that was all, and +the nursing did not have to be so intensive. Mrs. O'Mara and Peggy did +not feel that they had to sit with her all the time; there were periods +when she was left alone. Francis felt more bitterly than anything else +that he had to go on with his work, instead of staying in the house +every moment, but it was better for him. He would have driven the +O'Maras mad, they told him frankly, walking up and down, looking +repentant. Peggy was not quite softened to him yet; but the older +woman was so sorry for him that any feelings she may have had about the +way he had behaved were swallowed up in sympathy. + +"And it isn't as if he weren't gettin' his comeuppance, Peg," she +reminded her intolerant young daughter. "Sure annything he made her +suffer he's payin' for twice over and again to that." + +"And a very good thing, too," retorted Peggy, who was just coming off +duty, and casting an eye toward the window to see where Logan was. He +was exactly where she wished, waiting with what, for him, was +eagerness, to go off through the woods with her. + +"I suppose, now ye've a man trailin' ye, there's nothin' ye don't +know," said her mother. "And him a heretic, if not a heathen itself. +I've only to say to ye, keep yer own steps clean, Peggy." + +"He is a heathen--he doesn't believe a blessed thing; he said so +himself!" said Peggy with what sounded like triumph. "The more reason +for me to convert him, poor dear! Empty things are easier filled than +full ones. If he was like them in there, with a religion of his own, I +wouldn't have a show. But as it is, I have my hopes." + +"Oh, it's converting him you are! Tell that to the pigs!" said her +mother scornfully. "And now go on; I suppose you're taking a prayer +book and a rosary along with you in that picnic basket." + +"No," said Peggy reluctantly. "I'm softening his heart first." + +She had the grace to giggle a little as she said it, and the O'Mara +sense of humor rode triumphant over both of them then, and they parted, +laughing. Francis, entering on one of his frequent flying trips from +work to see how Marjorie was, felt as if they were heartless. + +Mrs. O'Mara, at the sight of his tired, unhappy young face, sobered +down with one of her quick Irish transitions. + +"Ah, sure now it's the best of news. The doctor's been, and he says +she's better. So it won't be necessary to send after the old aunt or +cousin or whatever, that ye say she wasn't crazy over. Come in an' see +her." + +Francis, a new hope in his heart, tiptoed into the little brown bedroom +where Marjorie lay. It was too much to hope that she would know him. +She had been either delirious or asleep--under narcotics--through the +days of her fever. And once or twice when she had spoken rationally, +it had never been Francis who had happened to be near at the time. + +She lay quite quietly, with her eyes shut, and her long lashes trailing +on her cheeks. When Francis came in she opened her eyes as if it was a +trouble to make that much effort. She was very weak. But she looked +at him intelligently, and even lifted one hand a little from the +coverlet, as if she wanted to be polite and welcome him. He had been +warned not to make any fuss or say anything exciting, if this should +come; so he only sat down across from her and tried to speak naturally. + +"Do you know me, Marjorie?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound as +it always sounded. But it was a little hoarse. + +She spoke, in a thread of a voice, that yet had a little mockery in it. +She seemed to have taken things up where she dropped them. + +"Yes, thank you. You're my sort of husband. This--this is really too +bad of me, Francis. But, anyway, it was your swamp!" + +Just the old, mocking, smiling Marjorie, or her shadow. But it did not +make him angry now; it seemed so piteous that he should have brought +her to this. The swamp faded to nothingness as a cause of her illness +when he compared it to his own behavior. + +"Marjorie," he asked, very gently so as not to disturb her, "would it +be too exciting if I talked to you a little bit about things, and told +you how sorry I was?" + +"Why--no," she said weakly, shutting her eyes. + +"I was wrong, from start to finish," he said impetuously. "I'm sorry. +I want you to forgive me." + +"Why, certainly," she said, so indifferently that his heart sank. It +did not occur to him that he had never said that he cared for her at +all. + +"Is there anything I could get you?" he asked futilely as he felt. + +"I'd like to see Mr. Pennington. He was kind to me." + +"Marjorie, Marjorie, won't you ever forgive me for the way I acted?" + +"Oh, yes," she said, lying with shut eyes, so quiet that her lips +scarcely moved when she talked. "I said so. But you haven't been +kind. It's like--don't you know, when you get a little dog used to +being struck it gets so it cowers when you speak to it, no matter if +you aren't going to strike it that time. I don't want to be hurt any +more. I don't love Pennington--he's too funny-looking, and awfully +old. But he was kind--he never hurt my feelings. . . ." + +She spoke without much inflection, and using as few words as she could. +When she had finished she still lay there, as silent and out of +Francis's reach as if she were dead. He tiptoed out with a sick +feeling that everything was over, which he had never had before. She +was so remote. She cared so little about anything. + +He went back to work, and told Pennington that Marjorie wanted to see +him. When the day was over he returned to the cabin again, and found +Mrs. O'Mara on duty once more. Pennington sat by Marjorie, holding her +hand in his, and speaking to her occasionally. Francis looked at him, +and spoke to him courteously. Pennington smiled at him, and stayed +where he was. Marjorie, Mrs. O'Mara said, seemed to cling to him, and +his presence did her good. And--she broke it as gently as she +could--though the patient was on the road to getting well now, she was +disturbed by his coming in and out. She seemed afraid of him. + +Francis took it very quietly. After that he only came to the bedroom +door to ask, and stepped as softly as he could, so that she would not +even know he had been there. And time went on, and she got better, and +presently could be dressed in soft, loose, fluffy things, and lie out +on the veranda during the warmest part of the day, and see people for a +little while each. It was about this time that Francis went to sleep +at the bunk-house. + +"Why doesn't Francis ever come to see me?" she asked finally. "There +are a great many things I want to know about." + +Pennington, whom she had asked, told her gently. + +"We thought--the physician thought--that he upset you a little when you +were beginning to be better. He is staying away on purpose. Would you +like to see him?" + +"Yes, I think I would," she said. "Can Peggy come talk to me?" + +Peggy could, of course. She came dashing up, from some sylvan nook +where she had been secluded, presumably with Logan, fell on Marjorie +with hearty good-will and many kisses, and demanded to know what she +could do. + +"I--I want to see Francis and talk to him about a lot of things," said +Marjorie, "and I thought perhaps if you'd get me a mirror and a little +bit of powder, and----" + +"Say no more!" said Peggy. "I know what you want as well as if you'd +told me all. I'll be out in a minute with everything in the world." + +She returned with her arms full of toilet things, and for fifteen +minutes helped Marjorie look pretty. She finished by brushing out her +hair and arranging it loosely in curls, with a big ribbon securing it, +like Mary Pickford or one of her rivals. She touched Marjorie's face +with a little perfume to flush it, and draped her picturesquely against +the back of the long chair, with a silk shawl over her instead of the +steamer rug which Mrs. O'Mara, less artistic than utilitarian, had +provided. + +"There," she said, "you look like a doll, or an angel, or anything else +out of a storybook. Now I'll get Francis." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Marjorie waited, with a quietness which was only outward, for Francis. +She did not even know whether he would come; she had only seen him +once; he had said he was sorry for the way he had acted, and asked her +to forgive him, but then it wasn't the first time he had done that. + +"It's getting to be just a little morning custom of his," said Marjorie +to herself, trying to laugh. But she was in earnest about seeing him. +Away down deep in her she was not quite sure why she wanted to. She +was not angry with him--she seemed to herself past that. Of course, +there were things to arrange. + +It seemed like a sorry ending to it all. She had meant to ride +triumphantly through the work, and walk off leaving a crushed Francis +behind her; and make such a success of something back in New York that +he would spend years being very, very sorry. . . . Well, he did seem +sorry. But it was only because he felt guilty about her being ill, +not, so far as she could tell, because he cared a bit about her any +more. And it really was not his fault, her illness. She had been well +and happy, and even liked the work. The doctor had said that the +miasma in the swamp, and her sitting by it for hours, making a wreath +of flowers like a small girl, were alone responsible. And even if he +was softening the blow, she had been tired and worried before she came +up; the housework at the cabin wouldn't have been enough. She must +tell Francis so. He _did_ take things so hard. + +When he came, led by Peggy, neither of them seemed to know what to say +for a little while. Francis sat down by her and spoke constrainedly, +and then merely stared and stared. + +"Well, what is it then?" demanded Peggy, who was hovering about, and, +unlike the Ellisons, seemed to have no emotions to disturb her. "Has +she two heads, or had you forgotten her looks entirely?" + +"I think I must have forgotten her looks entirely," he answered slowly, +never taking his eyes off Marjorie. "You know--well, I hadn't seen +you, Marjorie, for some time. But you always were beautiful." + +Marjorie turned pink up to the ribbon bow that sat out like a little +girl's at one temple. + +"Was I?" was all she found to say. + +"Yes," he said, and said no more. + +At this juncture Peggy rose. + +"Well, I'm sorry not to stay here and help you carry on this fluent +conversation," she said, tossing her head. "But I have an engagement +elsewhere. If you want me ring the bell." + +This was more or less metaphorical--probably a quotation from +Thackeray--because there was no bell in sight. But at any rate Peggy +left with one of her goddess-like sweeps, and was to be heard +thereafter calling Mr. Logan with a good-will. Presently the others, +sitting silently, heard his voice answer gaily, and then no more. They +had met and were off together as usual. + +"You see," said Marjorie, "he really didn't care for me. I think he +and Peggy will marry each other one of these days, even if she is only +sixteen." + +"She will get over being sixteen, of course," said Francis, still in +the preoccupied voice. "I suppose it's her superb vitality that +attracts him. She is actually making him almost human." + +Marjorie smiled faintly at that. + +"You don't like him much, do you?" she said. + +"Do you remember, in your letters, how you always called him 'your +friend with the fits?'" + +"Well, wasn't he?" said Francis defensively. + +"Well, I don't think it was fits," she answered, balancing her ideas as +if they had met only to discuss Logan; "it was some sort of a nervous +seizure. At any rate, Peggy nursed him through one of the attacks, so +if she does marry him she knows the worst. But maybe they won't be +married. I remember, now, he told me once that an emotion to be really +convincing must be only touched lightly and foregone." + +"That man certainly talks a lot of rot," said Francis. It was curious +how, whenever they were together, they fell into intimate +conversation--even if everything in the world had been happening the +minute before. The thought came to Marjorie. "Now, my emotions," +Francis went on, "have certainly been too darn convincing for comfort +for the last year. If I could have touched any of them lightly and +foregone them I'd have been so proud you couldn't see me for dust. But +they weren't that kind. . . . Marjorie, I've been through hell this +last while that you've been sick." + +"I'm sorry," she said. It gave her the opening she had been looking +for. "But that partly was what I sent for you to talk about. Not +hell--I mean--well, our affairs. I'm well enough now to be quite quiet +and calm about them, and I think you are, too. That is," she added, +half laughing, "if you could ever be quiet and calm about anything. +What I've seen of you has either been when you've been repressing +yourself so hard that I could see the emotions bubble underneath, or +when you'd stopped repressing, and were telling me what you really +thought of me." + +"Oh, don't!" he said, wincing. + +"Well, why not, Francis? You see, it's sort of as if we were both dead +now, and talking things over calmly on the golden shore. . . . Isn't +it lovely here! Oh, you don't know how nice it is to be getting well!" + +"And I made you go through all that," he said chokingly, reaching out +instinctively for one of the thin little hands that lay contentedly +outside the silk shawl, and then pulling back again. + +Marjorie looked at him consideringly. She couldn't help thinking, for +a moment, how lovely this would be if it wasn't a case of the golden +shore; if Francis and she hadn't messed things up so; if they had come +up here because they loved each other, and trusted each other to make +happiness; and if Francis, instead of taking his hand back that way, +had held hers as if he had the right to. And she remembered suddenly +their marriage night. He had flung himself down beside her and wrapped +her in his arms, and she had not quite liked it; she had shrunk away +from him. She was so weak now, and it felt a little lonely--if he put +his arms around her now she thought she would like it. But then she +was ill yet, and emotional; probably it was the same feeling that made +men propose to their nurses when they were convalescing. A nurse had +told her about it once, and added that it was considered very unethical +to take a man up on that sort of a proposal. That was it--you just +wanted somebody to be kind to you. + +"Perhaps if I had a cat," said Marjorie inadvertently, aloud. + +"Would you like one?" demanded Francis. "I'll get it this afternoon." + +"Yes, I guess so," she answered, coloring again. "But what made you +think of a cat?" + +"Oh, I just did," she answered untruthfully. "You see--you see, I'm +not strong yet, and my mind rambled around in an inconsequent sort of +way. It just happened on cats. But, Francis, you mustn't reproach +yourself. I know you are feeling altogether too badly about what you +did. But you mustn't. That's just the way you're made. You haven't +nice tame emotions, and in a way you're better so. Why, people like +you, all energy and force and attraction, get so much farther in life. +You're going to be a wonderful success, I know, just because you are so +intense. You meant all right. I know lots of girls who would have +been awfully flattered at your being so jealous. They'd have thought +it meant you were in love with them terribly." + +"They'd have thought right," he said. + +She looked at him--she had been talking with her eyes on a green tree +over in the distance. His head was bowed, and his hands clenched on +his knees, and he had spoken again in the muttering voice he had begun +with. + +"I suppose you were," she said with a little wistful note in her voice +that neither of them knew was there. "But never mind; I want to talk +now about what we are both to do next. If you are really feeling as +badly as you say about my being sick, I don't suppose you mind how long +I take to get well. I'm afraid it will be quite a little while longer." + +He started to speak, but she held up one hand and stopped him. + +"And after that I'll go back to Lucille, if Billy isn't home." + +"He is," said Francis. "He came over in one of the transports in July, +while you were ill. That was the only reason I didn't drag Lucille up +here." + +"Where are they?" demanded Marjorie a little blankly. But after all +she should have expected this. + +"In the flat you and Lucille had. Lucille likes it." + +"How can she?" sighed Marjorie. "Well, she's never tried this. . . . +I wonder what I'd better do? I think I heard something about a place +where they have flats just for business women. Perhaps Billy could +arrange for me to get one before they're all gone. He always loved +attending to things like that for people. I can't go back to Cousin +Anna. I've been through too much. Why, you mayn't think it, but I'm +grown up, Francis! I'm about twenty years older than that foolish +little girl you married. I--I wonder I haven't wrinkles and a little +wisp of fuzzy gray hair!" she added, trying to smile. + +"Don't!" said Francis again, looking at her childish face, with its +showers of loose curls, that was trying to be so brave. He dropped his +eyes again to the clenched hands that were tensed, one on either knee. +"I was foolish and young, too, then," he added. "I think I'm older, +too." + +"Yes . . . it was a mistake," she said in a far-off voice. + +"I wish it hadn't been," he said. + +"Why, I was thinking that, too!" she said. "Isn't it a pity that we +weren't as old then as we are now! Responsible, I mean, and wanting as +much to do right things. That was one thing about it all. I want to +do right more than anything else these days; and I think you do, too. +And it wasn't in style then--do you remember our talking it over up +here once, when we were having a little friendly spat? But I +suppose----" + +"I suppose you would never have married me if you'd been so old and +wise," he said. + +She considered. + +"But neither would you have," she objected. + +Francis looked up at her suddenly, flashingly. "You know better," he +burst out. "You know I'd marry you over again if I were forty years +old, and as wise as Solomon. The kind of love I had for you isn't the +kind that gets changed." + +Marjorie lay for a minute silently. Then she looked at him +incredulously. + +"But you said----" she began very softly. + +"I said things that I ought to be horsewhipped for. I loved you so +much that I was jealous. I do think I've learned a little better. +Why, if you wanted to talk to some other man now, even if I knew you +loved him madly, if it would make you happier I think I'd get him for +you. . . . No. No, I don't believe I could. I want you too much +myself. But--I've learned a better kind of love, at least, than the +kind that only wants to make you miserable. I _did_ get Pennington for +you when you were so ill, and wanted him instead of me. Count that to +me for righteousness, Marge, when you think about me back there in the +city." + +"Then--you mean--that you love me just as much as ever?" + +She lay there, wide-eyed, flushed and unbelieving. + +"As much? A thousand times more--you know it. Good heavens, how could +any one live in the house with you and not care more and more for you +all the time?" + +"But, then, why did you----" + +"Because I was a brute. I've told you that. And because it made me +unhappier and unhappier to see you drifting away from me, and then, +every time I could have done anything to draw you a little closer I'd +lash out and send you farther away with my selfishness and jealousy. I +didn't know it was any surprise to you. It's been the one thing you've +known from the beginning----" + +She shook her head. + +"Every time you lost your temper you said you'd stopped loving me. And +that nobody could love the bad girl I was, to flirt and deceive you----" + +"I've no excuse. I haven't even the nerve to ask you to try it a +little longer. But believe this, Marjorie; the very hardest thing you +could ask me to do----" + +She laughed a little, starry-eyed, + +"If I asked you to go and do the cooking and cleaning for your beloved +men, that you made me do?" she asked whimsically. + +He nodded matter-of-coursely. + +"It would mean Pennington doing my directing, and I don't think he's up +to it; he's a fine second in command, but he can't plan. Yes, I'd do +it in a minute, though it would probably mean the job I'm making my +reputation on going smash. Do you want me to? If the whole thing went +to the devil it would be a small price to pay for getting even another +half-chance to make good with you. May I, Marjorie? Say I may!" + +He was bending forward, alert and passionate, as if it were a chance to +own the world that he was begging for. She told him so. + +"It is--my world. I mean it, Marjorie. I don't deserve it, and I +don't see how you can trust me, but let me do that. Or anything. I +don't care how hard or how ridiculous, if it would mean that some day I +could come back to you and you'd consider--just consider--being my +wife." + +"But, Francis! But, Francis, I don't want you to be ridiculous! I +don't want you to fall down on your work. I don't want you to do +anything----" + +"I know you don't. That's the worst of it. And it's coming to me." + +She was silent for a little while. + +"It hadn't occurred to you, then, that perhaps--perhaps living in the +house with you might have made me--well, a little fonder of you?" + +She did not know what she had expected him to do when she said that. +Anything but what he did do--sit perfectly still and unbelieving, and +look as if she had stabbed him. + +"No," he said finally. "That couldn't happen. Don't talk to me that +way, Marjorie. It's cruel. Not that you haven't the right to be +cruel." + +It was Marjorie's time of triumph, that she had planned for so long, in +those days when the work was hard and things were lonely sometimes. +But she did not take it. She only put out one shy hand, for it was a +little hard for her to go on talking, she was getting so tired, and +said timidly: + +"But it is true, Francis. I--I am fond of you. And if there's +anything to forgive, I have. You know you can't be so dreadfully angry +with people when--when you like them. You--why, you don't have to wait +and have tests. I'll stay with you now, if you want me." + +He stared at her a little longer, still incredulous. Then with an +inarticulate cry he was down on his knees beside her long chair, and he +had her in his arms, just as he had held her the night before he went +away, just after they were married. No, not just the same; for though +he held her as closely and as tenderly, there was something of fear +still in the way he kept his arms about her; as if he did not really +think it was true. He knelt there for a long time, and neither of them +moved. He did not call her affectionate names; he only kept repeating, +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Marjorie!" over and over again, as if her name +would keep her close to him, and hold her real. + +She laughed a little again presently. + +"It's really so, you know, Francis." + +"I don't believe it in the least!" said Francis, in a more assertive +voice than he had used yet. He laughed, too. She looked at the dark, +vivid face so near hers, and so changed from what it had been five +minutes before. + +"Well, you did take a lot of convincing!" she said demurely. "I felt +so bold----" + +"Darling," said Francis, kissing her parenthetically, "do you think it +would be too much for you if you sat on my knees a little while? I +can't get at half enough of you where you are. And doctors say that +being too long in one position is very bad for invalids." + +"You might try," said Marjorie docilely; "though, honestly, Francis, I +don't feel any more like an invalid than you do. I feel perfectly well +and strong--let me see if I can stand up!" + +He really shouldn't--Mrs. O'Mara told him that severely two hours +afterwards--but at that particular moment he would have done anything +in the world Marjorie requested. He lifted her to a standing position +very carefully, and held her supported while she tried how she felt +being really on her feet again. It was the first time. Until now, +Pennington had carried her in and out, while Francis felt a deadly envy +in his heart. + +"See, I'm all well!" she said triumphantly, looking exactly, as he told +her, like a doll, with her lacy draperies and her shoulder-length +curls, and her slim arms thrown out to balance herself. He let her +stand there a minute or so, and then pulled her gently over and held +her for a while. + +At least, they thought it was a while. It was much more like two +hours; there was so much to talk over, and explain, and arrange for +generally. They decided to stay just where they were, for a little +while at least, after Francis's work was done. Marjorie was to get +strong as quickly as possible, and they were both, after their long +practice at being unhappy, to try to be as happy as possible. And the +very first time that Francis was jealous, or objected to any one +kissing her hand or traveling from New York to take her away from a +cruel husband, Marjorie was to leave him forever. This was his +suggestion. + +"But I don't think I would," said Marjorie thoughtfully, lifting her +head a little from his shoulder. "I never did, did I, no matter what +you did to me? You couldn't even make me go when you sent me--I +preferred malarial fever." + +Francis said nothing to that, except to suddenly tighten his arms about +her. He was not yet at the point where he could make a joke of her +illness. She had been too near the Valley of the Shadow for that. + +So they were still sitting very comfortably together, discussing their +mutual life--they had planned as far as the tenth year of their +marriage--when Peggy descended upon them again. + +Marjorie flushed and made a faint effort to escape, but Francis sat +immovably, exactly as if Peggy were not there at all. + +"Oh!" said Peggy. + +"We've made up," said Francis coolly. + +"Then I suppose you won't be wanting me on the premises," said Peggy, +making a dive for the door. + +"I would be delighted if there was a whole procession of you, like a +frieze," said Francis, "walking by and seeing how happy I am." + +"Oh, but I wouldn't!" protested Marjorie. "Do let me get up and be +respectable, Francis. There _will_ be a procession going by +presently--you know the men all come and ask how I am every day." + +At that reluctantly he did put her back in her chair, where she lay for +a little longer, starry-eyed and quite unlike an invalid. Peggy went +inside, judging that in spite of Francis's protests they would be +perfectly happy alone; and, besides, she wanted to tell her mother. +The two on the veranda stayed where they were. + +"But what about the cooking?" demanded Marjorie presently. + +"It's been all right while you were sick. We are going to get through +sooner than I thought." + +"Oh, I'm so glad," she sighed. "I really did want you to get the work +done, and succeed--I never hated you that much, at the worst." + +"Don't talk about the work!" he said passionately. "The work didn't +matter a bit. And I tell you this, Marjorie, if I can help it you +shall never do another stroke of work as long as you live!" + +"That's going too far, as usual," said Marjorie calmly. "You certainly +are a tempestuous person, Francis Ellison! I'd be unhappy without +something to do. . . . May I play on the banjo sometimes in the +evening, and will you stay quite close to me when I do?" + +"You mean----" he asked. + +"I mean that you didn't destroy all those notes when you lost your +temper with me. To begin with, you left note-shaped places in the +dust, on all the things you had put there for me--you really will have +to let me do a little dusting occasionally, dear!--and so I hunted. +One note was under the fresh banjo strings. . . . And you may well be +glad you forgot it." + +"Why, dearest? Did it make you a little sorry for me?" + +"Oh, so sorry! In spite of all you'd said and done, somehow--somehow +when I read that I think I began to fall in love with you all over +again. . . . I cried, I know. I didn't know then that was what was +the matter with me, but I know now it was. You had wanted me so much, +there in our dear little cabin; and try as I would to keep telling +myself that it was a last year's you, it kept feeling like a this +year's." + +"It was," he said fervently. "It was this year's, and every year's, as +long as we both live." + +"As long as we both live," echoed Marjorie. + +They were both quiet for a while. The sun was setting, and the rays +shone down through the trees; through a gap they could see the west, +scarlet and gold and beautiful. Things felt very solemn. Marjorie put +out one hand mutely, and Francis took it and held it closely. It was +more really their marriage day than the one in New York, when they were +both young and reckless, and scarcely more than bits of flotsam in the +tremendous world-current that set toward mating and replacement. They +belonged together now, willingly and deliberately; set to go forward +with what love and forbearance and earnestness of purpose they could, +all the days of their life. They both felt it, and were still. + +But presently Marjorie's laughter awakened Francis from his muse. He +had been promising himself that he would make up to her--that he would +try to erase all his wild doings from her mind. She should forget some +day that he had ever put her in an automobile, and borne her away, +Sabine fashion, to where he could dominate her into submission and +wifehood. He had gone very far into himself, and that light laugh of +hers, that he loved, drew him back from the far places. + +"What is it, dear?" he asked. + +"I was just thinking--I was just thinking what awfully good common +sense you showed, carrying me off that way. And how proud of it I'll +be as long as I live!" said Marjorie. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE*** + + +******* This file should be named 22904-8.txt or 22904-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/0/22904 + + + +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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://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. + diff --git a/22904-8.zip b/22904-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4a71d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/22904-8.zip diff --git a/22904.txt b/22904.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7121f5d --- /dev/null +++ b/22904.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5974 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, I've Married Marjorie, by Margaret Widdemer + + +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: I've Married Marjorie + + +Author: Margaret Widdemer + + + +Release Date: October 6, 2007 [eBook #22904] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE + +by + +MARGARET WIDDEMER + +Author of + "Why Not," "The Wishing Ring Man," "You're Only + Young Once," "The Boardwalk," etc. + + + + + + + +A. L. Burt Company +Publishers +New York +Published by arrangement with Harcourt, Brace and Howe + +Copyright, 1920, by +The Crowell Publishing Company + +Copyright, 1920, by +Harcourt, Brace and Howe, Inc. + + + + +I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE + + +CHAPTER I + +The sun shone, that morning, and even from a city office window the +Spring wind could be felt, sweet and keen and heady, making you feel +that you wanted to be out in it, laughing, facing toward the exciting, +happy things Spring was sure to be bringing you, if you only went a +little way to meet them--just a little way! + +Marjorie Ellison, bending over a filing cabinet in a small and solitary +room, felt the wind, and gave her fluffy dark head an answering, +wistful lift. It was a very exciting, Springy wind, and winds and +weathers affected her too much for her own good. Therefore she gave +the drawer she was working on an impatient little push which nearly +shook the Casses down into the Cats--she had been hunting for a very +important letter named Cattell, which had concealed itself +viciously--and went to the window as if she was being pulled there. + +She set both supple little hands on the broad stone sill, and looked +downward into the city street as you would look into a well. The wind +was blowing sticks and dust around in fairy rings, and a motor car or +so ran up and down, and there were the usual number of the usual kind +of people on the sidewalks; middle-aged people principally, for most of +the younger inhabitants of New York are caged in offices at ten in the +morning, unless they are whisking by in the motors. Mostly elderly +ladies in handsome blue dresses, Marjorie noticed. She liked it, and +drew a deep, happy breath of Spring air. Then suddenly over all the +pleasure came a depressing black shadow. And yet what she had seen was +something which made most people smile and feel a little happier; a +couple of plump, gay young returned soldiers going down the street arm +in arm, and laughing uproariously at nothing at all for the sheer +pleasure of being at home. She turned away from the window feeling as +if some one had taken a piece of happiness away from her, and snatched +the nearest paper to read it, and take the taste of what she had seen +out of her mouth. It was a last night's paper with the back page full +of "symposium." She read a couple of the letters, and dropped the +paper and went back desperately to her filing cabinet. + +"Cattell--Cattell----" she whispered to herself very fast, riffling +over the leaves desperately. Then she reverted to the symposium and +the soldiers. "Oh, dear, everybody on that page was writing letters to +know why they didn't get married," she said. "I wish somebody would +write letters telling why they _did_, or explain to those poor girls +that say nobody wants to marry a refined girl that they'd better leave +it alone!" + +After that she hunted for the Cattell letter till she found it. Then +she took it to her superior, in the next room. Then she returned to +her work and rolled the paper up into a very small ball and dropped it +into the big wastebasket, and pushed it down with a small, neat +oxford-tied foot. Then she went to the window again restlessly, looked +out with caution, as if there might be more soldiers crossing the +street, and they might spring at her. But there were none; only a fat, +elderly gentleman gesticulating for a taxi and looking so exactly like +a _Saturday Evening Post_ cover that he almost cheered her. Marjorie +had a habit of picking up very small, amusing things and being amused +by them. And then into the office bounced the one girl she hadn't seen +that day. + +"Oh, Mrs. Ellison, congratulations! I just got down, or I'd have been +here before!" she gasped, kissing Marjorie hard three times. Then she +stood back and surveyed Marjorie tenderly until she wanted to pick the +wad of paper out of the basket and throw it at her. "Coming back to +you!" she said softly. "Oh, you must be thrilled!" She put her head +on one side--she wore her hair in a shock of bobbed curls which +Marjorie loathed anyway, and they flopped when she wished to be +emphatic--and surveyed Marjorie with prolonged, tender interest. "Any +time now!" she breathed. + +"Yes," said Marjorie desperately. "The ship will be in some time next +week. Yes, I'm thrilled. It's--it's wonderful. Thank you, Miss +Kaplan, I knew you would be sympathetic." + +One hand was clenching and unclenching itself where Miss Kaplan, +fortunately a young person whose own side of emotions occupied her +exclusively, could not see it. + +Miss Kaplan kissed her, quite uninvited, again, said "_Dear_ little +war-bride!" and--just in time, Marjorie always swore, to save herself +from death, fled out. + +It is all very well to be a war-bride when there's a war, but the war +was over. + +"And I'm married," Marjorie said when the door had swung to behind Miss +Kaplan, "for life!" + +She was twenty-one. She was little and slender, with a wistful, very +sweet face like a miniature; big dark-blue eyes, a small mouth that +tipped down a little at the indented corners, and a transparently rose +and white skin. She looked a great deal younger even than she was, and +her being Mrs. Ellison had amused every one, including herself, for the +last year she had used the name. As she sat down at her desk again, +and looked helplessly at the keen, dark young face surmounted by an +officer's cap, that for very shame's sake she had not taken away from +her desk, she looked like a frightened little girl. And she _was_ +frightened. + +It had been very thrilling, if scary, to be married to Francis Ellison, +when he wasn't around. The letters--the _dear_ letters!--and the +watching for mails, and being frightened when there were battles, and +wearing the new wedding-ring, had made her perfectly certain that when +Francis came back she would be very glad, and live happily ever after. +And now that he was coming she was just plain frightened, +suffocatingly, abjectly scared to death. + +"I mustn't be!" she told herself, trying to give herself orders to feel +differently. "I _must_ be very glad!" But it was impossible to do +anything with herself. She continued to feel as if her execution was +next week, instead of her reunion with a husband who wrote that he was +looking forward to---- + +"If he didn't describe kissing me," shivered poor little Marjorie to +herself, "so accurately!" + +She had met Francis just about a month before they were married. He +had come to see her with her cousin, who was in the same company at +Plattsburg. Her cousin was engaged to a dear friend of hers, and it +had made it very nice for all four of them, because Billy and Lucille +weren't war-fiances by any means. They had been engaged for a couple +of years, in a more or less silent fashion, and the war had given them +a chance to marry. One doesn't think so much about ways and means when +the man is going to war and can send you an allotment. + +Francis, dark, quick, decided, with a careless gaiety that was like +that of a boy let out from school, had been a delightful person to pair +off with. And then the other two had been so wrapped up in the +wonderful chance to get married which opened out before them, that +marriage--a beautiful, golden, romantic thing--had been in the air. +One felt out of it if one didn't marry. Everybody else was marrying in +shoals. And Francis had been crazy over little Marjorie from the +moment he saw her--over her old-fashioned, whimsical ways, her small +defiances that covered up a good deal of shyness, over the littleness +and grace that made him want to pick her up and pet her and protect +her, he said . . . Marjorie could remember, even yet, with pleasure, +the lovely things he had said to her in that tense way he had on the +rare occasions when he wasn't laughing. She had fought off marrying +him till the very last minute. And then the very day before the +regiment sailed she had given in, and the other two--married two weeks +by then--had whisked her excitedly through it. And then they'd +recalled him--just two hours after they were married, while Marjorie +was sitting in the suite at the hotel, with Francis kneeling down by +her in his khaki, his arms around her waist, looking up at her +adoringly. She could see his face yet, uplifted and intense, and the +way it had turned to a mask when the knock came that announced the +telegram. + +And it seemed now almost indecent that she should have let him kneel +there with his head against her laces, calling her his wife. She had +smiled down at him, then, shyly, and--half-proud, half-timid--had +thought it was very wonderful. + +"When I see him it will be all right! When we meet it will all come +back!" she said half-aloud, walking restlessly up and down the office. +"It must. It will have to." + +But in her heart she knew that she was wishing desperately that the war +had lasted ages longer, that he had been kept a year after the end of +the war instead of eight months; almost, down deep in her heart where +she couldn't get at it enough to deny it, that he had been +killed. . . . Well, she had a week longer, anyway. You can do a great +deal with yourself in a week if you bully hard. And the ships were +almost always a much longer time getting in than anybody said they +would be, and then they sent you to camps first. + +Marjorie had the too many nerves of the native American, but she had +the pluck that generally goes with them. She forced herself to sit +quietly down and work at her task, and wished that she could stop being +angry at herself for telling Lucille that Francis had written he was +coming home. Because Lucille worked where she did, and had promptly +spread the glad tidings from the top of the office to the bottom, and +her morning had been a levee. Even poor little Mrs. Jardine, whose boy +had been killed before he had been over two weeks, had spoken to +Marjorie brightly, and said how glad she was, and silent, stiff Miss +Gardner, who was said never to have had any lovers in her life, had +looked at her with an envy she tried to hide, and said that she +supposed Marjorie was glad. + +"Well, it's two weeks, maybe. Two weeks is ages." + +Marjorie dived headfirst into the filing cabinet again, and was saying +to herself very fast, "Timmins, Tolman, Turnbull--oh, dear, +_Turnbull_----" when, very softly, the swinging-door that shut her off +from the rest of the office was pushed open again, and some one crossed +sharply to her side. She flung up her head in terror. Suppose it +should be Francis-- + +Well, it was. + +She had no more than time for one gasp before he very naturally had her +in his arms, as one who has a right, and was holding her so tight she +could scarcely breathe. She tried to kiss him back, but it was +half-hearted. She hoped, her mind working with a cold, quick +precision, that he could not tell that she did not love him. And +apparently he could not. He let her go after a minute, and flung +himself down by her in just the attitude that the knock on the door, +fifteen months ago, had interrupted. And Marjorie tried not to stiffen +herself, and not to wonder if anybody was coming in, and not to feel +that a perfect stranger was doing something he had no right to. + +It was to be supposed that she succeeded more or less, because when he +finally let her go, he looked at her as fondly as he had when he +entered, and began to talk, without much preface, very much as if he +had only been gone a half hour. + +"They'll let you off, won't they, for the rest of the day? But of +course they will! I almost ran over an old gentleman outside here, and +it comes to me now that he said something like 'take your wife home for +to-day, my boy!' I was in such a hurry to get at you, Marge, that I +didn't listen. My wife! Good Lord, to think I have her again!" + +She got her breath a little, and stopped shivering, and looked at him. +He had not changed much; one does not in fifteen months. It was the +same eager, dark young face, almost too sharply cut for a young man's, +with very bright dark eyes. The principal difference was in his +expression. Before he went he had had a great deal of expression, a +face that showed almost too much of what he thought. That was gone. +His face was younger-looking, because the flashing of changes over it +was gone. He looked wondering, very tired, and dulled somehow. And he +spoke without the turns of speech that she and her friends amused each +other with, the little quaintnesses of conscious fancy. "As if he'd +been talking to children," she thought. + +Then she remembered that it was not that. He had been giving orders, +and taking them, and being on firing-lines; all the things that he had +written her about, and that had seemed so like story-books when she got +the letters. His being so changed made it real for the first +time. . . . And then an unworthy feeling--as if she simply could not +face the romantic and tender eyes of all the office--everybody having +the same feelings about her that Miss Kaplan had, even if they were +well-bred enough to phrase them politely. + +"Shall we go?" she asked abruptly, while this feeling was strong in her. + +"Not for a minute. I want to see the place where my wife has spent her +last year . . ." + +He stood with his arm still around her--would he never stop touching +her?--and surveyed the office with the same sort of affectionate +amusement he might have given to a workbasket of hers, or a piece of +embroidery. Marjorie slipped from under his arm and put her hat on. + +"I'm ready now," she said. + +They walked out of the little office, and through the long aisle down +the center of the floor of the office-building, Marjorie, still +miserably conscious of the eyes, and the emotions behind the eyes, and +quite as conscious that they were emotions that she ought to be ashamed +of minding. + +"Now where shall we go for luncheon?" demanded Francis joyously, as +they got outside. He caught her hand in his surreptitiously and said +"You darling!" under his breath. For a minute the old magic of his +swift courtship came back to her, and she forgot the miserable +oppression of facing fifty years of wedded life with a stranger; and +she smiled up at him. Then, as he caught her hand in his, quite +undisguisedly this time, and held it under his arm, the repulsion came +back. + +"Anywhere you like," she answered his question. + +"We'll go to the biggest, wildest, wooliest place in the city, where +the band plays the most music," he announced. "Going to celebrate. +Come on, honey. And then I have a fine surprise for you, as soon as we +go back to the flat. Lucille won't be back till five, will she? And +thank goodness for that!" + +Lucille and Marjorie, pending the return of their husbands, shared a +tiny flat far uptown on the west side. Marjorie had described it at +length in her letters, until Francis had said that he could find his +way around it if he walked in at midnight. But his intimacy with it +made her feel that there was no place on earth she could call her own. + +"Tell me now," she demanded. + +Francis laughed again, and shook his head. + +"It will do you good to guess. Come now, which--Sherry's or the Plaza +or the Ritz?" + +"Sherry's--they're going to close it soon, poor old place!" + +"Then we'll celebrate its obsequies," said Francis, grinning cheerfully. + +Before he went he had smiled, somehow, as if he had been to a very +excellent college and a super-fine prep school of many traditions--as, +indeed, he had--but now it was exactly the grin, Marjorie realized, +still with a feeling of unworthiness, of the soldier, sailor, and +marine grinning so artlessly from the War Camp Community posters. In +his year of foreign service, Francis had shaken off the affectations of +his years, making him, at twenty-five, a much older and more valuable +man than Marjorie had parted with. But she didn't like it, or what she +glimpsed of it. Whether he was gay in this simple, new way, or grave +in the frighteningly old one, he was not the Francis she had built up +for herself from a month's meetings and a few memories. + +He smiled at her flashingly again as they settled themselves at the +little table in just the right spot and place they had chosen. + +"Wondering whether I'll eat with my knife?" he demanded, quite at +random as it happened, but altogether too close to Marjorie's feelings +to be comfortable. + +She colored up to her hair. + +"No--no! I _know_ you wouldn't do that!" she asseverated so earnestly +that he went off into another gale of affectionate laughter. + +And then he addressed himself to the joyous task of planning a luncheon +that they would never of them either forget, he said. He took the +waiter into their confidence to a certain degree, and from then on a +circle of silent and admiring service inclosed them. + +"But you needn't think we're going to linger over it, Marjorie," he +informed her. "I want to get up to where you live, and be alone with +you." + +"Of course," said Marjorie mechanically, saying a little prayer to the +effect that she needed a great deal of help to get through this +situation, and she hoped it would come in sight soon. She could not +eat very much. It was all very good, and the band played ravishingly +to the ears of Francis, who sent buoyantly across and demanded such +tunes as he was fondest of. There was one which they played to which +he sang, under his breath, a profane song which ran in part: + + "And we'll all come home + And get drunk on ginger pop-- + For the slackers voted the country dry + While we went over the top." + + +And then, when the meal was two-thirds over, Marjorie wished she hadn't +offered up any prayers for help to get through the situation. Because +softly up to their table strolled a tall, thin young man with a cane, +gray silk gloves, and a dreamy if slightly nervous look, and said +discontentedly, "Marjorie Ellison! How wonderful to find you here! +You will let me sit down at your table, won't you, and meet your +soldier-friend?" + +If Marjorie had never written to Francis about Bradley Logan it would +have been all right, quite a rescue, in fact. But in those too fatally +discursive letters; the letters which had come finally to feel like a +sympathetic diary with no destination, she had rather enlarged on him. +He had been admiring her at disconnected intervals ever since she first +met him. He had not been able to get in the army because of some +mysterious neurasthenic ailment about which he preserved a hurt +silence, as to details, but mentioned a good deal in a general way. It +kept him from making engagements, it made him unable to go long +distances; Marjorie had described all the scattered hints about it in +her letters to Francis, who had promptly written back that undoubtedly +the little friend had fits; and referred to him thereafter, quite +without malice, as, "your fit-friend." She had an insane terror, as +she introduced him, lest she should explain him to Francis in an +audible aside by that name. However, it was unnecessary. Francis +placed him immediately, it was to be seen, and was cold almost to +rudeness. Logan did not notice it much. He sat down with them, +declined the food Marjorie offered, ordered himself three slivers of +dry toast and a cup of lemonless and creamless tea, and sipped them and +nibbled them as if even they were a concession to manners. + +What really was the matter with Logan Marjorie was doomed never to +know. Francis told her afterwards, with a certain marital brevity, +that it was a combination of dry toast and thinking too much about +French poets. His literary affiliations, which he earned his living +by, had stopped short at the naughty nineties, when everybody was very +unhealthy and soulful and hinted darkly at tragedies; the period of the +Yellow Book and Aubrey Beardsley and Arthur Symons and Dowson, and the +last end of Wilde. He undoubtedly had the charming and fluent manners +of his time, anachronism though he was. And he talked a great deal, +and very brilliantly, if a bit excitedly. He plunged now, in his +charming, high, slightly too mannered voice, into a discussion with +Marjorie on the absolute rottenness of the modern magazine, considered +from the viewpoint of style. He overwhelmed them with instances of how +all magazines were owned by persons who neither had cultivation nor +desired any. Francis answered him very little, so Marjorie, wifely +before her time, found herself trying nervously to keep up with Logan, +and hurling more thoughts at him about Baudelaire than she had known +she possessed. As a matter of fact she'd never read any of him, but +Logan thought she had to his dying day, which says a good deal for her +brains. Presently Francis summoned the waiter in rather a martial +voice, demanded a taxi of him efficiently, and Marjorie found herself +swept away from Logan and taxi-ing extravagantly uptown before she knew +what she was at. + +Francis wasn't cross, it appeared. The first thing he did when he got +her in the cab was to sweep her close to him--the second to burst into +a peal of delighted laughter, and quote + + "I had a cow, a gentle cow, who browsed beside my door, + Did not think much of Maeterlinck, and would not, furthermore!" + + +"Heavens!" he ended, "that fool and his magazine editors! Nobody but +you could have been so patient with the poor devil, Marge." + +He leaned her and himself back in the cab, and stared contemplatively +out at New York going by. "And to think--and--to--think--that while +half of decent humanity has been doing what it's been doing to keep the +world from going to hell, that fool--that _fool_--has been sitting at +home nibbling toast and worrying about what is style! . . . I'll tell +him! Style is what I'll have when I get these clothes off, and some +regular ones. You'll have to help me pick 'em out, Marge. You'll find +I've no end of uses for a wife, darling." + +"I hope you'll make me useful," she answered in a small voice. +Fortunately she saw the ridiculousness of what she had said herself +before the constrained note of her voice reached her husband, and +began, a little nervously, to laugh at herself. So that passed off all +right. + +"Will life be just one succession of hoping things pass off all right?" +she wondered. And she did wish Francis wasn't so scornful about all +the things Logan said. For Logan, in spite of his mysterious +disability, was very brilliant; he wrote essays for real magazines that +you had to pay thirty-five cents for, and when Marjorie said she knew +him people were always very respectful and impressed. Marjorie had +been brought up to respect such things very much, herself, in a pretty +Westchester suburb, where celebrities were things which passed through +in clouds of glory, lecturing for quite as much as the club felt it +could afford. A celebrity who let you talk to him, nay, seemed +delighted when you let him talk to you, couldn't be as negligible as +Francis seemed to think him. . . . Francis didn't seem as if he had +ever read _anything_. . . . It was a harmless question to ask, at +least. + +"What did you read, over there?" she asked him. + +"We read anything we could get hold of that would take our minds," was +the answer, rather grimly. Then, more lightly, "When I wasn't reading +detective stories I was studying books on forestry. Did you know you +had married a forester bold, Marge?" + +"Of course I remembered you said that was what you did," she answered, +relieved that the talk was veering away, for one moment, from +themselves. + +"Poor little girl, you haven't had a chance to know very much about +me," he said tenderly. "Well, I know a lot more about it than I did +when I went away. Oh, the trees in France, dear! It's worse to think +of the trees than of the people, I think sometimes. I suppose that's +because they always meant a lot to me--very much as a jeweler would +feel badly about all the spoons the Crown Prince took home with +him. . . . Anyway, they wanted me to stay over there and do +reforestation. Big chances. But I didn't feel as if I could stay away +from little old New York--naturally Marge had nothing to do with +it--another hour. Would you have liked to go to Italy and watch me +re-forest, Marjorie?" + +Marjorie's "Oh, _no_!" was very fervent. She also found herself +thinking stealthily that even any one as efficient as Francis could not +reforest the city of New York, and that therefore any position he had +would very likely let her off. Maybe he might go very soon. + +With this thought in her mind she led the way up the three flights of +stairs to the tiny apartment she and Lucille Strong shared. If Francis +had not spoken as they reached the door she might have carried it +through. But just as she fitted her key in the door he did speak, +behind her, an arm about her. + +"In another minute you and I will be alone together; in our own +home--my wife----" + +He took the key gently from her hand; he unlocked the door, and drew +her in, with his arms around her. He pushed the door to behind them, +and bent down to kiss her again, very tenderly and reverently. And in +that instant Marjorie's self-control broke. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +"Oh, please don't touch me, just for a minute!" she exclaimed. +"Please--please--just stop a _minute_!" + +She did not realize that her tone was very much that of a patient +addressing a dentist. Francis's arms dropped, and he looked at her, +all the light going out of his face, and showing its weary lines. He +closed the door entirely, carefully. He went mechanically over to a +chair and sat down on it, always with that queer carefulness; he laid +his cap beside him, and looked at Marjorie, crouched against the door. + +"Please come over here and sit down," he said very courteously, but +with the boyishness gone from his voice even more completely than +Marjorie had wished. + +She came very meekly and sat opposite him, with a little queer cold +feeling around her heart. + +"Please look at me," he asked gently. She lifted her blue eyes +miserably to his, and tried to smile. But unconsciously she shrank a +little as she did so, and he saw it. + +"I won't touch you--not until you want me to," he began. "What's the +matter, Marjorie? Is it nerves, or are you afraid of me, or----" + +"It--it was just your coming so suddenly," she lied miserably. "It +upset me. That was all." + +In her mind there was fixed firmly the one thing, that she mustn't be a +coward, she must go through with it, she must pretend well enough to +make Francis think she felt the way she ought to. The Francis of +pre-war times would have been fooled; but this man had been judging men +and events that took as keen a mind as seeing through a frightened +girl. He looked at her musingly, his face never changing. She rose +and came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. She even +managed to laugh. + +"Do you mind my being upset?" she asked. + +"No," he said, "if that's all it is. But you have a particular kind of +terror about you that I don't like. Or I think you have." + +She took her hand away, hurt by the harshness of his voice--then, +seeing his face, understood that he was not knowingly harsh. She had +hurt him terribly by that one unguarded moment, and she would have to +work very hard to put it out of sight. + +"I--I haven't any terror----" she began to say. + +He made himself smile a little at that. + +"You mustn't have," he said. "We'll sit down on the davenport over +there that Lucille's grandmother gave her for a wedding-present--you +see how well I remember the news about all the furniture? And we'll +talk about it all quietly." + +"There's nothing to talk about," said Marjorie desperately. She went +obediently over to the davenport and sat down by him. + +"You were upset at seeing me?" he began. + +"It was--well, it was so sudden!" dimpled Marjorie, quoting the tag +with the sudden whimsicality which even death would probably find her +using. + +"And I still seem--do I seem like a strange person to you, dear?" he +asked wistfully. "You don't seem strange to me, you know. You seem +like the wife I love." + +The worst of it was that when Francis was gay and like a playmate, as +he had been at their luncheon before Logan came, she could feel that +things were nearly all right. But when he spoke as he was speaking now +the terror of him came back worse than ever. + +"No. No, you don't seem strange at all," she said. "Why should you?" +But while she spoke the words she knew they were not true. She looked +at him, and his face was like a stranger's face. She had known other +men as well as she had known her husband, except for the brief while +when she had promised to marry him. She took stock of his features; +the straight, clearly marked black brows under the mark the cap made on +his forehead; the rather high cheekbones, the clear-cut nose and chin, +the little line of black mustache that did not hide his hard-set and +yet sensitive lips; the square, rather long jaw--"He'll have deep lines +at the sides of his mouth in a few more years," she thought, and--"He's +much darker than I remembered him. But he has no color under the +brown. I thought he had a good deal of color . . ." She appraised his +face, not liking it altogether, as if she had never seen it before. +His hand, long, narrow, muscular, burned even more deeply than his +face, and with a fine black down lying close over it, seemed a hand she +had never seen or been touched by before. But that was his +wedding-ring--her wedding-ring--on the thin third finger. She even +knew that inside it was an inscription--"Marjorie--Francis----" and the +date of their wedding. Hers was like it. He had bought them and had +them inscribed with everything but the actual date before she had given +in; that had been put in, of course, the week before their marriage. +Oh, what _right_ had he to be wearing her wedding-ring? + +"Would you like a little time to think it over?" he asked heavily. + +She was irrationally angry at him. What right had he to think she +needed time to think it over? Why hadn't he the decency to be deceived +by her behavior? Then she stole another look at him, with all the +gaiety and youth gone out of his face, and made up her mind that the +anger ought to be on his side. But it apparently was not. + +"Oh, _please_ don't mind!" she begged him, abandoning some of her +defenses. "It's true, I do feel a little strange, but I'm sure it will +all come straight if--if I wait a little. You see, you were gone so +long." + +"Yes. I worried a lot about it on shipboard," he answered her +directly. His face did not lighten, but there was a sort of relief in +his tone, as if actually knowing the truth was better than being fenced +with. "I thought to myself--'I hurried her into it so. I wonder if +she really will care when I come back.' It was such a long time. But +then your letters were so sweet and loving, and I cared such a lot----" + +His voice broke. He had been talking on a carefully emotionless dead +level, but now he suddenly stopped as if he had come to the end of his +control. But he was only silent a moment, and went on: + +"I cared so much that I thought you must. That's a queer thing, isn't +it? You've known all your life that other people think if they care +enough the other person will care, and you know they're idiots. And +then your time comes, and you go and are the same old idiot +yourself. . . . Queer. Well, I'm sorry, Marjorie. Shall I go now? +We can think about what we'd better do next time we talk it over." + +"Oh, please, please!" begged Marjorie. "Oh, Francis, I feel like a +dog--a miserable, little coward-dog. And--and I don't know why you're +making all this up. I--I haven't said anything like what----" + +He put his arm around her, not in the least as if he were her lover. +It only felt protecting, not like a man's touch. + +"I would be glad to think you cared for me. But I am almost sure you +don't. Everything you have said, and every one of your actions since +we came in, have seemed to me as if you didn't. It isn't your fault, +poor little thing. It's mine for hurrying you into it. . . . +Marjorie, Marjorie--_do_ you?" + +There was an intense entreaty in his tone. But she knew that only the +truth would do. + +"No," she said, dropping her head. + +"I thought not," he said, rising stiffly and crossing to the door. +"Well, I'll go now. I'll come back some time to-morrow, whenever it's +most convenient for you, and we'll discuss details." + +She ran after him. She did feel very guilty. + +"Oh, Francis--Francis! Please don't go! I'm sure I'll feel the way I +should when I've tried a little longer!" + +He stopped for a moment, but only to write something down on a piece of +paper. + +"There's my telephone number," he said. "No, Marjorie, I can't stay +any longer. This has been pretty bad. I've got to go off and curl up +a minute, I think, if you don't mind. . . . Oh, dearest, don't you see +that I _can't_ stay? I'll have myself straightened out by to-morrow, +but----" + +He had been acting very reasonably up to now. But now he flung himself +out the door like a tornado. It echoed behind him. Marjorie did not +try to keep him. She sat still for a minute longer, shivering. Then +she began to cry. She certainly did not want him for her husband, but +equally she did not want him to go off and leave her. So she went over +to the davenport again, where she could cry better, and did wonders in +that line, in a steady, low-spirited way, till Lucille came breezily in. + +Lucille Strong was a plump, exuberant person with corn-colored hair and +bright blue eyes and the most affectionate disposition in the world. +She also had a quick, fly-away temper, and more emotions than +principles. But her sense of humor was so complete, and her sunniness +so steady that nobody demanded great self-sacrifice from her. Who +wouldn't give anybody the biggest piece of cake and the best chair and +the most presents, for the sake of having a Little Sunshine in the +home? At least, that was the way Billy Strong had looked at it. He +had been perfectly willing to put off his marriage until Lucille +decreed that there was money enough for her to have her little luxuries +after marriage, in order to eventually possess Lucille. People always +and automatically gave her the lion's share of all material things, and +she accepted them quite as automatically. She was a very pleasant +housemate, and if she coaxed a little, invisibly, in order to acquire +the silk stockings and many birthday presents and theater tickets which +drifted to her, why, as she said amiably, people value you more when +they do things for you than when you do things for them. + +"Why, you poor _lamb_!" she said with sincere sympathy, pouncing on the +desolate and very limp Marjorie. "What's the matter? Did Francis have +to go away from you? Look here, honey, you can have my----" + +What Lucille was about to offer was known only to herself, because she +never got any farther. Marjorie sat up, her blue eyes dark-circled +with tears, and perhaps with the strain she had been undergoing. + +"Yes," she said in a subdued voice. "He--he had to go. He'll be back +to-morrow." + +Lucille pounced again, and kissed Marjorie rapturously, flushed with +romance. + +"Oh, isn't it wonderful to have him back! And Billy may be back any +minute, too! Marge, what on earth shall we do about the apartment? It +isn't big enough for three; and I can't keep it on alone. And the +wretched thing's leased for six months longer. You know we thought +they'd be coming back together. But you and Francis can take it +over----" + +"I--I don't think we need to worry about that," said Marjorie, "for a +while longer. I've made up my mind to go on working. I'd be restless +without my work. Filing's really _very_ exciting when you're +accustomed to it----" + +Lucille released her housemate and leaned back on the davenport, the +better to laugh. As she did so she flung off her coat and dropped it +on the floor, in the blessed hope that Marjorie would pick it up, which +usually happened. But Marjorie did not. + +"Filing," Lucille said through her laughter, "is undoubtedly the most +stimulating amusement known to the mind of man. I wonder they pay you +for doing it--they ought to offer it as a reward! Oh, Marge, you'll +kill me! Now, you might as well be honest, my child. You know you +always tell me things eventually--why not now? What are your plans, +and did Francis bring any souvenirs? I told him to be sure to bring +back some of that French perfume that you wouldn't let him get you +because it was too expensive for his income. I wonder he ever +respected you again after that, incidentally. Did he?" + +"Did he respect me? I don't know, I'm sure," said Marjorie +dispiritedly. She knew that she would tell Lucille all about it in two +more minutes, and she did not want to. + +"No, darling! Did he bring the perfume?" + +"I don't know," said Marjorie. "Lucille, you haven't had your bath +yet." + +"Did you light the hot water for me?" + +"No, I forgot," said Marjorie. + +"All right, I'll light it," said Lucille amiably. She was deflected by +this, and trotted out into the tiny kitchen to light the gas under the +hot water heater. She came back in an exquisite blue crepe negligee, +and curled herself back of Marjorie on the davenport while she waited +for the water to heat, and for Marjorie to tell her about it all. + +"I wish my hair curled naturally," she said idly, slipping her fingers +up the back of Marjorie's neck, where little fly-away rings always +curled. + +"I wish it did," said Marjorie with absent impoliteness. + +Lucille laughed again. + +"Come back, dear! Remember, I haven't any happy reunion to weep over +yet, and be sympathetic. And I have an engagement for dinner, and how +will I ever keep it if you don't tell me everything Francis said? When +did he see Billy last?" + +"He didn't say." + +"What _did_ he say?" + +"He said," said Marjorie, turning around with blazing eyes and pouring +forth her words like a fountain, "that he'd wondered if I really loved +him, and now he was sure I didn't. And that he'd come back some time +to-morrow and discuss details. And he gave me his telephone number, +and said he couldn't stay any longer, and it was pretty bad, and he had +to curl up----" + +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Stop! This is a bad dream you've had, or +something out of _Alice in Wonderland_! Francis never said he had to +curl up. Curl up _what_?" + +"Curl up himself, I suppose," said Marjorie with something very like a +sob. "I was perfectly rational and it made me feel dreadful to hear +him say it, and I knew just what he meant. Curl up like a dog when +it's hurt. Curl _up_!" + +"_Don't_! I _am_!" said Lucille. "If you issue any more orders in +that tone I'll look like a caterpillar. Now, what really did happen, +Marjorie?" she ended in a gentler tone and more seriously. + +She pulled Marjorie's head over on to her own plump shoulder, and put +an arm round her. + +"It was all my fault. I don't love him any more. I don't want to be +married to him. I didn't mean to show it, I meant to be very good +about it, but he knows so much more than he did when he went away. He +knew it directly. And now he's dreadfully hurt." + +"You poor little darling! What a horrid time you've been having all +this time everybody's been thinking you were looking forward to his +coming home. Why, you must have nearly gone crazy!" + +"It's worse for him," said Marjorie in a subdued voice, nestling down +on Lucille's shoulder. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Lucille comfortably. "Men can generally take +care of themselves. . . . But are you sure you don't love him the +least little bit?" + +"I'm afraid of him. He's like somebody strange. . . . It's so long +ago." + +"So long ago an' so far away, le's hope it ain' true!" quoted Lucille +amiably. "Well, darling, if you don't want to marry him you needn't--I +mean, if you don't want to stay married to him you needn't. I'm sure +something can be done. Francis is perfectly sure to do anything you +like, he adores you so." + +But this didn't seem to give comfort, either. And as the boiler was +moaning with excess of heat, Lucille dashed for the bathtub. She +talked to Marjorie through the flimsy door as she splashed, to the +effect that Marjorie had much better let her call up another man and go +out on a nice little foursome, instead of staying at home. But there +Marjorie was firm. She would have preferred anything to her own +society, but she felt as if any sort of a party would have been like +breaking through first mourning. + +So she saw Lucille, an immaculate vision of satins and picture hats, go +off gaily with her cavalier, and remained herself all alone in the +little room, lying on the sofa, going over everything that had happened +and ending it differently. She was very tired, and felt guiltier and +guiltier as time went on. Finally she rose and went to the telephone +and called the number Francis had left. + +The voice that answered her was very curt and very quiet. + +"Yes. . . . This is Captain Ellison. Yes, Marjorie? What is it?" + +It seemed harder than ever to say what she had to say in the face of +that distant, unemotional voice. But Marjorie had come to a resolve, +and went steadily on. + +"I called up to say, Francis, that I am ready to go with you anywhere +you want to, at any time. I will try to be a good wife to you." + +She clung to the telephone, her heart beating like a triphammer there +in the dark, waiting for his answer. It seemed a long time in coming. +When it did, it was furious. + +"I don't want you to go with me anywhere, at any time. I don't want a +wife who has to try to be a good wife to me." + +He hung up with an effect of flinging the receiver in her face. + +Marjorie almost ran back to the davenport--she was beginning to feel as +if the davenport was the nearest she had to a mother--and flung herself +on it in a storm of angry tears. He was unjust. He was violent. She +didn't want a man like that--what on earth had she humiliated herself +that way for, anyway? What was the use of trying to be honorable and +good and fair and doing things for men, when they treated you like +that? Francis had proposed and proposed and proposed--she hadn't been +so awfully keen on marrying him. . . . It had just seemed like the +sort of thing it would be thrilling to do. Well, thank goodness he did +feel that way. She was better off without people like that, anyhow. +She would go back home to Westchester, and live a patient, meek, +virtuous life under Cousin Anna Stevenson's thumb, as she had before +she got the position at the office or got married. She certainly +couldn't go back to the office and explain it all to them. At least, +she wouldn't. It would be better, even if Cousin Anna did treat +everybody as if they were ten and very foolish. . . . And she had +refused the offer of a nice foursome and one of Lucille's cheerful +friends, to stay home and be treated this way! + +She rose and went to the telephone again, with blazing cheeks. + +She called up, on the chance, Logan's number; and amazingly got him. +And she invited him on the spot to come over the next evening and have +something in a chafing-dish with Lucille and herself. Lucille, she +knew, had no engagement for that evening, and could produce men, +always, out of thin air. Marjorie chose Logan because Francis had said +he didn't like him. She had been a little too much afraid, before +that, of Logan's literariness to dare call him up. But that night she +would have dared the Grand Cham of Tartary, if that dignitary had had a +phone number and been an annoyance to Francis Ellison. + +Logan, to her surprise, accepted eagerly, and even forgot to be +mannered. He did, it must be said, keep her at the telephone, which +was a stand-up one, for an hour, while he talked brilliantly about the +Italian renaissance in its ultimate influence on the arts and crafts +movement of the present day. To listen to Logan was a liberal +education at any moment, if a trifle too much like attending a lecture. +But at least he didn't expect much answering. + +She went to the office, next day, in more or less of a dream. She was +very quiet, and worked very hard. Nobody said much to her; she took +care not to let them. When stray congratulations came her way, as they +were bound to, and when old Mr. Morrissey, the vice-head, said, "I +suppose we can't hope to keep you long now," and beamed, she answered +without any heartbeatings or difficulty. She was quite sure she would +never feel gay again; she had had so much happen to her. But it was +rather pleasant not to be able to have any feelings, if a little +monotonous. The only thing at all on her mind was the question as to +how much cheese a party of four needed for a rarebit, and whether Logan +would or could eat rarebits at night. And even that was to a certain +degree a matter of indifference. + +She finally decided that scallops a la King might be more what he would +eat. She bought them on her way home, together with all the rest of +the things she needed. Lucille had produced a fourth person with her +usual lack of effort, and it promised to be--if anything in life could +have been anything but flavorless--rather a good party. + +In fact, it was. It was a dear little apartment that the girls shared, +with a living-room chosen especially for having nice times in. It was +lighted by tall candles, and had a gas grate that was almost human. +There was a grand piano which took up more than its share of room, +there was the davenport aforesaid, there were companionable chairs and +taborets acquired by Lucille and kept by Marjorie in the exact places +where they looked best; there were soft draperies, also hemmed and put +up by Marjorie. The first thing visitors always said about it was that +it made them feel comfortable and at home. They generally attributed +the homelikeness to Lucille, who was dangerously near looking matronly, +rather than to Marjorie, who would be more like a firefly than a matron +even when she became a grandmother. + +Marjorie, with cooking to do, tied up in a long orange colored apron, +almost forgot things. She loved to make things to eat. Lucille, +meanwhile, sat on the piano-stool and played snatches of "The Long, +Long Trail," and the men, Lucille's negligible one and Marjorie's Mr. +Logan, made themselves very useful in the way of getting plates and +arranging piles of crackers. The small black kitten which had been a +present to Lucille from the janitor, who therefore was a mother to it +while the girls were out, sat expectantly on the edge of all the places +where he shouldn't be, purring loudly and having to be put down at +five-minute intervals. + +"I suppose this is a sort of celebration of your having your husband +back," said the Lucille man presently to Marjorie. He had been told +so, indeed, by Lucille, who was under that impression herself, Logan +looked faintly surprised. He, to be frank, had forgotten all about +Marjorie's having a husband who had to be celebrated. + +Marjorie nearly spilled the scallops she was serving at that moment, +and the kitten, losing its self-control entirely, climbed on the table +with a cry of entreaty for the excellent fish-smelling dishful of +things to eat. It was lucky for Marjorie that he did, because while +she was struggling with him Lucille answered innocently for her. + +"Yes, more or less. But he's late. Where's your perfectly good +husband, Marge?" + +"Late, I'm afraid," Marjorie answered, smiling, and wondering at +herself for being able to smile. "We aren't to wait for him." + +"Sensible child," Lucille answered. "I'm certainly very hungry." + +She drew her chair up to the low table the men had pushed into the +center of the room, sent one of them to open the window, rather than +turn out the cheerful light of the gas grate, and the real business of +the party began. + +It was going on very prosperously, that meal; even Mr. Logan was +heroically eating the same things the rest did, and not taking up more +than his fair share of the conversation, when there was a quick step on +the stairs. Nobody heard it but Marjorie, who stood, frozen, just as +she had risen to get a fork for somebody. She knew Francis's step, and +when he clicked the little knocker she forced herself to go over and +let him in. + +He came in exactly as if he belonged there; but after one quick glance +at the visitors he drew Marjorie aside into the little inner room. + +"Marjorie, I've come to say I was unkind and unfair over the telephone. +I've made up my mind that you are fonder of me than you know. I think +it will be all right--it was foolish of me to be too proud to take you +unless you were absolutely willing. Let me take back what I said, and +forgive me. I know it will be all right--Marjorie!" + +She gave him a furious push away from her. Her eyes blazed. + +"It never will be all right! It isn't going to have a chance to be!" +she told him, as angry as he had been when she called him up. "You had +your chance and you wouldn't take it. I don't want to be your wife, +and I never will be. That's all there is to say." + +She took a step in the direction of the outer room. He put out a hand +to detain her. + +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Don't!" + +"I'm going out there, and going to keep on having the nice time I had +before you came. If you try to do anything I'll probably make a scene." + +"You're going to give me one more chance," he said. "That's settled." + +She looked at him defiantly. + +"Try to make me," was all she said, wrenching her wrist out of his hand. + +"I will," said Francis grimly. + +She smiled at him brilliantly as he followed her into the room where +the others were. + +"I'm afraid there isn't any way," she said sweetly. + +Lucille, who had not seen Francis before, flew at him now with a +welcome which was affectionate enough to end effectually any further +ardors or defiances. + +"And you're in time for your own party after all," she ended, smiling +sunnily at him and pushing him into a chair. She gave him a plate of +scallops and a fork, and the party went on as it had before. Only +Marjorie eyed him with nervous surprise. "What will he do next?" she +wondered. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +What he did was to eat his scallops a la King with appetite, fraternize +cheerfully with Lucille's friend, whose name was Tommy Burke, and who +was an old acquaintance of his, speak to Marjorie occasionally in the +most natural way in the world, and altogether behave entirely as if it +really was his party, and he was very glad that there was a party. It +is to be said that he ignored Logan rather more than politeness +demanded. But Logan was so used to being petted that he never knew it. +Marjorie did, and lavished more attention on him defiantly to try to +make up for it. She thought that the evening never would end. + +After the food was finished it was to be expected that Lucille would go +to the piano, and play some more, and that the men would sit about +smoking on the davenport and the taborets, and that every one would be +pleasantly quiet. But Lucille did not. Instead, she and Francis +retired to the back room, leaving Marjorie and the others to amuse each +other, and talk for what seemed to Marjorie's strained nerves an +eternity of time. It was Francis who had called Lucille, moreover, and +not Lucille who had summoned Francis, as could have been expected. + +Finally the other men rose to go. Francis came out of the inner room +and went with them. Before he went he stopped to say to Marjorie: + +"I told you I wanted to talk things over with you. I'll be back in a +half-hour. You seem to be so popular that the only way to see you +alone is to get you in a motor-car, so if you aren't too tired to drive +around with me to-night, to a place where I have to go, I'll bring you +home safely. . . . I didn't mean to speak so sharply to you, Marjorie, +over the telephone. Please forgive me." + +"Certainly," said Marjorie coldly and tremulously. It could be seen +that she did not forgive him in the least. + +He went downstairs with the others, laughing with Burke, who had a +dozen army reminiscences to exchange with him, and bidding as small a +good-by as decency permitted to Logan. Marjorie heard him dash up +again, and then run down, as if he had left something outside the door +and forgotten it. Lucille came over to her and began to fuss at her +about changing her frock for a heavier one, and taking enough wraps. + +"Why, it's only a short drive," Marjorie expostulated. "And I'm not +sure that I want to go, anyway. I don't think there's anything more to +be said than we have said." + +Francis, with that disconcerting swiftness which he possessed, had come +back as she spoke. + +He came close to her, and spoke softly. + +"You used to like the boy you married, Marjorie. For his sake won't +you do this one thing? Give me a hearing--one more hearing." + +Lucille had come back again with a big loose coat, and she was wrapping +it round her friend with a finality that meant more struggle than poor +tired Marjorie was capable of making. After all, another half-hour of +discussion would not matter. The end would be the same. She went down +with them to the big car that stood outside, and even managed to say +something flippant about its looking like a traveling house, it was so +big. Francis established her in the front seat, by him, tucked a rug +around her, for the night was sharp for May, and drove to Fifth Avenue, +then uptown. + +She waited, wearily and immovable, for him to argue with her further, +but he seemed in no hurry to commence. They merely drove on and on, +and Marjorie was content not to talk. It was a clear, beautiful night, +too late for much traffic, so they went swiftly. The ride was +pleasant. All that she had been through had tired her so that she +found the silence and motion very pleasant and soothing. + +Finally he turned to her, and she braced herself for whatever he might +want to say. + +"Would you mind if we drove across the river for a little while?" he +asked. + +"Why--no," she said idly. "Out in the country, you mean?" + +He assented, and they drove on, but not to the ferry. They turned, and +went up Broadway, far, far again. + +"Where are we?" asked Marjorie finally. "Isn't it time you turned +around and took me back? And didn't you have something you wanted to +say to me?" + +"Yes----" he said absently. "No, we have all the time in the world. +There's no scandal possible in being out motoring with your husband, +even if you shouldn't get home till daylight." + +"But where _are_ we?" demanded Marjorie again. + +"The Albany Post Road," said Francis. This meant very little to +Marjorie, but she waited another ten minutes before she asked again. + +"Just the same post road as before," said Francis preoccupiedly, +letting the machine out till they were going at some unbelievable speed +an hour. "The Albany. Not the Boston." + +"Well, it doesn't matter to me _what_ post road," remonstrated +Marjorie, beginning rather against her will to laugh a little, as she +had been used to do with Francis. "I want to go home." + +"You are," said he. + +"Oh, is this one of those roads that turns around and swallows its own +tail?" she demanded, "and brings you back where you started?" + +"Just where you started," he assented, still in the same preoccupied +voice. + +She accepted this quietly for the moment. + +"Francis," she said presently, "I mean it. I want to go home." + +"You are going home," said Francis. "But not just yet." + +It seemed undignified to row further. She was so tired--so very tired! + +Francis did not speak again, and after a little while she must have +dropped off to sleep; for when she came to herself again the road was a +different one. They were traveling along between rows of pines, and +the road stretched ahead of them, empty and country-looking. She +turned and asked sleepily, "What time is it, Francis, please?" + +He bent a little as he shot his wrist-watch forward enough to look at +the phosphorescent dial. + +"Twenty minutes past three," he said as if it was the most commonplace +hour in the world to be driving through a country road. + +For a moment she did not take it in. Then she threw dignity to the +winds. She was rested enough to have some fight in her again. + +"I'm going home! I'm going home if I have to walk!" she said wildly. +She started to spring up in the car, with some half-formed intention of +forcing him to stop by jumping out. + +"Now, Marjorie, don't act like a movie-heroine," he said +commonplacely--and infuriatingly. He also took one hand off the +steering-wheel and put it around her wrist. "You can't go back to New +York unless I take you. We're fifty miles up New York State, and there +isn't a town near at all." + +Marjorie sat still and looked at him. The car went on. + +"I don't understand," she said. "You can't be going to abduct me, +Francis?" + +Francis, set as his face was, smiled a little at this. + +"That isn't the word, because you don't abduct your lawful wife. But I +do want you to try me out before you discard me entirely. And +apparently this is the only way to get you to do it." + +"What are you going to do?" she asked. + +"Want the cards on the table?" + +She nodded. + +"All the cards--now? Or would you rather take things as they come?" + +All this time the car was going ahead full speed in the moonlight. + +"Everything--now!" she said tensely. + +He never looked at her as he talked. His eyes were on the road ahead. + +"Just now--as soon as we get to a spot where it seems likely to be +comfortable, we're going to unship a couple of pup-tents from the back +of the car, and sleep out here. I have all your things in the back of +the car. If you'd rather, you can sleep in the car; you're little and +I think you could be comfortable on the back seat." + +She interrupted him with a cry of injury. + +"My things? Where did you get them?" + +"Lucille packed them. She worked like a demon to get everything ready. +She was thrilled." + +"Thrilled!" said Marjorie resentfully. "I'm so sick of people being +thrilled I don't know what to do. _I'm_ not thrilled. . . . I might +have known it. It's just the sort of thing Lucille would be crazy over +doing. I suppose she feels as if she were in the middle of a +melodrama." + +"I'm sorry, Marjorie, but there's something about you that always makes +people feel romantic. . . ." His voice softened. "I remember the +first time I saw you, coming into that restaurant a little behind +Lucille, it made me feel as if the fairy-stories I'd stopped believing +in had come true all over again. You were so little and so graceful, +and you looked as if you believed in so many wonderful things----" + +"Stop!" said Marjorie desperately. "It isn't fair to talk that way to +me. I won't have it. If you feel that way you ought to take me back +home." + +"On the contrary, just the reverse," quoted Francis, who seemed to be +getting cooler as Marjorie grew more excited. "You said you'd listen. +Be a sport, and do listen." + +"Very well," said Marjorie sulkily. She _was_ a sport by nature, and +she was curious. + +"I've taken a job in Canada--reforesting of burned-over areas. I had +to go to-night at the latest. It seemed to me that we hadn't either of +us given this thing a fair try-out. I hadn't a chance with you unless +I took this one. My idea is for you to give me a trial, under any +conditions you like that include our staying in the same house a couple +of months. I'm crazy over you. I want to stay married to you the +worst way. You're all frightened of me, and marriage, and everything, +now. But it's just possible that you may be making a mistake, not +seeing it through. It's just possible that I may be making a mistake, +thinking that you and I would be happy." + +Marjorie gave a little tense jerk of outraged pride at this rather +tactless speech. It sounded too much as if Francis might possibly tire +of _her_--which it wasn't his place to do. + +"And so," Francis went on doggedly, "my proposition is that you go up +to Canada with me. There's a fairly decent house that goes with the +job. There won't be too much of my society. You need a rest anyhow. +I won't hurry you, or do anything unfair. Only let us try it out, and +see if we wouldn't like being married, exactly as if we'd had a chance +to be engaged before." + +"And if we don't?" inquired Marjorie. + +"And if we don't, I'll give you the best divorce procurable this side +of the water." + +"You sound as if it was a Christmas present," said Marjorie. + +She thought she was temporizing, but Francis accepted it as willingness +to do as he suggested. + +"Then you will?" he asked. + +"But--it's such an awful step to take!" + +Francis leaned back--she could feel him do it, in the dark--and began +to argue as coolly as if it were not three o'clock in the morning, on +an unfrequented road. + +"The most of the step is taken. You haven't anything to do but just go +on as you are--no packing or walking or letter-writing or anything of +the sort. Simply stay here in the car with me and end at the place in +Canada, live there and let me be around more or less. If there's +anything you want at home that Lucille has forgotten----" + +"Knowing Lucille, there probably is," said Marjorie. + +"----we'll write her and get it. . . . Well?" + +Marjorie took a long breath, tried to be very wide-awake and firm, and +fell silent, thinking. + +She was committed, for one thing. People would think it was all right +and natural if she went on with Francis, and be shocked and upset and +everything else if she didn't. Cousin Anna Stevenson would write her +long letters about her Christian duty, and the office would be +uncomfortable. And Lucille--well, Lucille was a blessed comfort. She +didn't mind what you did so long as it didn't put her out personally. +She at least--but Lucille had packed the bag! And you couldn't go and +fling yourself on the neck of as perfidious a person as _that_. + +And--it would be an adventure. Francis was nice, or at least she +remembered it so; a delightful companion. He wasn't rushing her. All +he wanted was a chance to be around and court her, as far as she could +discover. True, he was appallingly strange, but--it seemed a +compromise. And she had always liked the idea of Canada. As for +eventually staying with Francis, that seemed very far off. It did not +seem like a thing she could ever do. Being friends with him she might +compass. Of course, you couldn't say that it was a fair deal to +Francis, but he was bringing it on himself, and really, he deserved the +punishment. For of course, Marjorie's vain little mind said +irrepressibly to itself, he would be fonder of her at the end of the +try-out than at the beginning. . . . And then a swift wave of anger at +him came over her, and she decided on the crest of it. She would never +give in to Francis's courtship. He wasn't the sort of man she liked. +He wasn't congenial. She had grown beyond him. But he deserved what +he was going to get. . . . And she spoke. + +"It isn't fair to you, Francis, because it isn't going to end the way +you hope. But I'll go to Canada with you . . ." + +For a moment she was very sorry she had said it, because Francis forgot +himself and caught her in his arms tight, and kissed her hard. + +"If you do that sort of thing I _won't_!" she said. "That wasn't in +the bargain." + +"I know it wasn't," said Francis contritely. "Only you were such a +good little sport to promise. I won't do it again unless you say I +may. Honestly, Marjorie. Not even before people." + +This sounded rather topsy-turvy, but after awhile it came to Marjorie +what he meant--just about the time she climbed out of the car, sat on +its step, and watched Francis competently unfurling and setting up two +small and seemingly inadequate tents and flooring them with balsam +boughs. He meant that there would have to be at least a semblance of +friendliness on account of the people they lived among. She felt more +frightened than ever. + +Francis came up to her as if he had felt the wave of terror that went +over her. + +"Now you aren't to worry. I'm going to keep my word. You're safe with +me, Marge. I'm going to take care of you as if I were your brother and +your father and your cousin Anna----" + +She broke in with an irrepressible giggle. + +"Oh, please don't go that far! Two male relatives will be +plenty. . . . I--I really got all the care from Cousin Anna that I +wanted." + +He looked relieved at her being able to laugh, and bent over the tents +again in the moonlight. + +"There you are. And here are the blankets. We're near enough to the +road so you won't be frightened, and enough in the bushes so we'll be +secluded. Good-night. I'll call you to-morrow, when it's time to go +on. I know this part of the country like my hand, and here's some +water in case you're thirsty in the night. Oh, and here are towels." + +This last matter-of-fact touch almost set Marjorie off again in +hysterical laughter. Being eloped with by a gentleman who thoughtfully +set towels and water outside her door was really _too_ much. She +pinned the tent together with a hatpin, slipped off some of her +clothes--it did not seem enough like going to bed to undress +altogether, and she mistrusted the balsam boughs with blankets over +them that pretended to be a bed in the corner--and flung herself down +and laughed and laughed and laughed till she nearly cried. + +She did not quite cry. The boughs proved to have been arranged by a +master hand, and she was very tired and exceedingly sleepy. She pulled +hairpins out of her hair in a half-dream, so that they had to be sought +for painstakingly next morning when she woke. She burrowed into the +blankets, and knew nothing of the world till nine next morning. + +"I can't knock on a tent-flap," said Francis's buoyant voice outside +then. "But it's time we were on our way, Marjorie. There ought to be +a bathrobe in that bundle of Lucille's. Slip it on and I'll show you +the brook." + +She reached for a mirror, which showed that, though tousled, she was +pretty, took one of the long breaths that seemed so frequently +necessary in dealing with Francis, said "in for a penny, in for a +pound," and did as she was directed. The bath-robe wasn't a bath-robe, +but something rather more civilized, which had been, as a matter of +fact, part of her trousseau, in that far-off day when trousseaux were +so frequently done, and seemed such fun to buy. She came out of the +tent rather timidly. "Good gracious, child, that wasn't what I meant!" +exclaimed Francis, seeming appallingly dressed and neat and ready for +life. "It's too cold for that sort of thing. Here!" + +He picked up one of the blankets, wrapped it around her, gave her a +steer in a direction away from the road, and vanished. + +She went down the path he had pushed her toward, holding the towels +tight in one hand and her blanket around her in the other. It was +fresh that morning, though it was warm for May. And Francis seemed to +think that she was going to take a bath in the brook, which even he +could not have had heated. She shivered at the idea as she came upon +it. + +It was an alluring brook, in spite of its unheated state. It was very +clear and brown, with a pebbled bottom that you could see into, and a +sort of natural round pool, where the current was partly dammed, making +it waist-deep. She resolved at first to wash just her face and hands; +then she tried an experimental foot, and finished by making a bold +plunge straight into the ice-cold middle of it. She shrieked when she +was in, and came very straight out, but by the time she was dry she was +warmer than ever. She ran back to the tent, laughing in sheer +exuberance of spirits, and dressed swiftly. The plunge had stimulated +her so that when Francis appeared again she ran toward him, feeling as +friendly as if he weren't married to her at all. + +"It was--awfully cold--but I'm just as hungry as I can be!" she called. +"Was there anything to eat in the car, along with the towels?" + +Francis seemed unaccountably relieved by her pleasantness. This had +been something of a strain on him, after all, though it was the first +time such a thought had occurred to Marjorie. His thin, dark face +lighted up. + +"Everything, including thermos bottles," he called back. "We won't +stop to build a fire, because we have to hurry; but Lucille----" + +"Lucille!" said Marjorie. "Well, I certainly never knew what a wretch +that girl was." + +"Oh, not a wretch. Only romantic," said Francis, grinning. "I tell +you again, Marjorie, you have a fatal effect on people. Look at me--a +matter-of-fact captain of doughboys--and the minute I see that you +won't marry me--stay married to me, I mean--I elope with you in a coach +and four!" + +"I don't think you ought to laugh about it," said Marjorie, sobering +down and stopping short in her tracks. + +"Well, I shouldn't," said Francis penitently. "Only I'm relieved, and +a little excited, I suppose. You see, I like your society a lot, and +the idea of having it for maybe three months, on any terms you like, is +making me so pleased I'm making flippant remarks. I won't any more, if +I remember." + +And he apparently meant it, for he busied himself in exploring the car, +which seemed as inexhaustible as the Mother's Bag in the Swiss Family +Robinson, for the food he had spoken of. There was a large basket, +which he produced and set on a stump, and from which he took +sandwiches, thermos flasks, and--last perfidy of Lucille!--a tin box of +shrimps a la King, carefully wrapped, and ready for reheating. He did +it in a little ready-heat affair which also emerged from the basket, +and which Marjorie knew well. It was her own, in fact. Reheated +shrimps should have killed them both, more especially for breakfast. +But they never thought of that till some days later. Marjorie was so +overcome by finding her own shrimps facing her, so to speak, that +nothing else occurred to her--except to eat them. They made a very +good breakfast, during which Francis was never flippant once. They +talked decorously about the natural scenery--fortunately for the +conversation there was a great deal of natural scenery in their +vicinity--and somewhat about pup-tents, and a little about how nice the +weather was. After that they cleared up the pieces, repacked +everything like magic, and went on their way very amicably. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"And now that things are more or less settled, wouldn't you like to +know what we are going to do?" inquired Francis. + +"Haven't I anything to do with it?" inquired Marjorie, not crossly, but +as one seeking information. + +"Almost everything. But you don't know the road to Canada. I thought +we'd take it straight through in the car, but to-night we will be in +more civilized parts--in an hour or so, in fact--and you can get +straightened up a little--not that you look as if you needed to, but +after a night in the open one does feel more or less tossed about, I +imagine." + +Marjorie considered. Ordinarily at this hour she would be walking into +the office. She would be speaking with what politeness one can muster +up in the morning to Miss Kaplan, who was quite as exuberant at five as +at seven in the evening; she would be hoping desperately that she +wasn't late, and that if she was she would escape Mr. Wildhack, who +glared terrifyingly at such young women who didn't get down on schedule +time. Marjorie was not much on schedule time, but she always felt that +the occasions when she got there too late really ought to be balanced +by those when she came too early. Instead of all this, she was racing +north with the fresh wind blowing against her face, with no duties and +no responsibilities, and something that, but for the person who shared +it with her, promised to be rather fun. Just then something came to +her. She had an engagement for tea with Bradley Logan. + +Suddenly that engagement seemed exceedingly important, and something +that she should on no account have missed. But at least she could +write to him and explain. + +"Have you a fountain-pen?" she inquired of Francis, "and can I write +sitting here?" + +"If you don't mind writing on a leaf from my notebook. It's all I +have." + +She was privately a little doubtful as to the impression that such a +note would make on Mr. Logan, for she remembered one wild tale she had +heard from him about a man who spent his whole life in a secluded room +somewhere in France, experimenting on himself as to what sort of +perfumes and colors and gestures made him happiest. None of them had +made him happy at all, to the best of her remembrance; but the idea Mr. +Logan left her with was that he was that sort of person himself, and +that the wrong kind of letter-paper could make him suffer acutely. She +was amused at it, really, but a bit impressed, too. One doesn't want +to be thought the kind of person who does the wrong thing because of +knowing no better. Still, it was that or nothing. + +"Dear Mr. Logan," she began, more illegibly than she knew because of +the car's motion, "I am so sorry that I have not been able to tell you +in advance that I couldn't take tea with you. But Mr. Ellison has +taken me away rather suddenly. He had to go to Canada to take a +position. We hope we will see you when we get back." + +She did not know till much later that owing to the thank-you-ma'am +which they reached simultaneously with the word "suddenly" that when +Mr. Logan got that note he thought it was "severely," and that the bad +penmanship and generally disgraceful appearance of the loose-leaf +sheet, the jerky hand, and the rather elderly envelope which was all +Francis could find--it had been living in a pocket with many other +things for some time--gave him a wrong idea. Mr. Logan, to anticipate +a little, by this erroneous means, acquired an idea very near the +truth. He thought that Marjorie Ellison was being kidnapped against +her will, and made it the subject of much meditation. His nervous +ailment prevented him from dashing after her. + +Marjorie fortunately knew nothing of all this, for she was proud to the +core, and she would rather have died than let any one but Lucille, of +necessity in on it, know anything but that she was spending the most +delightful and willing of honeymoons. + +So when they found a little up-state town with a tavern of exceeding +age and stiffness, and alighted in search of luncheon, the landlord and +landlady thought just what Marjorie wanted them to think; that all was +well and very recent. + +She sank into one of the enormous walnut chairs, covered with +immaculate and flaring tidies which reminded her of Cousin Anna and +stuck into the back of her neck, and viewed the prospect with pleasure. +For the moment she almost forgot Francis, and the problem of managing +just the proper distance from him. There was a stuffed fish, +glassy-eyed and with cotton showing from parts of him, over the +counter. There were bills of forgotten railroads framed and hung in +different places. There was a crayon portrait of a graduated row of +children from the seventies hung over the fireplace, four of them, on +the order of another picture, framed and hanging in another part of the +room, and called "A Yard of Kittens." Marjorie wondered with pleasure +why they hadn't added enough children to bring it up to a yard, and +balanced things properly. The fireplace itself was bricked up, all +except a small place where a Franklin stove sat, with immortelles +sticking out of its top as if they aimed at being fuel. Marjorie had +seen immortelles in fireplaces before, but in a Franklin they were new +to her. She made up her mind to find out about it before she was +through. + +"Why--why, I'm not worrying about being carried off by Francis!" she +remembered suddenly. She had been quite forgetful of him, and of +anything but the funny, old-fashioned place she was in. She lay back +further in the walnut chair, quite sleepily. + +"Would you like to go upstairs now, ma'am?" the landlord said. She +looked around for Francis, but he was nowhere to be seen. She picked +up the handkerchief which had slipped from her lap, cast a regretful +look at the yard of kittens, and followed him. + +"Here it is, ma'am," said the landlord, and set the suitcase he had +been carrying down inside the door. She shut the door after her, and +made for the mirror. Then she said "Oh!" in a surprised voice, because +Francis was standing before it, brushing his hair much harder than such +straight black hair needed to be brushed. + +He seemed as much surprised as she. + +"Good heavens, I beg your pardon, Marjorie!" he said. "This isn't your +room. Yours is the next one." + +"I beg _your_ pardon, then," said Marjorie, with a certain iciness. + +"You can have this one if you like it better. They're next door to +each other. You know"--Francis colored--"we have to seem more or less +friendly. Really I didn't know----" + +He was moving away into the other room as he spoke, having laid down +his brush on her bureau as if he had no business with it at all. + +"This isn't my brush," she said, standing at the connecting door and +holding it out at arm's length. + +"No," said Francis. "I didn't know I'd left it. Thank you." + +He took it from her, and went into his own room. She pushed the door +to between them, and went slowly back and sat down on the bed. A quite +new idea had just come to her. + +Francis wasn't a relentless Juggernaut, or a tyrant, or a cave-man, or +anything like that really. That is, he probably did have moments of +being all of them. But besides that--it was a totally new idea--he was +a human being like herself. Sometimes things embarrassed him; +sometimes they were hard for him; he didn't always know what to do next. + +She had never had any brothers, and not very much to do with men until +she got old enough for them to make love to her. The result was that +it had never occurred to her particularly that men were people. They +were just--men. That is, they were people you had nothing in common +with except the fact that you did what they said if they were fathers, +or married them when the time came, if they weren't. But she had +actually felt sorry for Francis; not sorry, in a vague, rather pitying +way because she didn't love him--but sorry for him as if he had been +Lucille, when he was so embarrassed that he walked off forgetting his +own brush. She smiled a little at the remembrance. She really began +to feel that he was a friend. + +So when he tapped at her outside door presently and told her that +luncheon was ready, and that they had better go down and eat it, +instead of the severity for which Francis had braced himself, she +smiled at him in a very friendly fashion, and they went down together, +admiring the wallpaper intensely on their way, for it consisted of fat +scarlet birds sitting on concentric circles, and except for its age was +almost exactly like some that Lucille and Marjorie hadn't bought +because it was two dollars a yard. + +Luncheon proved to be dinner, but they were none the less glad of it +for that. And instead of freezing every time the landlord was +tactlessly emotional, Marjorie found that she could be amused at it, +and that her being amused helped Francis to be amused. + +She always looked back tenderly to that yard of kittens, and to those +other many yards of impossible and scarlet birds. They gave her the +first chance at carrying through her wild flight with Francis decently +and without too much discomfort. + +The rest of the trip to Canada was easier and easier. Once admitting +that Francis and she were friends--and you can't spend three days +traveling with anybody without being a friend or an enemy--she had a +nice enough time. She kept sternly out of her mind the recollection +that he was in love with her. When she thought of that she couldn't +like him very much. But then she didn't have to think of it. + +"Here we are," said Francis superfluously as they stopped at the door +of a big house that was neither a log cabin nor a regular house. + +Marjorie gave a sigh of contentment. + +"I admit I'm glad to get here," she said. + +She slipped out of the car in the sunset, and stood drooping a minute, +waiting for her bag to be lifted down. She was beginning to feel +tired. She was lonely, too. She missed everything acutely and all at +once--New York, the little apartment, Lucille, being free from +Francis--even the black kitten seemed to her something that she could +not live one moment longer without. She turned and looked at Francis, +trim and alert as ever, just steering the car around the side of the +house, and found herself hating him for the moment. He was so at home +here. And she hadn't even carfare to run away if she wanted to! + +"Well, now, you poor lamb!" said somebody's rich, motherly voice with a +broad Irish brogue. "You're tired enough to die, and no wonder. Come +along with me, darlin'." + +She looked up with a feeling of comfort into the face of a +black-haired, middle-aged Irishwoman, ample and beaming. + +"I'm Mrs. O'Mara, an' I know yer husband well. I kep' house for him +an' the other young gintlemen when they were workin' up here before the +fightin' began. So he got me to come an' stay wid the two of ye, me +an' Peggy. An' I don't deny I'm glad to see ye, for there does be a +ghost in this house!" + +The ending was so unexpected and matter-of-fact that Marjorie forgot to +feel lost and estranged, and even managed to laugh. Even a ghost +sounded rather pleasant and friendly, and it was good to see a woman's +face. Who or what Peggy might be she did not know or care. Mrs. +O'Mara picked up the suitcase with one strong arm, and, putting the +other round Marjorie in a motherly way, half led her into the house. + +"Ye'll excuse me familiarity, but it's plain to see ye're dead, +Miss--ma'am, I mean. Come yer ways in to the fire." + +Marjorie had been feeling that life would be too hard to bear if she +had to climb any stairs now; so it was very gladly that she let Mrs. +O'Mara establish her in a rude chaise-longue sort of thing, facing a +huge fire in a roughly built fireplace. The housekeeper bent over her, +loosening knots and taking off wraps in a very comforting way. Then +she surrounded her with pillows--not too many, or too much in her +way--and slipped from the room to return in a moment with tea. + +Marjorie drank it eagerly, and was revived by it enough to look around +and see the place where she was to dwell. It looked very attractive, +though it was not in the least like anything she had ever seen. + +Where she lay she stared straight into a fire of great logs that +crackled and burned comfortingly. The mantel over it was roughly made +of wood, and its only adornment was a pipe at one side, standing up on +its end in some mysterious manner, and a pile of Government reports at +the other. The walls were plastered and left so. Here and there were +tacked photographs and snapshots, and along one wall--she had to screw +her neck to see it--some one had fastened up countless sheets from a +Sunday supplement--war photographs entirely. She wondered who had done +it, because what she had seen of returned soldiers had shown her that +the last thing they wanted to see or hear about was the war. + +There were couches around the walls, the other chairs were lounging +chairs also. There was fishing-tackle in profusion, and a battered +phonograph on a table. It looked as if men had made themselves +comfortable there, without thinking much about looks. The only thing +against this was one small frilled chair. It was a most absurd chair, +rustic to begin with, with a pink cushion covered with white net and +ruffled, and pink ribbons anchoring another pink and net cushion at its +back. Mrs. O'Mara, hovering hospitably, saw Marjorie eying it, and +beamed proudly. + +"That's Peggy's chair," she said. "Peggy's me little daughter." + +"Oh, that's nice," said Marjorie. "How old is she?" + +"Just a young thing," said Mrs. O'Mara. "She'll be in in a minute." + +Marjorie leaned back again, her tea consumed, and rested. She was not +particularly interested in Peggy, because she was not very used to +children. She liked special ones sometimes, but as a rule she did not +quite know what to do with them. After a few sentences exchanged, and +an embarrassed embrace in which the children stiffened themselves, +children and Marjorie were apt to melt apart. She hoped Peggy wouldn't +be the kind that climbed on you and kicked you. + +A wild clattering of feet aroused her from these half-drowsy +meditations. + +"Here's Francis, mother! Here's Francis!" called a joyous young voice, +and Marjorie turned to see Francis, his eyes sparkling and his whole +face lighted up, dashing into the room with an arm around one of the +most beautiful girls she had ever seen, a tall, vivid creature who +might have been any age from seventeen to twenty, and who brought into +the room an atmosphere of excitement and gaiety like a wind. + +"And here's Peggy!" said Francis gaily, pausing in his dash only when +he reached Marjorie's side. "She's all grown up since I went away, and +isn't she the dear of the world?" + +"Oh, but so's your wife, Francis!" said Peggy naively, slipping her arm +from around his shoulder and dropping on her knees beside Marjorie. +"You don't mind if I kiss you, do you, please? And must I call her +Mrs. Ellison, Francis?" + +"Peggy, child, where's your manners?" said her mother from the +background reprovingly, but with an obvious note of pride in her voice. + +"Where they always were," said Peggy boldly, laughing, and staying +where she was. + +She was tall and full-formed, with thick black hair like her mother's, +not fluffy and waving like Marjorie's, but curling tight in rings +wherever it had the chance. Her eyes were black and her cheeks and +lips a deep permanent red. She looked the picture of health and +strength, and Marjorie felt like a toy beside her--fragile to the +breaking-point. She seemed much better educated than her mother, and +evidently on a footing of perfect equality and affection with Francis. + +Marjorie was drawn to her, for the girl had vitality and charm; but she +found herself wondering why Francis had never told her about this +Peggy, and why he had never thought of marrying her. + +"You wouldn't think this young wretch was only sixteen, would you?" +said Francis, answering her silent question. "Look at her--long +dresses and hair done up, and beaux, I hear, in all directions!" + +Of course. If Peggy had been scarcely past fourteen when Francis saw +her last, he couldn't have considered marrying her. Marjorie tried to +think that she wished he had, but found that she did not like to cease +owning anything that she had ever possessed, even such a belonging as +Francis Ellison. + +"That's very nice," she said inadequately, smiling at Peggy in as +friendly a manner as so tired a person could manage. "I'm glad I shall +have Peggy to be friends with while I'm up here." + +"Oh, me dear, ye'll be up here forever an' the day after, be the looks +of the job Mr. Francis has on his hands," said Mrs. O'Mara. + +"No, I won't," she began to say hurriedly, and then stopped herself. +She had no right to tell any one about her bargain with Francis. She +didn't want to, anyway. + +"The poor child's tired," said Mrs. O'Mara, whom, in spite of her +relation to Peggy, Marjorie was beginning to regard as a guardian +angel. "Come upstairs to yer room, me dear." + +Marjorie rose, with Francis and Peggy hovering about her, carrying +wraps and hats and suitcases; and Mrs. O'Mara led the way to a room on +the floor above, reached by a stair suspiciously like a ladder. + +"Here ye'll be comfortable," said Mrs. O'Mara, "and rest a little till +we have supper. Peggy will get you anything you want." + +But Marjorie declined Peggy. All she wanted was to rest a little +longer. + +She flung herself on the softly mattressed cot in one corner of the +room; and nearly went to sleep. + +She was awakened--it must have been quite sleep--by Francis, on the +threshold. His eyes were blazing, and he was evidently angry at her to +the last degree--angrier even than he had been that time in the city +when he nearly threw the telephone at her. + +"Is this the sort of person you are?" he demanded furiously. "Look at +this telegram!" + +Marjorie, frightened, rose from the couch with her heart beating like a +triphammer. + +"Let me see," she asked. + +He handed the telegram to her with an effect of wanting to shake her. + +"Am coming up to arrange with you about Mrs. Ellison," it said. "Know +all." + +It was signed by Logan. + +"Good heavens!" said Marjorie helplessly. + +"Knows all!" said Francis bitterly. "And that's the sort of girl you +are!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Marjorie froze in consternation. She had forgotten to allow for +Francis's gusts of anger; indeed, there had been no need, for since his +one flare-up over the telephone he had been perfectly gentle and +courteous to her. + +She stared at him, amazed. + +"But I didn't do anything to make that happen!" she protested. "I +never dreamed--why, I'd have too much pride----" + +"Pride!" thundered Francis. "It's plain cause and effect. You write +to that pup in New York, and I give you the envelope and paper--help +you straight through it, good heavens!--and you use my decency to +appeal to him for help, after you've agreed to try it out and see it +through!" + +Marjorie stiffened with anger. + +"I _was_ going to try it out and see it through," she countered with +dignity. "But if you treat me this way I see no reason why I should. +Even this housekeeper of yours would give me money to escape with." + +"Escape! You act as if you were in a melodrama!" said Francis angrily. +"We made a bargain, that's all there is to it; and the first chance you +get, you smash it. I suppose that's the way women act. . . . I don't +know much about women, I admit." + +"You don't know much about me," said Marjorie icily, "if you jump to +conclusions like that about me. Whatever that Logan man knows he +doesn't know from me. Have you forgotten Lucille?" + +"Lucille wouldn't----" began Francis, and stopped. + +"And why wouldn't she? Didn't she tell me that I was a poor little +pet, and that men could always take care of themselves and, then turn +around and help you carry me away? And it was carrying me away--it was +stealing me, as if I were one of those poor Sabine women in the history +book." + +They were fronting each other across the threshold all this time, +Francis with his face rigid and pale with anger, his wife flushed and +quivering. + +"I admit I hadn't thought of that," said Francis, referring presumably +to Lucille's possibilities as an informer, and not to Marjorie's being +a Sabine woman. + +Marjorie moved back wearily and sat on the bed. + +"And you were just getting to be such a nice friend," she mourned. "I +was getting so I _liked_ you. There never was anybody pleasanter than +you while we were coming up from New York. Why, you weren't like a +person one was married to, at all!" + +"More like a friend nor a 'usband," quoted Francis unexpectedly. + +Marjorie looked at him in surprise. Any one who could stop in the +middle of a very fine quarrel to see the funny side of things that way +wasn't so bad, her mind remarked to itself before she could stop it. + +"What do you mean?" she asked, mitigating her wrath a little. + +"Why, you know the story; the cockney woman who had a black eye, and +when the settlement worker asked her if her husband had given it to her +said, 'Bless you, no, miss--'e's more like a friend nor a 'usband!'" + +"Oh," said Marjorie, smiling a little. Then she remembered, her eyes +falling on the yellow paper Francis still held. There was still much +to be settled between them. + +"But, as you were saying about Mr. Logan----" + +"I was saying a lot I hadn't any business to about Mr. Logan," said +Francis frankly. + +"Then it's all right?" said Marjorie. "At least as far as you're +concerned?" + +He nodded. + +"Well," said she most unfairly, "it isn't, as far as I am. Francis, I +don't think we'd better think any more of ever trying to be married to +each other. It's too hard on the nervous system." + +Francis colored deeply. + +"What do you want to do?" he demanded. + +Marjorie paused a minute before she answered. The truth was, she +didn't know. She had definitely given up her New York position. She +liked it up here, very much indeed. She liked the O'Maras and the +house, and she was wild to get outdoors and explore the woods. Leaving +Francis out of the question, she was freer than she had been for years. +Altogether it was a bit hard to be entirely moved by lofty +considerations. She wanted to stay; she knew that. + +"Canada's a nice place," she began, dimpling a little and looking up at +Francis from under her eyelashes. + +"Oh, then----" he began eagerly. + +"And I want to stay, for perfectly selfish reasons," she went on +serenely. "But if my staying makes you think that there is any hope +of--of eventualities--I think I'd better go. In other words, I like +the idea of a vacation here. That's all. If you are willing to have +me as selfish as all that, why, it's up to you. I think myself I'm a +pig." + +"You will stay, but not with any idea of learning to like me better--is +that it?" + +"That's it," she said. "And, as I said, I feel colossally selfish--a +regular Hun or something." + +"That's because you used the word 'colossal,'" he said absently. "They +did, a lot. All right, my dear. That's fair enough. Yes, I'm +willing." + +"But no tempers, mind, and no expectations!" said Marjorie firmly, +making hay while the sun shone. + +"No," said Francis. He looked at her appraisingly. "You know," he +remarked, "the gamble isn't all one way. It's just possible that I may +be as glad as you not to see the thing through when we've seen +something of each other. I don't feel that way now, but there's no +telling." + +She sprang to her feet, angry as he had been. But he had turned, after +he said that, and gone quietly downstairs. + +The idea was new to her, and correspondingly annoying. +Francis--Francis, who had been spending all his time since he got back +trying to win her--Francis suggesting that he might tire of her! Why, +people didn't _do_ such things! And if he expected to tire of her what +did he want her for at all? + +She sprang up and surveyed herself in the glass that hung against the +rough wall, over a draped dressing-table which had apparently once been +boxes. Yes, she did look tired and draggled. Her wild-rose color was +nearly gone, and there were big circles under her eyes. And there was +a smudge on her face that nobody had told her a thing about. And her +hair was mussed too much to be becoming, even to her, who looked best +with it tossed a little. And there was not a sign of water to wash in +anywhere, and the room had no furniture except the cot and the +dressing-table---- + +Another knock stopped her here, and she turned to see young Peggy, +immaculate and blooming, at the door. + +"I just came to bring you towels, and to see that everything was all +right, and show you the way to the bathroom," she said most +opportunely. "We have a bathtub, you know, even up here in the wilds!" + +Marjorie forgot everything; home, husband, problems, life in +general--what were they all to the chance at a real bathtub? She +followed Peggy down the hall as a kitten follows a friend with a bowl +of milk. + +"O-o! a bathtub!" she said rapturously. + +Peggy threw open a door where, among wooden floor and side-wall and +ceiling and everything else of the most primitive, a real and most +enticingly porcelain bathtub sat proudly awaiting guests. + +"It'll not be so good as you've been used to," she said with more +suggestion of Irishry than Marjorie had yet heard, "but I guess you'll +be glad of it." + +"Glad!" said Marjorie. And she almost shut the door in Peggy's face. + +She lingered over it and over the manicuring and hairdressing and +everything else that she could linger over, and dressed herself in the +best of her gowns, a sophisticated taupe satin with slippers and +stockings to match. She'd show Francis what he was perhaps going to be +willing to part with! So when Mrs. O'Mara's stentorian voice called +"Supper!" up the stair, she had not quite finished herself off. The +sophisticated Lucille had tucked in--it was a real tribute of +affection--her own best rouge box; and Marjorie was on the point of +adding the final touch to beauty, as the advertisement on the box said, +when she heard the supper call. She was too genuinely hungry to stop. +She raced down the stairs in a most unsophisticated manner, nearly +falling over Francis and Peggy, who were also racing for the +dining-room. + +They caught her to them in a most unceremonious way, each with an arm +around her, and sped her steps on. She found herself breathless and +laughing, dropped into a big wooden chair with Francis facing her and +Peggy and her mother at the other two sides. It was a small table, +wooden as to leg under its coarse white cloth; but, oh, the beauty of +the sight to Marjorie! There were such things as pork and beans, and +chops, and baked potatoes, and apple sauce, and various vegetables, and +on another table--evidently a concession to manners--was to be seen a +noble pudding with whipped cream thick above it. + +"The food looks good, now, doesn't it?" beamed Mrs. O'Mara. "I'll bet +ye're hungry enough to eat the side o' the house. Pass me yer plate to +fill up, me dear." + +Marjorie ate--she remembered it vaguely afterwards, in her sleep--a +great deal of everything on the table. It did not seem possible, when +she remembered, also vaguely, all the things there had been; but the +facts were against her. She finished with a large cup of coffee, which +should have kept her awake till midnight; and lay back smiling drowsily +in her chair. + +The last thing she remembered was somebody picking her up like a small +baby and carrying her out of the dining-room and up the stairs to her +own bed, and laying her down on it; and a heavy tread behind her +carrier, which must have been Mrs. O'Mara's, for a rich voice that +belonged to it had said, "Shure it's a lovely sight, yer carryin' her +around like a child. It's the lovely pair yez make, Mr. Francis!" And +then she remembered a tightening of arms around her for an instant, +before she was laid carefully on her own cot and left alone. + +Mrs. O'Mara undressed her and put her to bed, she told her next +morning; but Marjorie remembered nothing at all of that. All she knew +was that the lady's voice, raised to say that it was time to get up, +wakened her about eight next day. + +It is always harder to face any situation in the morning. And +theoretically Marjorie's situation was a great deal to face. Here she +was alone, penniless, at the mercy of a determined young man and his +devoted myrmidons--whatever myrmidons were. Marjorie had always heard +of them in connections like these, and rather liked the name. Mr. +Logan was imminent at any moment, and a great deal of disagreeableness +might be looked for when he turned up and had it out with Francis. +Altogether the Sabine lady felt that she ought to be in a state of +panic terror. But she had slept well,--it was an excellent cot--the +air was heavenly bracing, Mrs. O'Mara was a joy to think of, with her +brogue and her affectionate nature, and altogether Marjorie Ellison +found herself wondering hungrily what there would be for breakfast, and +dressing in a hurry so that she could go down and eat it. + +Peggy, rosy and exuberant, rushed at her and kissed her when she got to +the foot of the stairs. + +"Oh, isn't it lovely to think you're here, and I've got somebody to +have fun with, and Francis has to be out a lot of the time? Do you +like to dance? There's a French-Canadian family down the road, two +girls and three boys, and seven or eight other men out working with +Francis, and under him, and if you only say you like to dance I'll +telephone them to-night. Mother said I was too young to dance--and me +three years learning at the convent!--but with you here sure she can't +say a word. Oh, do say you'll have a little dance to-night! Francis +dances, too, if you haven't stopped it in him." + +She stopped for a minute to take breath, and Marjorie clapped her hands. + +"I love to dance! Do have them up! Never mind whether Francis likes +it or not!" + +"Sure you have to mind what your own wedded husband likes," said the +Irish girl, shocked a little. "But unless he's been more sobered +than's likely by the big war, he'll be as crazy over it all as we are. +There's a dozen grand dance records on the phonograph, and sure a bit +of rosin on the floor and it'll be as fine as silk. Let's try them +now." + +She made for the phonograph and had a dance-record on it before +Marjorie could answer, and in another minute had picked the smaller +girl up and was dancing over the rough floor with her. And so Francis, +coming in a little apprehensively, found them flushed and laughing, and +whirling wildly around to the music of a record played much too fast. +Peggy, in an effort to show off heavily before Francis, came a cropper +over a stool at his feet, pulling Marjorie down in her fall; both of +them laughing like children as they fell, so that they could scarcely +disentangle themselves, and had to be unknotted by Francis. + +"Come on to breakfast now, you young wild animals," said he, his thin, +dark face sparkling all over with laughter as Marjorie had never seen +it. + +"I'm killed entirely," said Peggy. "I have to be taken." + +She made herself as limp and heavy as possible, and it ended in a +free-for-all scuffle which was finally shepherded into the dining-room +by Mrs. O'Mara, who was laughing so herself that she had to stop and +catch her breath. + +So there was little time to think of one's sad lot at breakfast, +either. And Peggy was so keen on the dance proposition that it took +all breakfast time to discuss it. + +"I'm taking the motor-cycle over to the clearing, and I don't think +I'll be back till night," said Francis unexpectedly when breakfast was +over. + +Peggy made a loud outcry. + +"Is this your idea of a honeymoon? Well, when my time comes may I have +a kinder man than you! And poor Marjorie sitting home darning your +socks, I suppose!" + +"No. Not at all. I have to go over first to take some things. When I +come back I'll take her, too, if she'd like to go. Think you'd enjoy +it, Marjorie?" + +"What is it?" she asked cautiously, not particularly willing to +implicate herself. + +"Well, it's a little cabin--or two little cabins, rather, and a +lean-to--several miles away. A motor-cycle can go there by taking its +life in its hands. It's in the middle of a clearing, so to speak; but +it's also in the middle of a pretty thick patch of woods around the +clearing. There's a spring, and a kettle, and we make open fires. +There are provisions in the lean-to, locked up so the deer can't get +them--yes, deer like things to eat. We go there to stay when there's +such work to do that it isn't convenient to come back and forth at +night. There are lots of rabbits and birds, and once in a while a +harmless little green snake--do you mind harmless snakes, my +dear?--comes and looks affectionately at you, finds you're a human +being, and goes away again rather disappointed. Once in a long while +an old bear comes and sniffs through the cracks of the lean-to in hopes +of lunch, and goes away again disconsolately like the snake. But only +once since I can remember. I tell you, Marjorie, I don't ever remember +having a better time than when I'd built a fire out there in an open +spot near the trees, and just lay on the ground with my hands behind my +head, all alone, and everything in the whole world so far away that +there wasn't a chance of its bothering me! Just trees and sky and +wood-smoke and the ground underneath--there's nothing like it in the +world!" + +He had flushed up with enthusiasm. Marjorie looked at him admiringly. +This was a new Francis, one she had never met. She had not realized +that any one could love that sort of thing--indeed, no one had ever +told her that such things existed. Her life had been spent between +Cousin Anna's little prim house with a pavement in front of it and a +pocket-handkerchief of lawn behind, and the tiny New York flat she had +occupied with Lucille. She had never really been out-of-doors in her +life. + +"Oh, please do take me!" she cried. + +He seemed extremely pleased at her asking. + +"I can't this first trip; the side-car will be full of junk that I have +to get over there. But I _would_ like to take you on my second trip, +about noon to-day. Or it may be later when I get back--it's quite a +distance." + +"That will be all right," said Marjorie sedately. "I'd like to rest a +little this morning, anyway." + +So Francis, with a light in his eyes, and whistling happily, fussed +about for a while assembling a mysterious collection of tools and +curious bundles, and rode blithely off in the general direction of what +looked like virgin forest. + +"And now we'll plan all about the dance," said Peggy gaily. + +"You will not, Miss! You'll plan how to help me clean the back cellar +this beautiful sunny morning that was just made for it," said her +mother sternly, appearing on the scene, and carrying off a protesting +Peggy. + +Marjorie, left alone, addressed herself to resting up in preparation +for the afternoon's trip. There was a big hammock on the porch, and +thither, wrapped in her heavy coat, she went to lie. She tried to +think out some plans for her future life without Francis; but the plans +were hard to make. There were so many wild things to watch; even the +clouds and sky seemed different up here. And presently when Peggy, no +more than healthfully excited by her hard morning's work on the cellar, +came prancingly out to enjoy more of her guest's society, she found her +curled up, asleep, one hand under her cheek, looking about ten years +old and very peaceful. + +"Isn't she the darling!" she breathed to her mother. + +"She is that!" said Mrs. O'Mara heartily. "But they've both got fine +young tempers of their own, for all they're so gay and friendly. +Somebody's going to learn who's rulin' the roost, when the first edge +of the honeymoon's off. And it's in me mind that the under-dog won't +be Mr. Francis." + +"Oh, mother! How can you talk so horridly?" remonstrated Peggy. "As +if they ever had any chance of quarreling!" + +"There's none," said Mrs. O'Mara wisely, "but has the chancet of +quarrelin' when they're man an' wife. An' why not? Sure it brightens +life a bit! 'Tis fine when it's over, as the dentist said to me whin +he pulled out the big tooth in me back jaw." + +"Well, I know _I'm_ never going to quarrel," said Peggy vehemently. + +"Then ye'd be a reformed character itself, an' why not start to curb +yer temper now?" said her mother. "I can mind a certain day----" + +But Peggy engulfed her mother in a violent embrace, holding her mouth +shut as she did so, and as Peggy was even taller than Mrs. O'Mara and +quite as strong, the ensuing struggle and laughter woke Marjorie. + +"Now, see that! An' take shame to yerself!" said Mrs. O'Mara +apologetically. "'Twas me angel girl here, Mrs. Ellison, explainin' by +fine arguments how peaceful-minded she is. Now let me away, Peggy, for +there's the meal to make." + +Peggy, laughing as usual, sat down unceremoniously by Marjorie. + +"I was just saying that I didn't see why married people should +quarrel," she explained, "and mother says that they all have to do some +of it, just to keep life amusing. _I_ think you and Francis get along +like kittens in a basket." + +"And does she think we quarrel?" inquired Marjorie sleepily, yet with +suspicion. + +Peggy shook her head with indubitable honesty. + +"No, she only says you will sooner or later. But that's because she's +Irish, I think; you know Irish people do like a bit of a shindy once in +awhile. I admit I don't mind it myself. But you Americans born are +quieter. When you quarrel you seem to take no pleasure whatever in it, +for all I can see!" + +Marjorie laughed irrepressibly. + +"Oh, Peggy, I do love you!" she said. "It's true, I don't like +quarreling a bit. It always makes me unhappy. It's my Puritan +ancestry, I suppose." + +"Well, you can't help your forebears," said Peggy sagely. + +"And now shall I call up the folks for the dance to-night?" + +"Oh, yes, do!" begged Marjorie, who had slept as much as she wanted to +and felt ready for anything in the world. + +She lay on in the khaki hammock in a happy drowsiness. The wind and +sunshine alone were enough to make her happy. And there was going to +be a dance to-night, and she could wear a little pink dress she +remembered . . . and pretty soon there would be luncheon, and after +that she was going off on a gorgeous expedition with Francis, where +there was a fire, and rabbits and maybe a nice but perfectly harmless +little green snake that would look at her affectionately . . . but +everybody looked at you affectionately, once you were married . . . it +was very warming and comforting. . . . + +She was asleep again before she knew it. It was only Francis's quick +step on the porch that woke her--Francis, very alert and flushed, and +exceedingly hungry. + +"Yes, yes, Mr. Francis, the food's been waitin' you this long time," +said Mrs. O'Mara, evidently in answer to a soul-cry of Francis's, for +he had not had time to say anything aloud. "Bring yer wife an' come +along an' eat." + +So they went in without further word spoken, and after all Marjorie +found herself the possessor of as good an appetite as she'd had for +breakfast. + +"Be sure to get back in time to dress for the dance," Peggy warned them +as they started off in the motor-cycle. "It's to be a really fine +dance, with the girls in muslin dresses, not brogans and shirtwaists!" + +"The girls?" asked Marjorie of Francis wonderingly. + +"I think she means that the men aren't to wear brogans, or the girls +shirtwaists," he explained, as they whizzed down what seemed invisible +tracks in a trackless forest. "Smell the pines--aren't they good?" + +Marjorie looked up, beaming. + +"Stunning!" she said. "I don't see how you ever wanted to come to New +York, after you'd had this." + +"After a long time of this New York is pleasant again," he said. "But +I hope you won't tire of this, my dear." + +"Oh, no!" she said fervently. "I'm crazy to go on, and see the cabins +you told me about. I can amuse myself there the whole afternoon, if +you have other things you want to do." + +"You dear!" said Francis. + +After that they were quiet, and rode on together, enjoying the glorious +afternoon. + +"Here we are," said Francis after about two hours on the motor-cycle. +He slipped off and held the machine for her to get out. + +"Oh," said Marjorie, "it's like something out of a fairy-book!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +They had gone through what seemed to Marjorie's city-bred eyes a dense +forest, but which Francis had assured her was only a belt of +woodland--quite negligible. And they had come out, now, on what +Francis called a clearing. It was thick with underbrush, little trees, +and saplings; while bloodroot flowered everywhere, and the gleam of +thickly scattered red berries showed even as they rode quickly over the +grass. In the center of things were the two cabins Francis had spoken +of; one quite large--Francis seemed given to understatement--and the +other of the conventional cabin size. + +"The larger one is where my men stay," he explained. "Two of them are +there now. That's why you see a red shirt through the window. Pierre +is probably leaving it there to dry. I'll take you through if you +like, but it's just a rough sort of place. The lean-to is the +cook-place. All that cabin has inside is bunks, and a table or two to +play cards on, as far as I remember. The other cabin----" + +He stopped short, and turned away, pretending to fuss over his +motor-cycle, which he had already laid down tenderly in just the right +spot and the right position. Marjorie, eager and swift, sprang close +to him like a squirrel. She did not look unlike one for the moment, +wrapped in the thick brown coat with its furry collar. + +"The other one! Oh, show me that, and tell me all about it!" she +demanded ardently. + +"The other one----" he said. "Well--it's nothing. That's where I +wanted to bring you to stay--before I knew there wasn't anything to it +but--this. I--fixed it up for--us." + +In spite of all the things she had against Francis, Marjorie felt for +the moment as if there was something hurting her throat. She was sorry +for him, not in a general, pitying way, but the close way that hurts; +as if he was her little boy, and something had hurt him, and she +couldn't do anything about it. + +"I'm--I'm sorry," she faltered, not looking at him. + +He had evidently expected her to be angry--could she have been angry so +much as all that?--for he looked up with a relieved air. + +"I thought you might like to go in there and rest while I went over to +where the work is being done," he said matter-of-factly. "I can't get +back to you or to the Lodge till just in time for Peggy's dance. But +you'll find things in the little cabin to amuse you, perhaps." + +"Oh, I don't need things in the cabin to amuse me!" said Marjorie +radiantly. "There's enough outside of it to keep me amused for a whole +afternoon! But I do want to see in." + +He took a key out of his pocket, and together they crossed the clearing +to where the little cabin stood, its rustic porch thick with vines. +Francis stood very still for a moment before he bent and put the key +into the padlock, and Marjorie saw with another tug at her heart that +his face was white, and held tense. She felt awed. Had it meant so +much to him, then? + +She followed him in, subdued and yet somehow excited. He moved from +her side with a sort of push, and flung open the little casement +windows. The scented gloom, heavy with the aromatic odors of +life-everlasting and sweet fern, gave place to the fresh keen wind with +new pine-scents in it, and to the dappled sunshine. + +"Oh, how _lovely_!" said Marjorie. "Oh, Francis! Do you know what +this place is? It's the place I've always planned I'd make for myself, +way off in the woods somewhere, when I had enough money. Only I +thought I'd never really see it, you know. . . . And here it is!" + +He only said "Is it?" in a sort of suppressed way; but she said no +more. She only stood and looked about her. + +There was a broad window-seat under the casement windows he had just +thrown open. It was cushioned in leaf-brown. A book lay on it, which +Marjorie came close to and looked at curiously. + +"Oh--my own pet 'Wind in the Willows!'" she said delightedly. "How +queer!" + +"No, not queer," said Francis quietly, from where he was unlocking an +inner door. + +So Marjorie said no more. She laid the book down a little shyly and +investigated further. The walls were of stained wood, but apparently +there were two thicknesses, with something between to keep the heat and +cold out, for she could see a depth of some inches at the door. There +was a perfectly useless and adorable and absurd balcony over the +entrance, and a sort of mezzanine and a stair by which you could get to +it; something like what a child would plan in its ideas of the kind of +house it wanted. There was a door at the farther end leading into +another room, and crossing the wooden floor, with its brown fiber rug, +Marjorie opened it and entered a little back part where were packed +away most surprisingly a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. + +"Why, it isn't a cabin--it's a bungalow!" she said, surprised. "And +what darling furniture!" + +The furniture was all in keeping, perfectly simple and straight-built, +of brown-stained wood. There was a long chair at one side of the +window-seat, with a stool beside it, and a magazine thrown down on the +stool. Everything looked as if it had just been lived in, and by some +one very much like Marjorie. + +"When did you do all this?" she asked curiously. + +"I didn't know you'd had any time for ages and ages. Was it----" + +"Was it for some other girl," was hovering on her lips. But she did +not ask the question. As a matter of fact, she didn't want to hear the +answer if it was affirmative. "You don't remember," he said quietly. +"I put in some time training recruits not far from here. No, of course +you don't remember, because I never told you. It was in between my +first seeing you, and the other time when I was going around with you +and Billy and Lucille. After I saw you that first time, when I had to +come back here, near as it was to my old haunts,--well, I didn't know, +of course, whether I was ever going to marry you or not. But--there +was the cabin, my property, and I had time off occasionally and nothing +to do with it. So--well, it was for the you I thought might possibly +be. It made you realer, don't you see?" + +Marjorie sank down as he finished, on the broad, soft window-seat; and +began to cry uncontrollably. + +"Oh--oh--it seems so pitiful!" he made out that she was saying finally. +"I--I'm so sorry!" + +Francis laughed gallantly. + +"Oh, you needn't be sorry!" he said, smiling at her, though with an +obvious effort. "I had a mighty good time doing it, my dear. Why, the +things you said, and the way you acted while I was doing it for +you--you've no idea how nice they were. You sat just----" + +"Oh, that was why the book was on the window-seat, and the other +things----" + +"That was why," nodded Francis. + +"And the stool close up to the lounge-chair----" + +He nodded. + +"You lay there and I sat by you on the stool," he said. "And you +whispered the most wonderful things to me----" + +"I didn't!" said Marjorie, flushing suddenly. "You know perfectly well +all the time that was going on I--the real Me--was being a filing-clerk +in New York, and running around with Lucille, and being bored with +fussy people in the office, and hunting up letters for employers and +hoping they wouldn't discover how much longer it took me to find them +than it did really intelligent people----" + +"No," said Francis, suddenly dejected, "you didn't. But--it was a nice +dream. And I think, considering all that's come and gone, you needn't +begrudge it to me." + +"I don't," said Marjorie embarrassedly. "I--I only wish you wouldn't +talk about it, because it partly makes me feel as if my feelings were +hurt, and partly makes me feel terribly self-conscious." + +"Then perhaps it _was_ you, a little," said Francis quietly. + +Marjorie moved away from him, and went into the kitchen again, with her +head held high to hide the fact that her cheeks were burning. He +hadn't any right to do that to her. Why, any amount of men might be +making desperate love to dream-Marjories--Mr. Logan, for +instance,--only his love-making would probably be exceedingly full of +quotations, and rather slow and involved. + +She turned, dimpling over her shoulder at Francis, who had been +standing in rather a dream, where she had left him. + +"Francis! Do you suppose any other men are doing that?" she asked +mischievously. "Supposing our good friend Mr. Logan, for instance, has +installed me in a carved renaissance chair in his apartment, and is +saying nice things to me----" + +"Marjorie!" + +"Well, you see!" said Marjorie. "It isn't a good precedent." + +"Well, I'm your husband," muttered Francis quite illogically. + +"Oh, this has gone far enough," said Marjorie with determination. And +she went back to the kitchen. + +"I'll leave you here, if that's the case," said Francis in a friendly +enough way. "I have to go over to the other cabin and see how things +are and then out to where some work is going on. Can you find +amusement here for awhile?" + +"Oh, yes," said Marjorie. She felt a little tired, after all; and a +little desirous of getting away from Francis. + +"Well, if you're hungry, I think there are some things in the kitchen; +and the stove is filled, and there are matches," he said in a +matter-of-fact way. She wondered if he intended her to get herself a +large and portentous meal. She did not feel at all hungry. + +"If you'll tell me when you think you'll be back for me I'll have a +little lunch ready for you before we go," she was inspired to say. + +"That's fine," said Francis with the gratitude which any mention of +food always inspires in a man. "Don't overwork yourself, though. You +must be tired yet from your trip." + +She smiled and shook her head. She went over to the door with him, and +watched him as he went away, as bonny and loving a wife to all +appearances as any man need ask for. Pierre, who had been dwelling in +the cabin along with his red shirt, for the purpose of doing a +much-needed housecleaning for himself and his mates, looked out at them +with an emotional French eye. + +"By gar, it's tarn nice be married!" he sighed, for his last wife had +been dead long enough to have blotted out in his amiable mind the +recollection of her tongue, and he was thinking over the acquirement of +another one. + +Meanwhile Marjorie went back to the cabin that had been built around +the dream of her, picked up "The Wind in the Willows," and tried to +read. But it was difficult. Life, indeed, was difficult--but +interesting, in spite of everything. Francis was nice in places, after +all, if only he wouldn't have those terrifying times of being too much +in earnest, and over her. It was embarrassing, as she had said. She +rose up and walked through the place again. It was so dainty and so +friendly and so clean, so everything that she had always wanted--how +_had_ Francis known so much about what she liked? + +She curled down on the window-seat, tired of thinking, and finally +slept again. It was the change to the crisp Canada air that made her +sleep so much of the time. + +She sprang up in a little while conscious that there was something on +her mind to do. Then she remembered. She had promised to get +luncheon--or afternoon tea--or a snack--for Francis before he went. +She felt as if she could eat something herself. + +"At this rate," she told herself, "I'll be as fat as a _pig_!" + +She thought, as she moved about, to look down at the little wrist-watch +that had been one of Francis's ante-bellum gifts to her. And it was +half-past five o'clock. Then it came to her that by the time she had +something cooked and they had made the distance back to the lodge it +would be time for the dance, and therefore that this meal would have to +be supper at least. It was more fun than cooking in the kitchenette of +the apartment, because there was elbow-room. Marjorie's housewifely +soul had always secretly chafed under having to prepare food in a +kitchen that only half of you could be in at a time. + +There was a trusty kerosene stove here, and a generous white-painted +cupboard full of stores and of dishes. She had another threatening of +emotion for a minute when she saw that the dishes were some yellow +Dutch ones that she remembered admiring. But she decided that it was +no time to feel pity--or indeed any emotion that would interfere with +meal-getting--and continued prospecting for stores. Condensed milk, +flour, baking-powder, and a hermetically-sealed pail of lard suggested +biscuits, if she hurried; cocoa and tins of bacon and preserved fruit +and potatoes offered at least enough food to keep life alive, if +Francis would only stay away the half-hour extra that he might. + +Heaven was kind, and he did. The biscuits and potatoes were baked, the +fruit was opened and on the little brown table with the yellow dishes, +and the bacon was just frizzling curlily in the pan when Francis walked +into the kitchen. + +If it seemed pleasantly domestic to him he was wise enough not to say +so. He only stated in an unemotional manner that there were eggs put +down in water-glass in the entry back; and as this conveyed nothing to +Marjorie he went and got some and fried them, and they had supper +together. + +"You're a bully good cook," he told her, and she smiled happily. +Anybody could tell you that much, and it meant nothing. Sometimes +dealing with Francis reminded her of a Frank Stockton fairy-tale in her +childhood, where some monarch or other went out walking with a Sphinx, +and found himself obliged to reply "Give it up!" to every remark of the +lady's, in order not to be eaten. + +"We won't have time to clear up much," was his next remark, looking +pensively at a table from which they had swept everything but one +biscuit and a lonely little baked potato which had what Marjorie termed +"flaws," and they had had to avoid. "But then, I suppose you might say +there wasn't much to clear. We'll stack these dishes and let Pierre or +somebody wash 'em. Us for the dance." + +They piled the yellow dishes in a gleeful hurry, and Francis went out +and disposed of the scraps and did mysterious things to the kerosene +stove. They were whizzing back the way they had come before Marjorie +had more than caught her breath. + +"We'll be a little late, if you have to do anything in the dressing +line. I have to shave," said Francis. + +Marjorie, who really wasn't used to men, colored a little at this +marital remark, and then said that she supposed that it must have been +hard not to do it in the trenches. + +"Oh, that was only the poilus," said Francis, and went on into a flood +of details about keeping the men neat for the sake of their morale. It +was interesting; but Marjorie thought afterward that perhaps it was +because anything would have been while she was whirring along through +the darkening woods in the keen, sharp-scented air. She loved it more +and more, the woods and the atmosphere, and the memory of the little +cabin. She promised herself that she would try some day to find the +place by herself. Maybe she could borrow a horse or a bicycle or some +means of locomotion and go seeking it in the forest. + +"Now hurry!" admonished Francis as he landed her neatly by the veranda. +"Don't let them stop you for anything to eat, as Mother O'Mara will +want to." + +So she scurried up to her room, not even waiting to hear the voice of +temptation, and began hunting her belongings through for something. It +was foolish, but she was more excited over the thought of this rough, +impromptu backwoods dance than she ever had been in the city by real +dances, or out with Cousin Anna at the carefully planned subscription +dances where you knew just who was coming and just what they were going +to wear. + +Finally she gave up her efforts at decision, and went out to find +Peggy. Her room, she knew, was on the third floor. + +"Come in!" said Peggy's joyous voice. Marjorie entered, and found +Peggy in the throes of indecision herself. + +"You're just what I wanted to see!" said she. "Would you wear this +green silk that's grand and low, but a bit short for the last styles, +or this muslin that I graduated in, and it's as long as the moral law, +and I slashed out the neck--but a bit plain?" + +"Why, that's just what I came to ask you," said Marjorie. "What kind +of clothes do you wear for dances like these?" + +"Well, the grander the better, to-night, as I was telling everybody +over the telephone. Mrs. Schneider, now, the priest's housekeeper, she +has a red satin that she'll be sure to wear,--and the saints keep her +from wearing her pink satin slippers with it, but I don't think they +can. It would be a strong saint at the least," said Peggy +thoughtfully. "I'd better be in my green." + +"Then I can wear----" said Marjorie, and stopped to consider. She had +one frock that was very gorgeous, and she decided to wear it. It would +certainly seem meek contrasted with Mrs. Schneider's red satin. + +"Come on, and I'll bring this, and we can hook each other up," Peggy +proposed ardently, and followed her down in a kimono. + +So they hooked each other up, except where there were snappers, and +admired each other exceedingly. Marjorie's frock was a yellow one that +Lucille had hounded her into buying, and she looked as vivid in it as a +firefly. + +Francis had been given orders to wear his uniform, which he was doing. +He looked very natural that way to Marjorie; there were others of the +men in uniform as well. There were perhaps twenty people already +arrived when the girls came downstairs, seven or eight girls and twelve +or fourteen men. And Marjorie discovered that young persons in the +backwoods believed in dressing up to their opportunities. Some of the +frocks were obviously home-made, but all were gorgeous, even in the +case of one black-eyed _habitant_ damsel who had constructed a +confection, copied accurately and cleverly from some advanced +fashion-paper, out of cheesecloth and paper muslin! + +One of the men was sacrificed to the phonograph, and for hours it never +stopped going. Records had been brought by others of the men and +girls, and Marjorie had never seen such gay and unwearied dancing. She +was tossed and caught from one big backwoodsman to another, the dances +being "cut-in" shamelessly, because the women were fewer than the men. +They nearly all danced well, French or Yankee or Englishmen. There +were a couple of young Englishmen whom she particularly liked, who had +ridden twenty miles, she heard, to come and dance. And finally she +found herself touched on the shoulder by her own husband, and dancing +smoothly away with him. + +"This isn't much like the last time and place where we danced," he +said, smiling down at her and then glancing at the big, bare room with +its kerosene lamps and bough-trimmed walls. "Do you remember?" + +She laughed and nodded. "Maxim's, wasn't it? But I like this best. +There's something in the air here that keeps you feeling so alive all +the time, and so much like having fun. In spite of all our tragedies, +and your very bad temper"--she laughed up at him impertinently--"I'm +enjoying myself as much as Peggy is, though I probably don't look it." + +"There isn't so much of you to look it," explained Francis. Their eyes +both followed young Peggy, where, magnificent in her green gown and +gold slippers, she was frankly flirting with a French-Canadian who was +no match for her, but quite as frankly overcome by her charms. "But +what there is," he added politely, "is very nice indeed." + +They laughed at this like a couple of children, and moved on toward a +less frequented part of the floor, for there was a big man in khaki, +one of Francis's men, who was coming dangerously near, and had in his +eye a determination to cut in. Francis and Marjorie moved downwards +till they were almost opposite the door. And as they were dancing +across the space before the door there was a polite knock on it. They +stood still, still interlaced, as an unpartnered man lounging near it +threw it open. And on the threshold, like a ghost from the past, stood +Mr. Logan. In spite of his mysterious nervous ailment he had nerved +himself to make the journey after Marjorie, and walked in, softly and +slowly, indeed, and somewhat travel-soiled, but very much himself, and +apparently determined on a rescue. Marjorie stared at him in horror. +Rescue was all right theoretically; but not in the middle of as good a +party as this. And what could Francis do to her now? + +What he did was to release her with decision, and come forward with the +courtesy he was quite capable of at any crisis, and welcome Logan to +their home. + +"You've caught us in the middle of a party," he concluded cordially, +"but I don't suppose you feel much like dancing. Perhaps after a +little something to eat and drink you'd like to rest a bit. Come speak +to Mr. Logan, my dear," he finished, with what Marjorie stigmatized as +extreme impudence; and Marjorie, in her firefly draperies, came forward +with as creditable a calm as her husband, and greeted Mr. Logan, after +which Francis called Mrs. O'Mara to show him to a room where he could +rest. + +"I came to talk to you----" began Mr. Logan as he was led hospitably +away. + +"I'll be at your service as soon as you've had a little rest and food," +said Francis in his most charming manner. + +He actually put his arm about Marjorie again and was going on with the +dance, when the telephone rang. The woman nearest it answered it, and +called Francis over excitedly. Marjorie, too proud to ask any +questions, was nevertheless eaten up with curiosity, and finally edged +near enough to hear above the phonograph. + +"You'll be all right till to-morrow? Very well--I'll be out then and +see what to do." + +"What's the matter?" demanded Peggy, who had no pride to preserve. + +Francis smiled, but looked a little worried, too. + +"Nothing very serious, but inconvenient. Pierre, the cook for the +outfit, suddenly decided to leave to-day, and did. He said he thought +it was time he got married again, and has gone in quest of a bride, I +suppose. The deuce of it is, we're so short-handed. Well, never +mind----" + +"If mother wasn't so silly about the ghosts," began Peggy. + +"Well, she is, if ye call it silly," said Mrs. O'Mara from where she +stood with her partner in all the glory of a maroon satin that fitted +her as if she were an upholstered sofa. "I'd no more go live in that +clearin' with the Wendigees, or whatever 'tis the Canucks talk about, +than in Purgatory itself. Wendigees is Injun goblins," she explained +to her partner, "and there's worse nor them, too." + +She crossed herself expertly, and in almost the same movement swept her +partner, not of the tallest, away in a fox-trot. She fox-trotted very +well. + +Marjorie went on dancing, and hoping that Mr. Logan would go to bed and +to sleep, or have a fit of nerves that would incapacitate him from +further interfering with her. But the hope was in vain, for Francis +appeared from nowhere in about fifteen minutes, and beckoned her to +follow him to where she knew Logan was waiting. + +The two men sat down gravely in the little wooden room where Logan had +been shown. It was Francis who spoke first. + +"Mr. Logan insists, Marjorie, that you appealed to him for rescue. He +puts it to me, I must say, very reasonably, that no sensible man would +travel all this way to bring back a girl unless she had asked him to. +He says that you wrote him that you were being treated severely." + +"I didn't! I never did!" exclaimed outraged Marjorie, springing up and +standing before them. "Show me my letter!" + +"Unfortunately," said Mr. Logan wistfully, "I destroyed it, because I +have always found that the wisest thing to do with letters. But I am +prepared to take my oath that you wrote me, asking me to help you. I +am extremely sorry to find that you are in such a position as +to--forgive me, Mr. Ellison, but it seems rather like it--to be so +dominated by this gentleman as not to even admit----" + +"You see what it looks like," broke in Francis, turning to his wife +furiously. "Never ask me to believe you again. I don't trust you--I +never will trust you. Nobody will, if you keep on as you've begun. Go +back with him, then--you're not my slave, much as you may pretend it." + +"I won't!" said Marjorie spiritedly. "I've had enough of this. I'll +stay here, if it takes ten years, till you admit that you've treated me +horribly, and misjudged me. I've played fair. I've no way of proving +it, against you two men, but I have! I'll prove it by any test you +like." + +"There's only one way you can convince me that one word you've said +since you came up here was the truth," he told her, suddenly quiet and +cold. "If you stay, of your own free will, out there in the clearing; +if you take over the work that Pierre fell down on this evening, and +stay there looking after me and my men--I'll believe you. There's no +fun to doing that, just work; it stands to reason that you wouldn't do +that for any reason unless to clear yourself. If you don't want to do +that, you may go home with this gentleman; indeed, I won't let you do +anything else. Take your choice." + +Marjorie looked at him for a moment as if she wanted to do something +violent to him. Then she spoke. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"I see what you mean," she said. "I wasn't sporting in the first +place--I wouldn't live up to my bargain. That's made you more apt to +believe that I've been acting the same way ever since. You don't think +I can see _any_thing through. Well--not particularly for your +sake--more for my own, I guess--I'm going to see this through, if I die +doing it. I'll stay--and take Pierre's place, Francis." + +Francis's severe young face did not change at all. + +"Very well," he said. + +"But you understand," she went on, "that I'm not doing this to win +anything but my own self-respect. And at the end of the three months, +of course, I shall go back to New York. And you'll let me go, and see +that I get free." + +"I wouldn't do anything else for the world," said Francis in the same +unmoved voice. + +"Very well, then--we understand each other." She turned to Logan, who +had sprung to his feet and tried to interfere a couple of times while +she talked. "And please remember that this arrangement does not go +beyond us three," she said. "I would prefer that no one else knew how +matters stood." + +Logan looked a little baffled. He was ten years older than either of +them, but so many actual clashing things happening had never come his +way before. His ten years' advantage had been spent writing stylistic +essays, and such do not fit one for stepping down into the middle of a +lot of primitive young emotions. He felt suddenly helpless before +these passionate, unjust, emotional young people. He felt a little +forlorn, too, as if the main currents of things had been sweeping them +by while he stood carefully on the bank, trying not to get his feet +wet. A very genuine emotion of pity for Marjorie had brought him up +here, pity more mixed with something else than he had been willing to +admit. It was the first thing he had done for a long, long time that +was romantic and unconsidered and actual. And it appeared that, after +all, he wasn't needed. Concentration on the nuances of minor +fifteenth-century poets had unfitted him for being swept on, as these +had been, by the world-currents. They had married each other, pushed +by the mating instinct in the air--the world's insistence on marriage +to balance the death that had swept it. Now they were struggling to +find their balance against each other, to be decent, to be fair, to +make themselves and each other what they thought they ought to be. He +could see what they were doing and why much more clearly than they +could themselves. But he couldn't be a part of it--he had stood aside +from life too long, with his nerves and his passion for artistic +details and pleasures of the intellect. + +But he bowed quietly, and smiled a little. He felt suddenly very tired. + +"Certainly it shall go no farther," he assured her. "And I owe you an +apology for the trouble which I fear I have ignorantly brought upon +you. If there is anything I can say----" + +She shook her head proudly, and Francis, fronting them both, made a +motion of negation, too. + +"You must be tired," he added to his gesture. "Or would you care to +watch the dancers awhile?" + +"No, I thank you," said Mr. Logan courteously in his turn. "If you +will tell me of some near-by hotel----" + +"There's only this," explained Francis. "But I think your room is +ready by now. Miss O'Mara--I'll call her--will show you to it." + +Peggy, summoned by a signal whistle from the ballroom, convoyed Logan +upstairs with abundant good-will and much curiosity. She had never +seen any one like him before, and took in his looks and belongings with +the intense and frank absorption of an Indian. Indeed, as she +explained to Marjorie, whom she met at the foot of the stairs, it was +only by the help of the saints and her own good decency that she didn't +follow him into his room and stay there to watch him unpack. + +"With the charming, purry voice he has, and all the little curlicues +when he finishes his words, and the little cane--does he never sleep +without it, would you say?--and the little Latin books he reads----" + +But here Marjorie pulled her up. + +"How on earth do you know he reads little Latin books?" + +Peggy flushed generously. + +"Well, if you must know, I gave one teeny weeny peek through the crack +in the door after I left him, and he was thrown down across his cot +like a long, graceful tomcat or leopard or something, and he pulled a +little green leather book out of his pocket and went to reading it on +the spot. 'Pervigilium Veneris,' its name was. All down the side." + +Marjorie had heard of it; in fact, in pursuance of her education Mr. +Logan had made her read several translations of it. It had bored her a +little, but she had read it dutifully, because she had felt at that +time that it would be nice to be intellectually widened, and because +Logan had praised it so highly. + +"Oh, yes, I know," she said. + +"And is it a holy book?" Peggy inquired. + +"Just a long Latin poem about people running around in the woods at +night and having a sort of celebration of Venus's birthday," said +Marjorie absently. It occurred to her Logan would have been worse +shocked if he could have heard her offhand summing-up of his pet poem +than he had been by her attitude about going back to New York with him. +But she had more important things on her mind than Latin poetry. When +Peggy met her she was on her way to go off and think them out. + +"Good-night, Peggy," she said. "I'm going to bed. I have to get up +early and go to work." + +Peggy laughed. + +"Don't talk nonsense. The dance isn't half over, and everybody's crazy +to dance with you. You can sleep till the crack of doom to-morrow, and +with not a soul to stop you." + +Marjorie shook her head, smiling a little. + +"No. I'm going over to the clearing to do the cooking for the men. I +told Francis I would, tonight." + +Peggy made the expected outcry. + +"To begin with, I'll wager you can't cook--a little bit of a thing like +you, that I could blow away with a breath! And you'd be all alone +there. Mother won't do it because she's afraid of wraiths"--Peggy +pronounced it "wraths," and it was evidently a quotation from Mrs. +O'Mara--"and it would be twice as scary for you. Though, to be sure, I +suppose you'd have Francis. I suppose that's your reason, the both of +you--it sounds like the bossy sort of plan Francis makes." + +This had not occurred to Marjorie. But she saw now that the only +plausible reason not the truth that they could give for her taking +Pierre's job was her desire to see more of her husband. + +"Well, it's natural we should want to see more of each other," she +began lamely. + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Peggy offhandedly, and with one ear pricked +toward the music. "But when my time comes I hope I won't be that bad +that I drag a poor girl off to do cooking, so I can see the more of +her." + +"You're getting your sexes mixed," said Francis coolly, strolling up +behind the girls. "Peggy, your partner is looking for you. I'll take +you over after luncheon to-morrow, Marjorie." + +"Very well," she said. "Good-night." + +If his heart smote him, as Marjorie's little, indomitable figure +mounted the stairs, shoulders back and head high, he made no sign of +it. Instead, in spite of the preponderance of men, he went back to the +dance, and danced straight through till the end had come. + +Marjorie went to bed, as she had said she would do. She did not go to +sleep. Marjorie, as has been said, was not brave--that is, she could +and did do brave things, but she always did them with her heart in her +slippers. She did not know what the cooking would be, but she was sure +it would be worse than she could imagine, and too much for her +strength. The only comfort was the recollection that the dear brown +cabin was hers to live in, every moment that she was not at work. She +would have that rest and comfort. There was the shelf of books chosen +for her by the far-off Francis who was not doubtful of her, and loved +her and dreamed about her, and built a house all around the vision of +her. And there might be times when she could hurry up a great deal, +and lie on the window-seat and look out at the woodlands and dream. + +She finally went to sleep. She wakened with a start, early, vaguely +remembering that there was a great deal to do. Full remembrance came +as she sprang out of bed and ran down the hall to her bath. She had to +pack, and after luncheon Francis would carry her off to imprisonment +with hard labor. And--why on earth was she doing it, when she could +still go back with Logan? For a long half hour she struggled with +herself, one minute deciding; to go back, the next deciding to stay. +Finally she faced the thing. She would see it through, if it killed +her. She would make Francis respect her, if it took six months instead +of three at hard labor. She would take the wages for the work she had +done, and go back home a free, self-respecting woman. + +She dressed herself quickly, and went down to breakfast, braced to play +her part before the O'Maras. Short as her time with them, she was fond +of them already. + +"I think your devotion is a bit hard on yer wife," remarked Mrs. +O'Mara, whom Peggy had put in possession of the facts. "If I were her, +I'd value an affection more that had less o' dishwashin' in it!" + +"She's helping me over a pretty hard place." Francis said this calmly. +But he flushed in a way that, as Marjorie knew, meant he was disturbed. +"You know every man counts just now, and labor is cruelly scarce. I'm +doing mine and a day-laborer's work besides, now. And the contract has +to be finished." + +"Well, of course, there's a gown or so for her in it," said Mrs. O'Mara +comfortably. "And 'tis no more than a woman should do, to help out her +man if he needs it. Have ye any aprons or work-dresses, me dear, for +if not Peggy and me will make ye some. We've a bolt of stuff." + +"No, and I'd be very glad if you would," said Marjorie, feeling the +thing more irrevocable every moment. + +"And rest this morning, and I'll pack for you," said Peggy +affectionately. She led Marjorie out to the swing herself, and went +upstairs to pack before she went to help her mother with the breakfast +dishes. + +Marjorie was too restless to lie still. She went out and walked about +the place, and came back and lay down, and so put in the interminable +hours till luncheon. After luncheon Francis appeared like the +messenger of doom he was, put her and a small bag in the side-car and +carried her off to her place of servitude. + +The ride, in spite of all, was pleasant. For a while neither of them +spoke. Then Francis did. + +"I feel as if this was unfair to you--for apparently the O'Maras think, +and I suppose everybody will, that you really are doing this to show +your fondness for me. I shall have to ask you to let them think so." + +"I have," she answered curtly. + +"You don't understand. I--I am going to have to stay in the cabin with +you. . . . There is the little upstairs balcony, I can bunk in that. +You know--the one over the door, with the little winding stair leading +up to it. I--I'm sorry." + +This was one more thing Marjorie hadn't counted on. But after all what +did it matter? She expected to be so deadly tired from the work she +had promised to do that she would never know whether Francis was in the +house at all. And if there really were bears once in awhile it would +really be better not to be all alone with them. + +"Very well," she said. She looked hungrily at the thick trees they +were speeding through. She supposed she would never have time to lie +out under a tree, or go hunting for flowers and new little wood-paths +again. She had read stories of lone, draggled women in logging-camps, +toiling so hard they hadn't even time to comb their hair, but always +wore it pulled back tight from their forehead. This wasn't a +logging-camp, but she supposed there was very little difference. + +She was very quiet for awhile. Francis, turning finally, a little +uneasy, found that she was quietly crying. It happened that he had +never seen her cry before. + +"Please, Marjorie!" he begged in a terrified voice. "Please stop! Is +there anything I can do?" + +"You have done everything," she said in a little quiet voice that tried +not to break, but did, most movingly, on the last word. + +She said nothing more after that. After awhile she got hold of +herself, dried her eyes, and began to watch the woods desperately +again, as if she would never see them any more. If she had but known +it, she was making Francis suffer as much as she was suffering herself. + +"I'll bring the rest of your things over now," he said, when he had +carried her little bag in and put it on her bed. He went out and left +her alone, in the little wood-walled bedroom with its high, latticed +windows, and Indian blankets and birch-bark trimmings. She lay on the +bed apathetically awhile, then she began to notice things a little. +There was a kodak on her bureau. There were snowshoes, too small for a +man surely--if you could tell of a thing the size of snowshoes--hanging +on the wall. There was a fishing-rod case, with something hanging near +it that she imagined was a flybook. There was a little trowel, and a +graceful birch-bark basket, as if some one might want to go out and +bring home plants. She got up finally, her curiosity stronger than her +unhappiness, and investigated. + +There was dust on everything. That is, except in one particular. On +top of each article she had noticed was a square, clean place about the +size of an envelope. There had been a note lying or pinned to each one +of the things. + +It occurred to Marjorie that a man who had not noticed the dust might +have overlooked one of the notes; and she commenced a detailed and +careful search. The kodak told no tales, nor the snowshoes. The +fishing-rod was only explanatory to the extent of being too light and +small for a man, and the basket's only contents were two pieces of +oilcloth, apparently designed to keep wet plants from dripping too much. + +She rose and tiptoed out into the living-room. There might be more +notes there. Her spirits had gone up, and she was laughing to herself +a little--it felt like exploring Bluebeard's castle. She investigated +the book case, shaking out every book. She ran up to the toy balcony +and even pushed out the couch there, noticing for the first time that +the balcony had curtains which could be drawn. But there was nothing +behind couch or curtains. She put her hands on the little railing and +looked down at the room below her, to see if she had missed anything. +And her eyes fell on a cupboard which was level with the wall at one +side, and had so escaped her eye heretofore. Also there was a +scrapbasket which might tell tales. + +She dashed down the little stair, and made for the scrapbasket, but +Francis was more thorough than she had thought, and it was empty. She +opened the cupboard and looked in--there was a little flashlight lying +near it, and she illuminated the dark with it. There in the cupboard +lay a banjo. + +"Gracious!" breathed Marjorie. "What a memory!" For she _could_ play +the banjo, and it appeared that she must have said so to Francis in +those first days. "He must have dashed home and made out lists every +night!" she concluded as she dragged it out. It was unstrung, but new +strings lay near it, coiled in their papers. And under the papers, so +like them that he had forgotten to destroy it, lay a veritable note. + +"It isn't really from him to me," she thought, her heart beating +unaccountably as she sat back on her heels and tore the envelope open. +"It's from the Francis he thought he was, to the Marjorie he thought I +was." + +But she read it just the same. + +"For my dear little girl, if she comes true," was the superscription. + +"I don't know whether you'll find this first or last, honey. But it's +for you to play on, sometimes, in the evenings, sitting on the +window-seat with me, or out on the veranda if you'd rather. But +wherever you sit to play it, I may stay quite close to you, mayn't I?" + +She was tired and overstrained. That was probably why she put both +arms around the banjo as if it was somebody that loved her, and cried +on it very much as if it were a baby. And when she went back to her +room to replace things as she had found them she carried it with her. + +She was calmer after that, for some reason. She had the illogical +feeling that some one had been kind to her. She put her things away in +the drawers, and even had the courage to lay out for herself the +all-enveloping gingham apron, much shortened, which Mrs. O'Mara had +loaned her till she and Peggy could run up some more. She supposed +Francis would want her to start in with the cooking that night. So she +put on her plainest dress and easiest shoes, and then, there being +nothing else to do, took the banjo out into the sitting-room and began +to string it. And as she strung she thought. + +She was going to have to be pretty close to Francis till her term of +service was up; she might as well not fight him. It would make things +easier all round if she didn't, as long as she had to keep on friendly +terms before people. + +The truth was, that she couldn't but feel softened to the man who had +written that boyish, loving note. "Even if it wasn't to the her he +knew now, it was to the Marjorie of last year, and she was a near +relation," thought the Marjorie of this year whimsically. + +So when Francis came back with the rest of her baggage he found her on +the window-seat with the banjo in her lap, fingering it softly, and +smiling at him. She could see that he was a little startled, but he +had himself in hand directly, and came forward, saying, "So you found +the banjo. I got it for you in the first place. Is it any good?" + +"Oh, did you?" inquired his wife innocently. "Yes, it's a very good +banjo. Maybe I'll find time to play it some day when the housework for +the men is out of the way. What do I do when I begin? And hadn't we +better go over now?" + +"I didn't expect you to start till to-morrow," he explained. "I've +taken one of the men off his regular work to attend to it till then." + +"Oh, that's kind of you," she answered, still friendly and smiling to a +degree that seemed to perplex him. "But perhaps you could take me over +to-night and show me. I'll get supper for us two here, if you like, +and afterward we can go over, and you can introduce me to your men as +the new cook. I hope they'll like me as well as Pierre." + +He looked at her still as if she were behaving in a very unexpected +way. A tamed Marjorie was something new in his experience; and +tameness at this juncture was particularly surprising. Francis was +beginning to feel like a brute, which may have been what his wife +intended. + +"That's very kind of you," he managed to say. "You're sure you are not +too tired for any of that?" + +"Being tired isn't going to count, is it?" she asked, smiling. "No, I +don't mind doing it. It will be like playing with a doll-house. You +know, I love this little place." + +In her wicked heart she was thinking, "He shall miss me--oh, if I can +keep my temper and be perfectly lovely for three months he shall miss +me so when I go and get my divorce that he will want to _die_!" And +she looked up at him, one hand on the banjo, as if they were the best +friends in the world. + +"It isn't time to get supper yet, is it?" she pursued. "You used to +like to hear me sing. Don't you want to sit down here by me while I +see how the banjo works, just for a little while?" + +"No!" said Francis abruptly. "I have to--I have to go and see after a +lot more work." + +He flung out the door, and it crashed after him. And Marjorie laughed +softly and naughtily to herself over the banjo, and pushed the note +that had dwelt within farther down inside her dress. "I wish I had the +rest!" said she. "Let me see. The kodak was for both of us to go out +and take pictures together, of course. The snowshoes--that would have +had to wait till winter. The basket and trowel were so we could plant +lots of lovely woodsy things we found around the cabin, to see if they +would take root. And he must have been going to teach me to fish. I +wonder why he wasn't going to teach me to shoot. There must be a rifle +somewhere--maybe it hasn't lost its note, if it was hidden hard enough. +And he remembered how I liked 'surprises.' He certainly would have +made a good lover if I hadn't----" + +She did not finish. She got up and hunted for the rifle, which was not +to be found. Then she went into the kitchen and hunted for stores, and +wondered how on earth a balanced menu could be evolved from cans and +dried things exclusively. But the discovery of a cache of canned +vegetables helped her out, and as she really was a good cook, and loved +cooking, what Francis returned to was not supper, but a very excellent +little dinner. And his wife had found time, as well, to dress herself +in the most fluffy and useless-looking of rosy summer frocks, with +white slippers. She looked more fragile and decorative and childish +than he had ever seen her, leaning across the little table talking +brightly to him about her adventures in the discovery of the things +that made up the meal. + +An old quotation about "breaking a butterfly upon a wheel" came to him +as she chattered on, telling him delightedly how she had made up her +mind to surprise him with tomato bisque if it was her last act, and how +she had discovered a box that was labeled "condensed milk," and opened +it with infinite pains and a hatchet; and how after she had nearly +killed herself struggling with it, she had finally opened it, and found +that what it really contained was deviled ham in small, vivid tins; and +how she triumphed over Fate by using the ham with other things for +_hors d'oeuvres_; and how she finally found powdered milk in other +tins, and achieved her goal after all. + +She was exactly as she would have been if all had gone well; and it is +not to be supposed that Francis could help feeling it. At first he was +quiet, almost gloomy; but presently, as she talked gaily on about all +the trifles she could think of--domestic trifles all of them, or things +to do with the cabin and its surroundings--he gave himself up to the +enjoyment of the hour. It was as if he said to himself, "I'll forget +for this little space of time that it isn't real." He looked +absorbedly into the little vivid face at the other side of the table, +and once, before he thought, put out his hand to take her hand where it +lay, little and slim and fragile-looking, on the table. He drew it +back quickly, but not before Marjorie had seen the instinctive motion. + +She smiled at him brilliantly, and touched him lightly on the shoulder +as she passed. + +"Come, help me, Francis," she said. "This is our house, you know, and +I mustn't do everything alone. And then I must hurry over to the other +cabin, and look over my new kingdom, and it would be a shame to do it +after your faithful slaves had gone to bed. They would have to get up +and dress and stand at attention, wouldn't they, when they heard your +august footstep?" + +She laughed openly at him as she went into the kitchen, and he followed +her and helped her clear away obediently and smiling. + +"And now, we'll go over," she said, when everything was in place again. +"Get me my long blue cape, Francis, please. It's hanging against the +door in my room." + +He came and wrapped her in it, and crossed with her the space between +the two cabins. + +"They're up yet," he said, and knocked on the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There was nothing surprising or exciting to behold when the door flew +open, and the two entered. + +"Oh, I've met you before," said Marjorie politely to the man who had +opened it. She had danced with him the night before, and it was +pleasant to find that she had not to deal entirely with strangers. He +was a tired-looking, middle-aged Englishman, with a tanned, plump face +that had something whimsical and what Marjorie characterized to herself +as motherly about it. And the fact that he was clad in a flannel shirt +and very disreputable overalls did not make him the less distinctively +gentle-bred. He greeted her courteously, and took out his pipe--a pipe +that was even more disreputable than his clothes. + +"Mrs. Ellison wanted to come over to-night and see what she had to do," +Francis explained. + +"You mean that you were in earnest about her volunteering to take +Pierre's place?" demanded the Englishman, looking at the little smiling +figure in pink organdy. + +"I know I look useless," interposed Marjorie for herself. "But Mr. +Ellison will tell you that I really can work hard. If somebody will +only show me a little about the routine I'll be all right." + +"I've taken over Pierre's job for the moment," he replied. "Assuredly +I'll show you all I can. But it's rough work for a girl." + +Marjorie smiled on. + +"Very well, show me, please," she demanded, as she would if the +question had been one of walking over red-hot plowshares. + +She stood and looked about her as he answered her, so intent that she +did not hear what he replied. + +The place had rows of bunks in various stages of untidiness. It was +lighted by two very smoky kerosene lamps, and had in its middle a table +with cards on it. Three men sat about the table, as if they did not +quite know whether to come forward and be included in the conversation +or not. At the further end Marjorie could see the door that led to the +cooking-place, and eyed it with interest. + +"These are all of the men who are here," Francis explained. "There is +another camp some miles further in the forest." + +"Am I to cook for them as well?" demanded Marjorie coolly. + +"Oh, no," the Englishman answered. He seemed deeply shocked at the +idea. "They have a cook. By the way, Mrs. Ellison, it is only poetic +justice that you should have taken over this job; for do you know that +the reason Pierre gave for his sudden flight in the direction of +marriage was that you and Mr. Ellison looked so happy he got lonesome +for a wife!" + +"Good gracious!" gasped Marjorie before she remembered herself. . . . +"That is--I didn't know our happiness showed as far off as that." + +She did not dare to look at Francis, whom she divined to be standing +rigidly behind her. "And now could you show me the place where I have +to cook, and the things to cook with?" + +Mr. Pennington--Harmsworth-Pennington was his veritable name, as she +learned later--took the hint and swept her immediately off to the +lean-to. The _tout-ensemble_ was not terrifying. It consisted of a +kerosene stove of two burners, another one near it for emergencies, a +wooden cupboard full of heavy white dishes, and a lower part to it +where the stores were. + +"The hardest thing for you will be getting up early," he said +sympathetically. "The men have to have breakfast and be out of here by +seven o'clock. And they take dinner-pails with them. Then there's +nothing to get till the evening meal." + +"Of course there'd be tidying to do," suggested Marjorie avidly, for +she hated disorder, and saw a good deal about her. + +"If you had the strength for it," said Pennington doubtfully. + +"Francis thinks I have," she answered with a touch of wickedness. + +Francis, behind her, continued to say nothing at all. + +She spent five minutes more in the lean-to with the opportune +Pennington, and gathered from him, finally, that next morning there +would have to be a big pot of oatmeal cooked, and bacon enough fried +for five hungry men. Griddle cakes, flapjacks, or breadstuff of some +kind had to be produced also; coffee in a pot that looked big enough +for a hotel, with condensed milk, and a meal apiece for their +dinner-hour. + +"I just give 'em anything cold that's left over," said Pennington +unsympathetically. "There has to be lots of it, that's all." + +Marjorie cried out in horror. + +"Oh, they mustn't have those cold! But--do they have to have all that +every morning?" + +"Great Scott, no!" exclaimed the scandalized Pennington. "Some days +they just have flapjacks, and some days just bacon and eggs and bread. +And sometimes oatmeal extra. I didn't mean that all these came at +once." + +She felt a bit relieved. + +"I'll be in to-morrow at six," she assured him, still smiling bravely. +"I think I can manage it alone." + +"One of us can always do the lifting for you, and odd chores," he told +her. + +After that she met the other men, and went back to the cabin. Francis +was still following her in silence. + +"How nice they are, even the grumpy ones!" + +she told him radiantly. "Don't forget to knock on my door in time +to-morrow, Francis." + +She gave him no time to reply. She simply went to bed. And in spite +of all that had come and gone she was so tired that she fell asleep as +soon as she was there. + +She was awakened by Francis's knock at what seemed to her the middle of +the night. Then she remembered that the pines shut off the light so +that it was high daylight outside before it was in here. A vague +feeling of terror came over her before she remembered why; and for a +moment she lay still in the unfamiliar bed, trying to remember. When +she did remember she was so much more afraid that she sprang out +hurriedly, because things, for some reason, are always worse when you +aren't quite awake. Or better. But there was nothing to be better +just now. + +She bathed and dressed with a dogged quickness, trying meanwhile to +reassure herself. After all, it was only cooking on a little larger +scale than she was used to. After all, it was only for a few months. +After all, she mightn't be broken down by it. And--this was the only +thing that was any real comfort--it would free her so completely of +Francis, this association with him, and the daily, hourly realization +that he had treated her in a cruel, unjust way, that when she went back +she would be glad to forget that he had ever lived; even the days when +he had been so pleasant and comforting. + +If Francis knew that the little aproned figure, with flushed cheeks and +high-held head, was terrified and homesick under the pride, he said +nothing. Nothing, that is, beyond the ordinary courtesies. He offered +to help her on with her cloak. After one indignant look at him she let +him. The indignation would have puzzled him; but Marjorie's feeling +was that a man who would doom you to this sort of a life, put you to +such a test as Francis had, was adding insult to injury in helping you +on and off with wraps. He, of course, couldn't grasp all this, and +felt a little puzzled. + +She walked out and over to the door of the lean-to, leaving him to +follow. + +Pennington's kind and motherly face was peering anxiously out. It came +to Marjorie that she was going to have a good deal of trouble keeping +him from taking too much work off her shoulders. Some men have the +maternal instinct strongly developed, and of such, she was quite sure, +was Pennington. She wondered what he was doing so far from England, +and what she could do to pay him back for his friendliness--for she +felt instinctively that she had a friend in him. + +Sure enough, he had started the big pot of water boiling for the +oatmeal, and was salting it as she entered. + +"Oh, let me!" she cried, and before his doubting eyes she began to stir +the oatmeal in. + +"I suppose there never was a double boiler big enough," she began +doubtfully. "It would save so much trouble." + +"We might make one out of a dishpan, perhaps, swung inside this pot," +he said. + +"And I always thought Englishmen weren't resourceful!" she commented, +smiling at him. "We'll try it to-morrow." + +Meanwhile, having stirred in all the oatmeal necessary, she lowered the +burners a little and began on the coffee. Then she saw the point of +the other stove, for she found she needed it for the bacon and +biscuits. The actual work was not so complicated; the thing that +appalled her was Pennington's insistence on the awful amount of food +needed for the six men and herself. But, of course, as she reminded +herself, there _was_ a difference between cooking for Cousin Anna and +herself on the maid's day out, or for Lucille and herself, and cooking +for six hungry men who worked in the open air at reforesting. She did +not quite know how people reforested, but she had a vague image in her +mind of people going along with armfuls of trees which they stuck in +holes. + +Presently the breakfast was prepared, and Pennington banged briskly on +a dishpan and howled "Chow!" in a way that was most incongruous. He +really should have been a Rural Dean, by his looks and his gentle, +almost clergymanly genial manners, and every time Marjorie looked at +him in his rough clothes she got a shock because he wasn't one. + +There was a long trestled table down the middle of the men's cabin, and +each man, streaming out, picked up a plate and got it filled with food, +and sat himself down in what seemed to be an appointed place. There +were mugs for coffee, and Marjorie, under Pennington's direction, set +them at all the places, and then went up and down filling them. There +was a tin of condensed milk on the table, set there by Pennington's +helpful hand. + +She ran up and down, waiting on her charges, and feeling very much as +if she were conducting a Sunday-school class picnic. The men, except +Pennington and the other young Englishman, who never talked to the last +day she knew him, seemed struck into terrified silence by their new +cook. + +And then a terrible thought came over her--it was rather a funny one, +though, for the excitement of doing all this new work had stirred her +up, rather than saddened her. She had never prepared any dinner-pails +for them. She fled back into the cook-place precipitately, snatched +the pails down from the shelf, and began feverishly spreading large +biscuits with butter and bacon. + +"There's marmalade in the big tin back of you," said Pennington's +softly cultivated Oxford voice from the doorway. "And if you fill the +small buckets with coffee they will take them, together with the rest +of their dinners." + +"But is that enough variety, just bacon and marmalade sandwiches?" she +asked. + +He nodded. + +"There are tinned vegetables that you can give them to-night, if you +wish." + +So, he helping her, they got the last dinner-pail filled before the +hungry horde poured out again. Each passed with a sheepish or +courteous word of thanks, took his pail and went on. It did not occur +to Marjorie till she saw Pennington go, eating as he went a large +biscuit, that he must have cut his own meal very short in order to help +her. + +"What nice people there are in the world!" she breathed, sinking on the +doorstep a minute to think and take breath. + +She sat there longer than she really should, because the air was so +crisp and lovely, and just as she was beginning to rise and go in to +the summoning dishes, a small striped squirrel trotted across the grass +and requested scraps with impudent wavings of his two small front paws. +So she really had to stay and feed him. And after that there was a +bird that actually seemed as if it was going to walk up to her, almost +as the squirrel had done. He flew away just at the most exciting +moment, but Marjorie didn't hold it against him. And then--why, then, +she felt suddenly sleepy and lay down with her cloak swathed around +her, under a tree, for just a minute. And when she looked at her +wrist-watch it was eleven o'clock. + +She felt guilty to the last degree. What would they say at the office +to a young woman who took naps in the morning? + +And then the blessed memory that there was no reason why she shouldn't +do exactly as she pleased with her time, so long as the dishes were +done after awhile, came to her. + +"There's no clock in the forest," she thought, smiling drowsily; and +lay serenely on the pine-needles for another half hour. + +When she did go in, the quantity of dishes wasn't so terrific. There +had been no courses. Each man had left behind him an entirely empty +plate and mug and knife and fork; that was all. And Marjorie seemed to +have more energy and delight in running about and doing things than she +had ever known she possessed, in the heavy New York air. She washed +the dishes and swept out the cabin with a gay good will that surprised +herself. She tried to feel like Cinderella or Bluebeard's wife or some +of the oppressed heroines who had loomed large in her past, but it +wasn't to be done. After that she was so hungry--her own breakfast had +been taken in bites, on the run--that she ate up all the remaining +biscuits, after toasting them and making herself bacon sandwiches as +she had for the men; quite forgetting that her own abode lay near, +filled to repletion with stores of a quite superior kind. The bacon +sandwiches and warmed-over coffee tasted better than anything she had +ever eaten in her life. + +And then there was a whole long afternoon ahead of her, before she had +to do a solitary thing for the men's supper! + +"I must have 'faculty'!" said Marjorie to herself proudly, thinking +more highly of her own talents than she ever had before. The fact that +as a filing-clerk she had not shone had made her rather meek about her +own capacities. She had always taken it impudently for granted that +she was attractive, because the fact had been, so to speak, forced on +her. But there had been a very humble-minded feeling about her +incapacity for a business life. Miss Kaplan, for instance, she of the +exuberant emotions and shaky English, had a record for accuracy and +speed in her particular line which was unsullied by a single lapse. +And Lucille, lazy, luxury-loving Lucille, concealed behind her +fluffinesses an undoubted and remorseless executive ability. Compared +to them Marjorie had always felt herself a most useless person. That +was why she always was meeker in office hours than out of them. And to +find herself swinging this work, even for one meal, without a feeling +of incapacity and unworthiness, made her very cheered indeed. The +truth was, she was doing a thing she had a talent for. + +"And I'm not tired!" she marveled. The change of air was responsible +for that, of course. + +She went back to her forgotten cabin, singing beneath her breath. It +had a rather tousled air, but in her new enthusiasm she went through it +like a whirlwind. She attacked her own room first, and created +spotless order in it. Then she went at the living-room. Then--it was +with a curious reluctance--she climbed the stairs to Francis's absurd +little curtained balcony. + +Francis, evidently, did not sleep so very well, or he had not that +night at all events. The couch was very tossed, one pillow lay on the +ground with a dent in its midst as if an angry hand had thrust it +there, and, most unfairly, hit it after it was down. The covers were +"every which way," as Marjorie said, picking them up and shaking them +out with housewifely care. Francis's pajamas and a shabby brown terry +bath-robe lay about the floor, the bathrobe in a ridiculously lifelike +position with both its sleeves thrown forward over the pillow, as if it +were trying to comfort it for all it had been through. + +Everything had aired since morning, so she disguised the couch again in +its slip-cover, put the cretonne covers back on the pillows, and the +couch stood decorous and daytime-like again. She laid her hand on the +pillow for a moment after she was all through, as if she were touching +something she was sorry for. + +"Poor Francis!" she said softly, smiling a little. "After all, he +isn't so terribly much older than I am." She felt suddenly motherly +toward him, and like being very kind. That maltreated pillow was so +funny and boylike. "It isn't a bit like the storybooks," she mused. +"In them you get all thrilled because a man is so masterful. Well," +Marjorie tried to be truthful, even when she was alone with herself and +the couch, "I guess I was thrilled, a little, when he carried me off +that way. I certainly couldn't have gone if I'd known about the +housework business. But now, the only part of him I like is when he +_isn't_ sitting on me. . . . I wonder if I'll ever be the same person, +after all this?" + +She never would. But, though she wondered, she did not really think +that she was changing or would change. As a matter of fact, she had +made more decisions, gone through more emotions, and become more of a +woman in the little time since Francis had carried her off than in all +her life before. The Marjorie of a year ago would not have answered +the challenge of her husband to prove herself an honorable woman by +taking over a long, hard, uncongenial task. She would have picked up +her skirts and fled back to New York with Logan. + +"I suppose it's the war," said Marjorie uncomfortably. "Dear me, I did +think that when the war was over it would be over. And everything +seems so _real_ yet. I wonder if when I'm an old, old lady talking to +Lucille's grandchildren I shall tell them, 'Ah, yes, my dears, your +Grand-aunt Marjorie was a very different person in the days before the +war! In those days you didn't have to be in earnest about anything. +You didn't even to have any principles that showed. Life wasn't real +and earnest a bit. People just went to tea-dances and talked +flippantly, and some of the men had drinks. And everybody laughed a +great deal, and it was decadent, and the end of an era, and a lot of +shocking things--but it wasn't half as hard as living now, because +there weren't standards, except when they were had by aunts and +employers and such people. Ah, them was the days!' And the +grand-nieces, or whatever relation they'll be to me, will look shocked, +because they'll be children of their time, and it will still be +fashionable to be earnest, and they'll say, 'Dear me, what a terrible +time to have lived in!' And they'll be a little bit envious. And +they'll say, 'And were even you frivolous?' And I'll sigh, and say, +'Yes, indeed, my dears! I married a worthy young man (as young men +went then) in a thoughtless moment, and then when he came back I +wouldn't stay married to him. But by that time the war was over, and +we'd all stopped being flippant and frivolous. So I washed dishes for +him three months before I went and left him.' And they'll commend me +faintly for doing that much, and go away secretly shocked." + +Marjorie was so cheered up by her own fervent imaginings by this time +that she stopped to sit down on the arm of a chair, all by herself, and +laugh out loud. And so Francis saw her, as he came in for something, +and looked up, guided by her laugh. He had scarcely heard her laugh +before for some time. She was perched birdlike on the arm of the chair +at the foot of his couch, just to be glimpsed between the draperies of +the balcony. She looked, to his eyes, like something too fragile and +lovely to be real. And she was laughing! That did not seem real, +either. She might have been pleasant, even cheerful, but this sprite, +swinging there and laughing at nothing whatever, almost frightened him. +For an awful moment he wondered if he had driven Marjorie mad. . . . +He had been unkind to her--hard on her, he knew. + +Before he could stop himself he had rushed up the stairs to the little +balcony. + +"Marjorie--Marjorie! What were you laughing about?" he demanded in +what seemed to her a very surprising way. + +"Why, don't you want me to laugh?" she demanded in her turn, very +naturally. + +"I--why--yes! But you frightened me, laughing all by yourself that +way." + +"Oh, I see!" said Marjorie, looking a little embarrassed. "People +often look surprised when I forget, and do it on the street. I think +about things, and then when they seem funny to me I laugh. Don't you +ever have thoughts all by yourself that you laugh over, when you're +alone?" + +Francis shook his head. He had a good mind, and a quick one, but he +did not use it as something to amuse himself with, as Marjorie did with +hers. He used it to work with. + +"I beg your pardon for startling you," he said. "But----" + +"I know. It looked queer. I was just thinking how different everybody +and everything is since the war. We're all so much more grown up, and +responsible. And I was hearing myself talk to Lucille's grandchildren, +and tell them all about the days before the war, when everybody said +they just didn't care. . . . Aren't things different?" + +Francis nodded. + +"Yes, they're different. I don't know exactly how, but they are. And +we are." + +"Do you think you are?" + +Francis sat down on the couch, looked at her, bright-eyed and grave, +and nodded again. + +"Yes. All the values are changed. At least they are for me and most +of the men I came across. I don't think the women are so different; +you see, the American women didn't have anything much to change them, +except the ones who went over. We were in such a little while it +didn't have time to go deep." + +He meant no disparagement, but Marjorie flared up. + +"You mean me--and Lucille--and all the rest!" she accused him. "You're +quite wrong. That was just what I was telling Lucille's grandchildren. +We are different. Why, do you think I would have thought I owed you +anything--owed it to you to stay up here and drudge--before the war? I +never thought about being good, particularly, or honorable, or owing +things to people. Oh, I suppose I did, in a way, because I'd always +been brought up to play fair. But never with the top of my mind. You +know yourself, all anybody wanted was a good time. If anybody had told +me, when I was seventeen--I was seventeen when the war started, wasn't +I?--that I'd care more about standards than about fun, I'd have just +thought they were lying, or they didn't know. And right and wrong have +come to matter in the most curious way." + +"I think perhaps," he answered her--they had quite forgotten that they +were enemies by now--"that the war was in the air. Maybe the world +felt that there wouldn't be much chance for good times for it--for our +generation--again, and snatched at it. You know, for a good many years +things won't be the same, even for us in America, who suffered less, +perhaps, than any other nation in the world. Life's harder, and it +will be." + +"Oh, always?" demanded Marjorie. "You know, Francis, I always wanted +good times worse than anything in the world, but that isn't saying I +had them. I didn't. Won't I ever have any more? That few weeks when +I raced around with you and Billy and Lucille was really the first time +I'd been free and had fun with people I liked, ever since I'd been +born. And--and I suppose it went to my head a little bit." + +She looked up at him like a child who has been naughty and is sorry, +and he looked over at her, his face going tense, as it did when he felt +things. + +"I don't think we were exactly free agents," he said musingly. +"Something was pushing us. I'm not sorry . . . except that it was +hardly fair to you----" + +She leaned toward him impulsively, holding out her hand. He bent +toward her, flushing. They were nearer than they had been since that +day when his summons to war came. And then Fate--as Mr. Logan might +have said--knocked at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The two on the balcony moved a little away from each other. Then +Marjorie, coloring for no reason whatsoever, stepped down the toy +stairs that wound like a doll's-house staircase, and went to the door. + +It was Peggy O'Mara, no more and no less, but what a Peggy! She looked +like an avenging goddess. But it was not at Marjorie that her +vengeance was directed, it was plainly to be seen, for she swept the +smaller girl to her bosom with one strong and emotional arm, and said, +"You poor abused little lamb! I've come to tell you that I know all +about it!" + +Marjorie jerked herself away in surprise. For one thing, she had been +very much interested in the conversation she had been carrying on with +Francis, and had entirely forgotten that she might ever have had any +claim to feel abused. For another thing, Peggy knew more than she +should, if Logan had kept his promise. + +"Won't--won't you come in?" she asked inadequately. "And please tell +me what you mean." + +"Mean! I mean I know all about it!" said Peggy, who was sixteen only, +in spite of her goddess-build, and romantic. + +She came in, nevertheless, holding tight to Marjorie as if she might +faint, unaided; guided her to the downstairs couch, and sat down with +her, holding tight to her still. + +"Yes," said Marjorie, with a certain amount of coldness, considering +that she was being regarded as an abused lamb, "you said that before. +And now please tell me what it is that you know all about." + +"Well, if that's the way you take being defended," said Peggy with a +certain amount of temper, "I'll just go back the way I came!" + +"But, Peggy, I don't know anything about it!" she pleaded. "Please +tell me everything." + +"There's nothing much to tell," said Peggy, quite chilly in her turn. +But now she had more to face than Marjorie. Francis, militant and +stern, strode down the steps and planted himself before the girls. He +fixed his eye on Peggy in a way that she clearly was not used to stand +up under, and said, "Out with it, Peggy!" + +So Peggy, under his masculine eye, "made her soul." + +"It's nothing that concerns you, Francis Ellison!" she began. "It's +simply that I've learned how a man can treat a woman. And you--you +that I've known since I was a child! And telling me fairy-tales of +bold kidnapers and cruel husbands and all, and I never knowing that you +were going to grow up and be one!" + +Marjorie laughed--she couldn't help it, Peggy was so severe. Francis +looked at her again in some surprise, and Peggy was plainly annoyed. + +"I should say," said Francis with perfect calm, "that our honorable +friend Mr. Logan had been confiding in you. His attitude is a little +biased; however, let that pass. Just what did he say?" + +"Just nothing at all, except that you were a charming young man, and he +wished that he were as able to face the world and its problems as you," +Peggy answered spiritedly. "None of your insinuations about his honor, +please. And shame on you to malign a sick man!" + +"Oh, is Mr. Logan sick?" asked Marjorie, forgetting other interests. +She turned to Francis, forgetting their feud again, in a common and +inexcusable curiosity. "Francis! Now we'll know what it really was +that ailed him--the nervous spells, you know? I always _told_ you it +wasn't fits!" + +"How do you know it isn't?" said Francis. "Peggy hasn't said." + +"She wouldn't be so interested if it was," said Marjorie triumphantly. +"It takes an old and dear wife to stand _that_ in a man." + +They had no business to be deflected from Peggy and her temper by any +such consideration; but it was a point which had occupied their letters +for a year, off and on, and there had been bets upon it. + +"Let me see, I suppose those wagers stand--was it candy, or a Hun +helmet?" said Francis. + +"Candy," said Marjorie. "But it was really the principle of the thing. +Ask her." + +Francis turned back to Peggy, who was becoming angrier and angrier; for +when you start forth to rescue any one, it is annoying, even as Logan +found it, to have the rescue act as if it were nothing to her whether +she was rescued or not. + +"Now, what really does ail him, Pegeen?" he asked affectionately. "Did +you see him, or don't you know?" + +"Of course I saw him--am I not nursing him? And of course I know! +Poor man, the journey up here nearly killed him." + +"How? It seemed like a nice journey to me," said Marjorie +thoughtlessly. + +"There's no use pretending you're happy," said Peggy relentlessly. "I +know you're not. It's very brave, but useless." + +"But has he fits?" demanded Marjorie with unmistakable intensity. + +"He has not," said Peggy scornfully. "I don't know where you'd get the +idea. He fainted this morning when he tried to get up. He didn't come +down to breakfast, and we thought him tired out, and let him lie. But +after awhile, perhaps at nine or so, we thought it unnatural that any +one should be asleep so long. So I tiptoed up, because when you're as +fat as mother it does wear you to climb more stairs than are needful. +And there was the poor man, all dressed beautifully, even to his +glasses with the black ribbon, lying across the bed, in a faint." + +"Are you sure it was a faint?" the Ellisons demanded with one voice. + +Peggy looked more scornful, if possible, than she had for some time. + +"We had to bring him to with aromatic spirits of ammonia, and slapping +his hands. And the doctor says it's his heart. That is, it isn't +really his heart, but his nerves are so bad that they make some sort of +a condition that it's just as bad as if he had heart-trouble really. +Simulated heart-trouble, the doctor called it. You understand, he +doesn't pretend, himself; his heart makes his nerves pretend, as well +as I can make it out. Sure it must be dreadful to have nerves that act +that way to you. I wonder what nerves feel like, anyway." + +Peggy herself was getting off the topic, through her interest in the +subject. + +"But how did you find out that I was beating Marjorie?" inquired +Francis calmly, pulling her back. + +She shot a furious glance at him. + +"I wish you hadn't reminded me. I'd forgotten all about hating you for +your horrid ways. It was just before he came to. He thought he was +talking to you, and he said, 'You had no right to force her to do that +work, Ellison, it will kill her.'" + +"And was that all?" asked Marjorie. + +"Wasn't that enough? And I ask you, Marjorie Ellison, isn't it true? +Hasn't Francis forced you to come over here and do his cooking for him? +Oh, Francis, I can't understand it in you," said poor Peggy, looking up +at him appealingly. "You that were always so tender and kind with +every one, to make a poor little thing like Marjorie work at cooking +and cleaning for great rough men." + +Francis had colored up while she spoke. One hand, behind his back, was +clenching and unclenching nervously. He was fronting the two girls, +but turned a little away from Marjorie and toward Peggy, so Marjorie +could see it. Aside, from that he was perfectly quiet, and so far as +any one could see, entirely unmoved. Only Marjorie knew he was not +unmoved. That dark, thin, clenching hand--she had seen it before, +restless and betraying, and she knew it meant that Francis was angry or +unhappy. She felt curiously out of it all. She had made up her mind +once and for all to go through with her penance, if one could call it +that. Her mind was so unsettled and hard to make up that, once made up +on this particular point, she felt it would be more trouble to stop +than to go on. She leaned a little back against Peggy's guarding arm, +and let the discussion flow on by her. + +"Marjorie is free to go at any time; she knows that," he said. + +Marjorie looked at him full. She said nothing whatever. But Peggy's +Irish wit jumped at the right solution. + +"Yes, free to go, no doubt, but with what kind of a string to it?" she +demanded triumphantly. "I'll wager it's like the way mother makes me +free of things. 'Oh, sure ye can smoke them little cigarette things if +ye like--_but_ if ye do it's out of my door ye'll go!'" + +Marjorie thought it was time to take a hand here. Francis was standing +there, still, not trying to answer Peggy. He seemed to Marjorie +pitifully at their mercy; why, she did not know, for he had neither +said nor looked anything but the utmost sternness. And Marjorie +herself knew that he was not being kind or fair--that he had not been, +in his exaction. Still she looked at that hand, moving like a sentient +thing, and spoke. + +"Peggy, some day I'll tell you all about it, or Francis will. You and +Francis have been friends for a long, long time, and I don't want you +to be angry with him because of me--just a stranger. And for the +present, I can tell you only this, that Francis is right, I am doing +this of my own free will. You are a darling to come and care about +what happens to me." + +Peggy was softened at once. She pulled Marjorie to her and gave her a +sounding kiss. + +"And you're a darling, too, and you're not a stranger--don't we love +you for Francis's sake--oh, there, and I was forgetting! I suppose I'm +not to be down on you, Francis. But I couldn't help thinking things +were queer. It's not the customary way to let your bride spend her +honeymoon, from all I've heard. Oh, and it's five o'clock, and it +takes an hour and a half to get back, though I borrowed the priest's +housekeeper's bicycle." + +She sprang up, dropping from her lap the bundle of aprons which +Marjorie had waited for. + +"Mind, Francis, I've not forgiven you yet," she called back. "When +poor Mr. Logan is better I'll have the whole story out of him, or my +name's not Margaret O'Mara." + +She was on her bicycle and away before they could answer her. + +"And it's time I went over to the cook-shed," said Marjorie evenly, +rising, too, and beginning to unfasten the bundle of aprons. They were +a little hard to unfasten, from the too secure knots Mrs. O'Mara had +made, and she dropped down again, bending intently over them to get +them free. Suddenly they were pushed aside, and Francis had flung +himself down by her, with his head on her knees, holding her fast. + +"Oh, Marjorie, Marjorie!" he said. "Don't stay. I can't bear to have +you acting like this--like an angel. I've been unfair and unkind--it +didn't need Peggy to tell me that. Go on away from me. And forgive +me, if you can, some time." + +She looked down at the black head on her knees. It was victory, +then--of a sort. And suddenly her perverse heart hardened. + +"Please get up, Francis," she said in the same cold and even voice she +had used before. "I haven't time for this sort of thing; it's time I +went over and got the men their supper. They'll be ready for it at +six, Pennington said." + +He rose quietly and stood aside, while she took off the apron of Mrs. +O'Mara's that she had been making shift with, and put one of the new +ones on in its place, and went out of their cabin. She never looked +back. She went swiftly and straight to the cook-shed and began work on +the evening meal. There was a feeling of triumph in her heart. And +nothing on earth would tempt her to go now. Francis was beginning to +feel his punishment. And she wasn't through with him yet. + +She found an oven which sat on top of the burners, and had just managed +to lift it into its place when Pennington walked leisurely in behind +her. + +"I had to come back to get your husband," he explained, "and I thought +I'd see if you were in any troubles. Let me set that straight for you." + +He adjusted it as it should be, and lingered to tell her anything else +she might wish to know. + +"I'm going to give them codfish cakes for breakfast," she confided to +him, "a great many! But what on earth can I have for their dinners?" + +"There is canned corn beef hash," he suggested. "That would do all +right for to-night. Or you might have fish." + +"Where would I get it?" + +"Indians. They come by with strings of fish to sell, often. I think I +can go out and send one your way." + +"You speak as if there were Indians around every corner," she said. + +"No-o, not exactly," he answered her slowly. "But the truth is that I +saw one, with a string of fish, crossing up from the stream, not long +ago. As I was riding and he walking, I think it likely that I shall +intercept him on my way back. That is, if you want the fish." + +"Oh, indeed, I do," she assured him eagerly. "That is--do you think +the Indian--he won't hurt me, will he? And do you think he would clean +them for me?" + +"I think I can arrange that with him," Pennington, who was rapidly +assuming the shape of a guardian angel to Marjorie, assured her. + +"And now I must go and tell your husband that he's wanted down where +the men are." + +"Thank you," she said, looking up at his plump, tanned, rather quaint +face--so like, as she always thought, a middle-aged rector's in an +English novel--with something grotesque and yet pathetic about it. "I +don't know what I'd do without your help. In a day or so I may get to +the point where I'll be very clever, and very independent." + +She smiled up at him, and he looked down at her with what she +characterized in her own mind as his motherly expression. "You're such +a little thing!" he said as if he couldn't help it. Then, after a +hasty last inquiry as to whether there was anything more he could do, +he went off in search of Francis. + +She looked after him with a feeling of real affection. + +"He's the nearest I have to a mother!" she said to herself whimsically, +as she addressed herself to the preparation of the evening meal. She +had conceived the brilliant plan of doing the men's lunches, where it +was possible, the night before. In this way, she thought, though it +might take a little more time in the afternoon, it would make things +easier in the mornings. Such an atmosphere of hurry as she had lived +in that morning, while it had been rather fun for once, would be too +tiring in the long run, she knew. And the run would be long--three +months. + +The Indian came duly with the fish, all cleaned and ready to fry. She +was baking beans in the oven for to-morrow's luncheons. So she baked +the potatoes, too, and hunted up some canned spinach, and then--having +miscalculated her time--conceived the plan of winning the men's hearts +with a pudding. She was sure Pierre's cookery had never run to such +delicacies. And even then there was time to spare. The men were late, +or something had happened. So she looked to be sure that there was +nothing more she could do, and then strayed off to the edges of the +woods, looking for flowers. She found clumps of bloodroot, great +anemone-flowers that she picked by the handful. There were some little +blue flowers, also, whose name she did not know; and sprays of +wintergreen berries and long grasses. Greatly daring, she put one of +the low, flat vases she had found in her cabin in the center of the +men's trestle-table, and filled it with her treasure-trove. Then, a +little tired, she sat down by the table herself, resting for a moment +before the drove should come home. + +They were in on her before she knew it. She thought afterward that she +must have fallen asleep. How dainty and how winning a picture of home +she made for the rough men, she never thought. But the men did, and +the foremost one, a big, rough Yankee, instinctively halted on tiptoe +as he saw her, leaning back in her chair with her eyes shut. Marjorie +was not in the least fragile physically, but she was so little and +slender that, in spite of her wild-rose flush and her red lips, she +always impressed men with a belief in her fragility. + +"Look at there, boys!" he half said, half whispered; and the crew +halted behind him, looking at Marjorie as if she were some very +wonderful and lovely thing. + +The steps, or perhaps the eyes fixed admiringly on her, woke Marjorie. +She opened her eyes, and smiled a little. She had gone to sleep very +pleased, on account of the flowers, and of having arranged her work so +it fitted in properly. + +"Oh, you've come!" she said, smiling at them as a friendly child might +smile, flushed with sleep. "Did you have a hard day? Everything's +ready." + +She was up and out in the cook-shed, half-frightened of their friendly +eyes, before they could say any more. That is, to her. + +"Gosh, that's some wife of yours!" said one of them to Francis, who was +a little in the rear of the others. "But ain't she a little thing?" + +Francis simply said "Yes" constrainedly. He had heard all that before. +Pennington, who did not as a rule like girls, had been telling him what +a lucky devil he was, as they went over to the working place together. +He also had said that Marjorie was a little thing. And the note in his +voice as he said it had insinuated to Francis, who was all too +sensitive for such insinuations, that she was scarcely the type of +woman to cook for a men's camp. Francis felt quite remorseful enough +already. He sat down with the rest, while Marjorie brought in first +the big platter of fish, then the vegetables, and a big pitcher of +cocoa which she had made. + +"Some eats!" said another of the crew, and Marjorie dimpled +appreciatively. While she went out again, after something she had +forgotten, one of the Frenchmen whispered bashfully to Pennington, who +was Francis's assistant. He smiled his slow, half-mocking, half-kindly +smile, and passed it on to Francis. + +"Ba'tiste says that he wonders if the lady would sit down and eat with +us. Do you think she would, Ellison? It's a long time since any of us +had a lady keep house for us." + +"I'll ask her," said Francis, the taciturn. He would rather have done +a good many things than go to Marjorie with a request, as things stood +between them, but there was nothing else for it. He came on her, +standing on tiptoe at the cupboard, like a child, trying to reach down +a cup. She had counted one too few. + +He stood behind her and took it down, reaching over her head. + +"Oh, thank you, Mr. Pennington!" she said, taking it for granted that +it was her accustomed helper. + +"It isn't Pennington; it's--me," said Francis. "I--I wouldn't have +bothered you, but you see the men sent me out here on an errand." + +"The men sent you on an errand?" she said wonderingly. "That sounds +topsy-turvy. I thought you sent them on errands." + +"Not this kind. They want to know if you won't sit down and eat with +them to-night. The flowers and the food made a hit, and they agree +with everybody else in the world, as far as I can see," said Francis, +with bitterness in his voice, "that this is no work for you to be +doing." + +"Did they dare to say so?" said Marjorie angrily. + +"No--oh, no. Don't mind me, Marjorie. I'm a little tired and nervous, +I expect--like Logan," he ended, trying to smile. "Will you come?" + +"Why, of course!" said Marjorie instantly. "And I think it's _sweet_ +of them to want me! Tell them just to wait till I take my apron off, +and I'll be with them." + +He went back and she followed him and sat down. At first she felt +embarrassed, a little--she felt as if she were entertaining a large +dinner-party, and most of them strangers. But Pennington, her +unfailing comfort, was at one side of her, and the friendly, if +inarticulate, Ba'tiste at the other; and presently she was chattering +on, and liking it very much. + +None of the men had seen much of women for a long time. A couple of +the better-class ones went into town, or what passed for it, +occasionally, to such dances as the few women near by could get up. +But that was practically all they saw of girls. And this "little +thing"--it was a phrase they always used in speaking of her, till the +very last--with her pretty face and pretty, shy ways, and excellent +cooking--and more than all, her pluck--won them completely. + +And when she finally, with obvious delight in their delight, produced +the pudding, everything was over but the shouting, as they told her +husband afterward. She had been a bit apprehensive about it, but it +proved to be a good pudding, and large enough. Just large enough, +though. They finished it to the very last crumb, sauce and all, and +thanked her almost with tears. Pierre, it appeared, had not cooked +with any art, he had merely seen to it that there was enough stoking +material three times a day. From the moment of that meal on, anything +that Marjorie wanted of those men, to the half of their weekly wages, +was hers for the asking. + +She liked it very much. Everybody likes to be admired and appreciated. +She could not help casting a glance of triumph over at Francis, where +he sat maritally at the other end of the table, the most silent person +present. + +Pennington helped her clear away after supper. Indeed, competition to +help Marjorie clear away was so strong that Pennington had to use his +authority before the men settled down to their usual routine of +card-playing or lounging about on the grass outside. She accepted his +help gratefully, for she was beginning to feel as if she had always +known him. She did not think of him in the least as a man. He seemed +more like an earthly providence. + +"You know, I really am very strong," she explained to him as he said +something that betrayed his feeling that this work would be too much +for her. "I think I shall be able to do all this. Really, it isn't +anything more than lots of women have to do who keep boarders. And it +isn't for----" + +She stopped herself. She had been on the point of saying, "And it +isn't for long, anyway." She did not know what Francis had told the +men about their plans, or his plans for her cooking, and she was +resolved to be absolutely loyal to him. When she went he should have +nothing to say about her but that she had behaved as well as any woman +could. + +"If you're ready, we'll go back to the cabin, Marjorie," said Francis, +appearing on the edge of the threshold, looking even more like a +thundercloud than normal lately. + +She hung up the dishcloth, gave Pennington a last grateful smile, and +followed Francis back. + +"Pennington's a good fellow," he said abruptly as they gained their own +porch, "but I don't want you to have too much to do with him. He's +kindly and all that, but he's a remittance man." + +Marjorie's eyes opened wide with excitement at this. She had heard of +remittance men, but never seen one before. + +"How perfectly thrilling!" she said. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +Francis looked at her as if she had said something very surprising. + +"Thrilling?" he said, apparently considering it the wrong adjective. + +She nodded. + +"Why, yes. I've read of remittance men all my life, but I never +dreamed I'd meet one. And--I always wanted to know, Francis," said +she, as she opened the door and walked in and settled herself cozily on +the window-seat. "What does he remit? They never say." + +"He doesn't remit," explained Francis rather disgustedly, following her +over and sitting down by her at the other corner of the seat. "Other +people do it." + +"'Curiouser and Curiouser! I begin to think I'm in Wonderland!'" she +quoted. "I think the easiest way for you to do will be just to tell me +all about remittance men, the way you do a child when it starts to ask +questions. Just what are they, and do they all look like Pennington, +and are they trained to be it, or does it come natural?" + +"A remittance man," Francis explained again, "is a term, more or less, +of disgrace. He is a man who has done something in his own country +which makes his relatives wish him out of it. So they remit money to +him as long as he stays away." + +If he expected to make Marjorie feel shocked at Pennington by this tale +he was quite disappointed. + +"And does Pennington get money for staying away, besides what he helps +you and gets?" she demanded. "What does he do with it all?" + +"I don't suppose it's a great deal," said Francis reluctantly. + +"Well, all I have to say is, I'm perfectly certain that if anybody's +paying Pennington to stay away from England, they're some horrid kind +of person that just is disagreeable, and doesn't know his real worth. +Why, Francis, he's helped me learn the ways here, and looked after me, +as if he was my mother. He's exactly like somebody's mother." + +Francis could not help smiling a little. Marjorie, when she wanted to +be--sometimes when she did not want to be--was irresistible. + +"But, Marjorie," he began to explain to her very seriously, "however +much he may seem like a mother, he isn't one. He's a man, though he's +rather an old one. And he did do things in England so he had to leave. +I don't want him to fall in love with you; it would be embarrassing for +several reasons." + +"But why should he fall in love with me?" she demanded innocently. +"Lots of people don't." + +"But, Marjorie," her husband remonstrated, "they do. Look at Logan, +now. No reason on earth would have brought him up here but being in +love with you. You might as well admit it." + +"All I ever did was to listen to him when he talked," said Marjorie, +shrugging one shoulder. She liked what Francis was saying, but she +felt in honor bound to be truthful about such things. "And besides +you, there was only one other man ever asked me to marry him--I mean, +not counting Logan, if you do count him. Oh, yes, and then there was +another one yet, with a guitar. He always said he proposed to me. He +wrote me a letter all mixed up, about everything in the world; and I +was awfully busy just then, selling tickets for a church fair of Cousin +Anna's. I never was any good selling tickets anyhow," explained +Marjorie, settling herself more nestlingly in her corner of the +window-seat; "and so when he said somewhere in the letter that anything +he could ever do for me he would do on the wings of the wind, I wrote +back and said yes, he could buy two tickets for the church fair. And, +oh, but he was furious! He sent the check for the tickets with the +maddest letter you ever saw; and he accused me of refusing him in a +cold and ignoring manner. And I'd torn up the letter, the way I always +do, and so I couldn't prove anything about it to him. But he didn't +come to the fair. Ye-es, I suppose that was a proposal. The man ought +to know, shouldn't he?" + +Francis was tired; he had a consciousness of having behaved unkindly +that weighed him down and made for gloom. He had come in with Marjorie +for the purpose of delivering an imposing warning. But he couldn't +help laughing. + +"I suppose so," he acknowledged. "Never mind, Marjorie, you didn't +really want him, did you?" + +She shook her head. + +"Oh, no. Nobody could. Or--wait, somebody must, because I think he's +married. But he wasn't the kind a girl that cared what she got wanted." + +But Francis went back to Pennington. + +"About Pennington," he began again. "You don't know how easy it is for +you to let a man think you're encouraging him, when you really aren't +saying a word or doing a thing, or think you aren't. I want you to +promise me you'll be very careful where he's concerned, even cold." + +"Cold!" she said indignantly. "But I'm married! You seem to forget +that!" + +Francis had not forgotten it in the least. He forgot it all too little +for his own comfort, he might have told her. But he was rebuked. + +"I didn't know you went on the principle that you had to act exactly +like a regular married woman," he apologized with meekness. + +"I do," she said shortly. + +He rose and went over to where the banjo lay and brought it back to +her. It was growing dusk now in the little cabin. + +"Play for me, and sing, won't you, Marjorie?" he asked abruptly. "I +haven't heard you for a long time." + +In Marjorie's mind there arose the memory of that boyish, loving little +note that she had found under the banjo, and for a minute her throat +clutched so that she couldn't answer. She had moments of being so +intolerably sorry for Francis that it hurt; quite irrational moments, +when he seemed to need it not at all. This was one. + +"Yes," she said, pulling herself together. "That is, if you will take +my word for it that I have no designs on poor old Mr. Pennington." + +"Of course I know you haven't," he said. "It was the other way about +that I was afraid of." + +"His having designs on me?" + +She laughed aloud as she began tuning her strings. It did seem like +the funniest thing she had ever heard. The picture of Pennington, girt +with a sack for an apron, with that plump, quaint face of his, and +those kindly, fussy ways, drying cups for her and having designs while +he did it--it was enough to make even Logan laugh, and _he_ had never +been known to be amused by anything that wasn't intellectual humor. + + "Just a-wearyin' for you," + +she began, in her soft little sympathetic voice, that wasn't much good +for anything but just this sort of thing, but could pull the +heartstrings out of you at it, and sang it through. She went on after +that without being asked, just because she liked it. She knew where +the simple chords were in the dark, and she sang everything she wanted +to, forgetting finally Francis, and the woods, and everything else in +the world except the music and the old things she was singing. + +When she had finally done, after an hour or so, and laid the banjo +across her lap and leaned back with a little laugh, saying "There! You +must be tired by this time!" Francis rose with scarcely a thank-you, +and walked out of the door. + +"I want a turn in the air before I come to bed," he said. + +Marjorie said nothing. She was sleepy, as usual--would she never get +over being sleepy up here?--and she laid the instrument on the floor +and stretched out thoughtlessly on the window-seat, instead of going +off to bed as she had been intending to do. As for her husband, he +walked across the veranda straight into a group of his listening men. +The music had drawn them over, and, regardless of mosquitoes, they were +sitting about on the steps, liking the concert. + +"We owe you a vote of thanks for importing that little wife of yours, +Ellison," said Pennington, getting up and stretching himself widely in +the moonlight. "Maybe if I do some more dishes for her, she'll come +and sing for us when she knows it, sometime soon." + +Francis had an irrational wish to hit Pennington. But there was no +reason why he should. Pennington's particular kind of flippancy was +merely a result of his having been, in those far days before he was a +remittance man, an Oxford graduate. So was his soft and charmingly +inflected voice. But, quite reasonlessly, it was all Francis could do +to respond with the politeness which is due to your almost +irreplaceable second-in-command on a rush job. His manners once made, +he decided that he didn't want the air, after all. He faced about, +saying good-night to the risen men, who responded jovially or +respectfully, according to their temperaments, and returned to the +cabin where he was, for all they knew, living an idyllic life with the +wife he adored and who adored him. + +He went over, drawn in spite of himself, to the window-seat where +Marjorie lay. There was enough moonlight to see her dimly, and he +could tell that she had, all in a minute, fallen asleep. She looked +very young and tired and childish in the shadows, with her lips just +parted, and her hands out and half open at her sides. + +"Marjorie! Marjorie, dear!" he said. "Wake up! It's time you were in +bed." + +He spoke to her affectionately, scarcely knowing that he said it. She +was very tired, and she did not wake till he put his hand on her +shoulder. Even then she just moved a little, and turned back to her +old position. + +He finally bent and lifted her to a sitting position, but she only lay +against him, heavy still with sleep. + +"Don't want to get up," she murmured, like a child. So finally he had +to do as he had done the night he brought her home, pick her up bodily +and lay her on her own bed. Her arms fell from his shoulders as he +straightened himself from laying her down. "'Night," she said, still +sleepily and half-affectionately; and Francis did not kiss her +good-night. But he did want to badly. Francis, unlike Marjorie, was +not sleeping well these nights. + +But then he was used to his work and she was not used to hers. He +called her quite unemotionally next morning, and she rose and went +through her routine as usual. All the camp watched its mascot +apprehensively, as if she might break--well, not every one, for two of +them were tough old souls who thought that hard work was what women +were "fur." But, aside from these unregenerates, they did more. Fired +by Pennington's example of unremitting help, they did everything for +her that thought could suggest. They brought her in posies for the +table; they swept out the cabin for her; they dried her dishes in +desperate competition; they filled the kerosene stoves so thoroughly +that there was always a dripping trail of oil on the floor, and +Pennington had to lay down the law about it; they ate what she fed them +gladly, and even sometimes forbore to ask for more out of a wish to +seem mannerly. + +And Marjorie liked it to the core. The lightening of the work was a +help, and it made things so that she was not more than healthfully +tired, though sometimes she felt that she was more than that; but, +being a woodland queen, as Pennington called it, was pleasantest of +all. She came to feel as the time went on, there alone in the clearing +with them, that they were all her property. She mended their clothes +for them, she settled their disputes, she heard their confidences and +saw the pictures of their sweethearts and wives, or, sometimes, +photographs of movie queens who were the dream-ideals of these simple +souls. Sometimes she went out to the place where they worked, before +the work moved too far away for her to reach it in a short time. And, +curiously enough, she found that she was not lonely, did not miss New +York, and--it seemed to her that it was a rather shocking way to +feel--she did not in the least feel a "lack of woman's nursing, or +dearth of woman's tears." + +She got along excellently without Lucille, Cousin Anna, and the girls +in the office. And, thinking it over sometimes at twilight, in those +rare moments when there weren't from one to three of the men grouped +adoringly around her, and Francis wasn't chaperoning her silently in +the background, she felt that the work was a small price to pay for the +pleasantness of the rest of her life there. Always before she had been +a cog in the machinery, wherever she had been. At Cousin Anna's she +was a little girl, loved and dominated. With Lucille she was free, but +Lucille, in compensation, helped herself to the ungrudgingly given +foreground. But here she was lady and mistress, and pet besides. In +short, the punishment Francis had laid out for her was only a +punishment to him. She could see that he felt guilty by spells. She +thought, too, that he had times of being fond of her. How much they +meant she could not tell. But in spite of his warnings she became +better and better friends with Pennington, always exactly, at least as +far as she was concerned, as if he were a maiden aunt of great kindness +and experience. Indeed, Pennington, she thought, was what kept her +from missing girls so. + +He never told her anything about himself. He might or might not have +been a remittance man; but he mentioned no remittances, at least. Once +he spoke of his childhood, the kind of childhood she had read sometimes +in English children's books, not like her own prim American suburban +memories of Sunday-school and being sent to school and store, and +sometimes playing in her back yard with other little girls. He had had +a pony, and brothers and sisters to play with, and a governess, she +gathered; and an uncle who was an admiral, and came home once to them +in his full uniform, as a treat, so they could see how he looked in it. +And there had been a nurse, and near by was a park where the tale went +that there were goblins. But it all must have been very long ago, she +thought, because Pennington looked forty and over. And all his stories +stopped short before he was ten. After that he went to Eton, he told +her, and told her no more. + +She did not ask. She liked him, but, after all, he was not an +important figure in her life. The goal she never forgot was Francis's +admission that she was an honorable woman; and, underneath that, +Francis's missing her terribly when she was through and left. Still, +when Pennington would come and demand tea from her of a Sunday, and she +would sit in her little living-room, or out on the veranda, with the +quaint yellow tea-set that was a part of the furnishings, and pour it +for him and one or two of the other men, she would like having him +about. He talked as interestingly as Logan, but not as egotistically. +She felt as if she were quite a wonderful person when he sat on the +step below her, and surrounded her with a soft deference that was +almost caressing, but not quite. And in spite of Francis's warnings +she made more and more of a friend of him. + +The explosion came one Sunday afternoon in June. She came out on the +veranda, as usual, with her tea-tray, about four, and waited for her +court. Peggy came over once in awhile on Sundays, too. Logan never +came. Peggy had never said any more about him since her one outburst, +but Marjorie knew that he was ill yet, and being nursed by the O'Maras. +This day no Peggy appeared. Indeed, nobody appeared for some time, and +Marjorie began to think of putting away the tea-things and considering +the men's supper. And then, just as she had come to this resolve, +Pennington came through the woods. + +He was not sauntering in a seemingly aimless manner, as he usually did. +He was walking straight for her, as if she were something he had been +aiming for for hours. And he did not drop at her feet negligently on +the steps, as he usually did, and call her some fanciful name like +"Queen of the Woodlands," or "Lady Marjorie." He sat erectly on a +chair across from her, and Marjorie bethought herself that he was very +much like a curate making a call. The kindly expression was always on +his face, even when he was most deeply in earnest, and he was +apparently in earnest to-day. + +"I stopped the other men from coming," began Pennington with no +preface. "I wanted to have a long talk with you. I want to tell you a +story." + +"I wish you would," she said, though she had had so many scenes of late +that, without any idea what was coming, a little tremor of terror crept +around her heart. She leaned back in her rustic rocker, there on the +veranda, and looked at him in her innocent, friendly fashion. He +paused a little before he began. + +"Once upon a time," he began abruptly, "there was a man who had a very +fair start in life. His people saw to it that everything was smooth +for him--too smooth, perhaps. He didn't realize that he could ever be +in a position where they wouldn't be able to straighten things out for +him. He was a decent enough chap; weak, perhaps, but kind, at least. +He went to school and college, and finally took orders, and was given a +living in a county near where his people lived. Life went along easily +enough for him, and perhaps a bit stupidly. Too stupidly. He got +bored by it. So after a while he gambled. He played the stock-market. +Presently he used some money that was not his--that had been intrusted +to him by another. He lost that. So he had to give up +everything--home, friends, profession, country--and go and live in a +strange country. His people, good always, straightened things out for +him, at a great sacrifice; but they made it a condition that he should +stay where he was. Time went on, and things were forgotten. And the +people who had made him promise not to return died. They left him, in +dying, some money. Not a great deal, but enough to keep him +comfortably. And he didn't know what to do. He was happy, for the +first time in his life, with a little friend he had found, some one +almost like a daughter, some one who seemed, in humble ways, to need +him to help her in what wasn't a very easy part of her life. So he +stayed yet a little longer. And presently he found that he was in +danger of something happening. He had never been very good at making +himself feel as he wished to feel, or at holding his feelings to what +they should be, let us say. And his feelings for this little daughter +were not quite, he was afraid, like a father's. But he still did not +know what to do, Marjorie. She would never care, and there were +reasons why he did not want or expect her to. It was only that he +wondered which was right--which he ought to do." + +Pennington stopped. + +Marjorie colored up. + +"What--what do you mean? Why--why do you tell me about it?" + +"Because," said Pennington, "I would like to know what you think that +man ought to do. Ought he to go back home, against his people's wish, +but where he belongs, and try to pick up the rest of his life there, or +do you think that the need of him over here is enough to counterbalance +the danger he runs? You see, it's rather a problem." + +Marjorie was a perfectly intelligent girl. She knew very well that +Pennington was, at last, telling her the outlines of his own pitiful +story. And he was leaving the decision in her hands. + +She sat quietly for awhile, and tried to think. It was hard to think, +because there was a queer, hazy feeling in her head, and her hands were +hot. She had felt unusually excited and energetic and gay earlier in +the day, but that was all gone, and only the hazy feeling left. She +did not want to move, or, particularly, to speak. She wondered if a +trip she had made that afternoon before to a little swampy place, where +she had sat and strung berries for an hour, had been bad for her. + +But there was Pennington--he looked very large, suddenly, and then +seemed to fade away far off for a minute, and have to be focused with +an effort--and he had to be answered. + +"I think," she said hesitatingly, "that he ought to do what seemed to +him right, without thinking of his feelings, or--or any one else's." + +"But that's just the trouble. He couldn't see which _was_ right." + +Marjorie tried to focus harder than ever. She wanted to be unselfish, +and tell him the thing that was right to do, at any cost--though she +had not realized how much Pennington's help and society had been to +her. She felt a terror at the idea of his going, the more because she +felt ill. But that didn't count--that mustn't count. You have no +right to let a man stay where he may fall in love with you, merely +because you need him for a maiden aunt or something of the sort. And +that was the ultimate and entire extent of her affection for him, +strong though it had come to be. + +"I think--I think that man had better go back to the place where he had +really belonged at first," she said in a low voice. "No matter how +much the girl missed him, or needed him, she had no right to want him +to be hurt by staying near her." + +"You really think that?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. And then incoherently, "Oh, Mr. Pennington, I do +want to be good!" + +She meant that she had done enough wrong, in acting as she had toward +Francis in the first place. She felt now, very strongly, that all the +trouble had come from her cowardice when Francis came home. She should +have shut her teeth and gone through the thing, no matter what her +personal feelings had been at first. It would all have come out right +then. She knew now that she and Francis, the plunge once taken, could +have stood each other. And she would have kept her faith. She had +learned the meaning of honor. + +"You are good," said Pennington in a moved tone. "Then--I have my +answer. Yes--I'll go back." + +She leaned her heavy head on the chair-back again. He seemed once more +suddenly remote. + +"I--I wish you weren't going," she said, only half conscious of what +she said. + +He leaned forward, suddenly moved, and caught her hand hard. Still in +that dream, she felt him kiss it. She did not care. And then, still +in the dream, Francis's quick tread up the steps, and his sharp voice-- + +"And I believed in you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +She looked at him in a blind sort of way. His words made only a hazy +impression; but neither of the men could know that. + +"Believed in me?" she echoed, smiling faintly. "Why, did you?" + +"Yes," said Francis with a concentrated fury that reached even her +confused senses. "But I never will again! I thought--I was beginning +to think--you were the sort of woman you said. But you're just a +flirt. Any man is better than the one you're married to." + +"I--I think you want me to go," she said, trying to see him. She could +see two Francises, as a matter of fact, neither of them clearly. + +"Yes, I do. Either of these men you've befooled can see you on your +way. And I'll start divorce proceedings, or you may, immediately." + +He said more than that; but that was all she could get. The words hurt +her, in spite of their lack of meaning. Francis hated her; he thought +she was a bad girl, who never kept her word. And she wasn't. + +"I--I want to be good," she said aimlessly, as she had said to +Pennington a little earlier. "I"--she lost the thread again--"I'll go." + +She rose, dropping the cup and saucer on her knee, and not stopping to +pick them up. She caught hold of the doorpost to carry her in, and +dropped down on a seat inside. It was not that she was weak, but she +felt giddy. She wondered again if it was the swamp. Probably. She +finally made her way back to her own room, mixed herself some spirits +of ammonia and took it, and sat down to pull herself together. Through +the wooden partition she could hear the furious voices of the men on +the porch outside. She wondered if Francis would say more dreadful +things to her while he took her over in the side-car. She hoped not. + +Presently the dizziness departed for a few minutes, and she tried to +pack. She did not seem able to manage it. If she was allowed to stay +at the Lodge with the O'Maras, she could send Peggy over to gather up +her things. Yes, that would be the best way to do. + +She pinned on her hat and drew her cloak around her, just as she was, +and came out. Pennington and Francis were standing up, facing her, and +having a quarrel which might last some time. + +"I'm ready," she said weakly. + +She knew she should have stood up there, and told Francis how unkind +and unjust and bad-tempered and jealous he was, and defend herself from +his accusations. But she was too tired to do it; and besides, words +seemed so far away, and feelings seemed far away, too. Francis and the +work at the cabin and Pennington, with his kind, plump, rueful face, +and even the O'Maras and Logan, seemed suddenly unreal and of little +account. The only thing that really mattered was a chance to go +somewhere and lie down and sleep. Perhaps she could lean back a little +in the side-car as he took her over. + +Francis broke off short in what he was saying, and went without looking +at her toward the place where he kept his motor-cycle. Perhaps he +thought that it did not matter, now, whether he left her with +Pennington or not. + +Pennington, for his part, turned around--he had been standing so that +his back was toward her--and began to speak. Marjorie thought he was +saying something to the effect that he was very sorry that he had made +this trouble for her, and that he had been trying to explain; and +thought he could make Francis hear reason when he had cooled off. + +"It doesn't really matter," she said wearily. "Only tell him to hurry, +because I'm--so--sleepy." + +She sank into the chair where she had been sitting before Francis +appeared, and leaned back and shut her eyes. Pennington, with a +concerned look on his face, came nearer her at that, and looked down at +her, reaching down to feel her pulse. She moved her hand feebly away. + +"Francis--wouldn't like it," she said; and that was the last thing she +remembered distinctly, though afterwards when she tried she seemed to +recall hearing Pennington, very far off in the distance, calling +peremptorily, "Ellison! Ellison! Come here at once!" + +She wondered faintly why Pennington should want to hurry him up. It +was about this time that she quietly slipped sidewise from her chair, +and was in a little heap on the veranda before he could turn and catch +her, or Francis could respond to the summons. + +"This is what you've done," was what Pennington said quietly when +Francis reappeared. He did not offer to touch Marjorie or pick her up. + +Francis flung himself down on his knees beside his wife. Then he +looked up at Pennington, with a last shade of suspicion in his eyes. + +"What do you think it is?" he asked. "Is she really fainting?" + +"You young fool, no!" said Pennington. "She's ill." + +"Ill!" said Francis, and gathered her up and laid her on the settee at +the other end of the porch. "What's the matter, do you think? Is it +serious?" + +His words were quiet enough, but there was a note of anguish in his +voice which made Pennington sorry for him in spite of himself. But he +did not show much mercy. + +"It is probably overwork," he said. "We've all done what we could to +spare her, but a child like this shouldn't be put at drudgery, even to +satisfy the most jealous or selfish man. You've had a china cup, my +lad, and you've used it as if it was tin. And it's broken, that's all." + +Francis looked down at Marjorie, holding her head in his arms. It lay +back limply. Her eyes were half open, and her heart, as he put his +hand over it, was galloping. Her cheeks were beginning to be scarlet, +and her hand, when he reached down and touched it, burned. He looked +up at Pennington with an unconscious appeal, unmindful of the older +man's harsh words. + +"Do you think she'll die?" he asked. + +"I have no way of knowing. If she does, you have the consolation of +knowing that you've done what you could toward it." + +"Oh, my God, don't, Pennington!" cried out Francis, clutching Marjorie +tighter unconsciously. "It's as true as gospel. But let up now. Get +somebody. Do something, for heaven's sake! You know about medicine a +little, don't you?" + +"Take her inside and put her to bed," Pennington commanded shortly. +"I'll take your motor-cycle and go for Mother O'Mara. I can get a +doctor from there by to-morrow, perhaps." + +Francis gathered the limp little body up again without a word. Only he +turned at the door for a last appeal. + +"Can't you tell at all what it is?" + +"Fever, I think. She's caught malarial fever, perhaps. She wouldn't +have done if she'd been stronger. Take her in." + +So Francis carried his wife over the threshold, into the little brown +room he had decked for her so long ago, and laid her down again. Her +head fell back on the pillow, and her hands lay as he dropped them. He +stood back and looked at her, a double terror in his heart. She would +never love him again. How could she? And she would die--surely she +would die, and he had killed her. + +"I'm--going," she said very faintly, as a sleep-talker speaks. She was +not conscious of what she said, but it was the last straw for Francis. +He had not slept nor eaten lately, and he had worked double time all +day to keep his mind from the state of things, ever since he had +brought her back. So perhaps it was not altogether inexcusable that he +flung himself on the floor by the bedside and broke down. + +He was aroused after awhile by the touch of Marjorie's hand. He lifted +his head, thinking she had come to and touched him knowingly. But he +saw that it was only that she was tossing a little, with the +restlessness of the fever, and his heart went down again. + +He pulled himself up from the bedside, and went doggedly at his work of +undressing her and putting her to bed. + +She was as easy to handle as a child; and once or twice, when he had to +lift or turn her in the process of undressing, he could feel how light +she was, and that she was thinner. She had always been a little thing, +but the long weeks of work had made her almost too thin--not too thin +for her own tastes, because, like all the rest of the women of the +present, she liked it; but thin enough to give Francis a fresh pang of +remorse. He felt like a slave-driver. + +When he had finished his task, he stood back, and wondered if there was +anything else he could do before Pennington came back with Mrs. O'Mara, +and with or without a doctor. He felt helpless, and as if he had to +stand there and watch her die. He got water and tried to make her +drink it--ineffectually--he filled a hot water bottle and brought it +in, and then thought better of it. She had a fever already. Then he +thought of bathing her in cold water; but he could not bring himself to +do that. He had already done enough that she would hate him for, in +the way of undressing her. He must never tell her he had done +that. . . . But she would hate him anyway. So he ended by sitting +miserably down on the floor beside her, and waiting the interminable +hours that the time seemed until the others returned. + +He had expected Mrs. O'Mara to reproach him, as Pennington had, as +being the person to blame for Marjorie's state. But the dear soul, +comforting as always, said nothing of the sort. She said very little +of any sort, indeed; she merely laid off the bonnet and cloak she had +come in, and went straight at her work of looking after Marjorie. Only +on her way she stopped to give Francis a comforting pat on the shoulder. + +"It's not so bad but it might be worse," she said. "Anybody might git +them fevers without a stroke of work done. An' she's young an' strong." + +Francis looked up at her in mute gratitude from where he sat. + +"An' now clear out, lie down and rest, down on the couch or annywhere +ye like, till I see what's to be done to this girl," she went on. + +He went out without a word, and sat down on the window-seat, where the +banjo lay, still, and picked it up mechanically. He could see +Marjorie, now, with it in her hands, singing to it for the men--or, +sometimes, just for him. How gay she had been through everything, and +how plucky, and how sweet! And just because she was gay he had thought +she was selfish and fickle, and didn't care. And because she had never +said anything about how hard the work was, he had thought--he could +forgive himself even less for this--that it wasn't hard. Looking back, +he could see not one excuse for himself except in his carrying her off. +That might have worked all right, if he could have kept his temper. He +let his mind stray back over what might have been; suppose he had +accepted Logan's following her up here as just what it was--the whim of +a man in love with Marjorie. Suppose he had believed that Pennington +could kiss his wife's hand without meaning any harm; suppose, in fine, +that he had believed in Marjorie's desire and intention to do right, +even if she had been a coward for a few minutes to begin with? + +Then--why, then-- + +By this time, perhaps, he could have won her back. If he had not laid +down the law to her--if he had not put her to the test. What business +had a man in love to make terms, anyhow? It was for him to accept what +terms Marjorie had chosen to make for him. + +He flung himself down on his knees by the window-seat, heedless of any +one who might come or go. + +"Oh, God," prayed Francis passionately, as he did everything. "Give me +another chance! Let her get well, and give me one little chance then +to have her forgive me! I don't care what else happens if that only +does!" + +He did not know how long he knelt there, praying with such intensity +that he sprang aside when some one touched him on the shoulder. + +"She's goin' to be all right in the long run," said Mrs. O'Mara. "I +gev' her a wee drink o' water, an' she kem to herself fur a minute. +An' I says, 'Me dear, where did ye git yer fever?' An' she says, 'The +swamp, I think. Don't I have to travel to-day? I'm in bed.' An' I +says, 'Not to-day nor anny day till ye want, me child,' and she turns +over an' snuggles down like a lamb. An' I've sponged her off with cool +water, an' she feels better, though she's off agin, an' I'm afraid the +fever'll be runnin' up on us before the doctor can git here." + +"You mean she isn't sensible now?" demanded Francis, whose eyes had +lighted up with hope when she began to speak. + +"Well, not so's ye could talk to her. An' ye might excite her. Them +they loves does often." + +"Then I wouldn't," said Francis recklessly. "Oh, Mother O'Mara, I've +been such a brute----" + +"Hush, hush now, don't ye be tellin' me. Sure we're all brutes wanst +in awhile. Ye feel that way because the child's sick. Now go out and +watch fer the doctor, or do annything else that'll amuse ye." + +He obeyed her as if he were a little boy. He was so miserable that he +would have done what any one told him just then--if Logan, even, with +his cane and his superciliousness, had given him a direction he would +probably have obeyed it blindly. + +Mrs. O'Mara went back to the sick-room. How much she knew of the +situation she never told. But Peggy was not a secretive person, and +Peggy had arrived at a point with Logan where he told her a good deal, +if she coaxed. They never got it out of the old lady, at any rate. + +Marjorie was quieter, but still not herself. Mrs. O'Mara, who was an +experienced nurse, did not like the way she had collapsed so +completely. She was afraid it was going to be a hard illness, and she +knew Francis was breaking his heart over it. + +"Still it may be a blessin' in a way," she said half aloud. "You never +can tell in this world o' grief and danger. I wonder has she people +besides Mr. Francis. They've never either of them said." + +The doctor came and went, and Monday morning dawned, when Francis had +to go to work whether or no. And Pennington quietly took over +Marjorie's duties again, and the men tiptoed up to the cabin where she +lay, and asked about her anxiously, and young Peggy came over and took +turns with her mother in the nursing, and Logan, much more robust and +tanned than he had been in several years of New York life in heated +apartments, came with her and sat on the porch waiting till she came +out; and Francis saw him there, and thought nothing of it except that +he was grateful to him for being interested in Marjorie. + +He realized now that it was all he need ever have thought. But he +realized so many things now, when it might be too late! + +The days went on relentlessly. Finally they decided to send for her +cousin, the only relative she had. Francis was a little doubtful as to +the wisdom of this, for he knew that Marjorie had never been very happy +with her cousin, but it was one of those things which seem to have to +be done. And just as they had come to this resolution; a resolution +which felt to Francis like giving up all hope, Marjorie took a little +turn for the better. + +It was not much to see. She was a little quieter, that was all, and +the nursing did not have to be so intensive. Mrs. O'Mara and Peggy did +not feel that they had to sit with her all the time; there were periods +when she was left alone. Francis felt more bitterly than anything else +that he had to go on with his work, instead of staying in the house +every moment, but it was better for him. He would have driven the +O'Maras mad, they told him frankly, walking up and down, looking +repentant. Peggy was not quite softened to him yet; but the older +woman was so sorry for him that any feelings she may have had about the +way he had behaved were swallowed up in sympathy. + +"And it isn't as if he weren't gettin' his comeuppance, Peg," she +reminded her intolerant young daughter. "Sure annything he made her +suffer he's payin' for twice over and again to that." + +"And a very good thing, too," retorted Peggy, who was just coming off +duty, and casting an eye toward the window to see where Logan was. He +was exactly where she wished, waiting with what, for him, was +eagerness, to go off through the woods with her. + +"I suppose, now ye've a man trailin' ye, there's nothin' ye don't +know," said her mother. "And him a heretic, if not a heathen itself. +I've only to say to ye, keep yer own steps clean, Peggy." + +"He is a heathen--he doesn't believe a blessed thing; he said so +himself!" said Peggy with what sounded like triumph. "The more reason +for me to convert him, poor dear! Empty things are easier filled than +full ones. If he was like them in there, with a religion of his own, I +wouldn't have a show. But as it is, I have my hopes." + +"Oh, it's converting him you are! Tell that to the pigs!" said her +mother scornfully. "And now go on; I suppose you're taking a prayer +book and a rosary along with you in that picnic basket." + +"No," said Peggy reluctantly. "I'm softening his heart first." + +She had the grace to giggle a little as she said it, and the O'Mara +sense of humor rode triumphant over both of them then, and they parted, +laughing. Francis, entering on one of his frequent flying trips from +work to see how Marjorie was, felt as if they were heartless. + +Mrs. O'Mara, at the sight of his tired, unhappy young face, sobered +down with one of her quick Irish transitions. + +"Ah, sure now it's the best of news. The doctor's been, and he says +she's better. So it won't be necessary to send after the old aunt or +cousin or whatever, that ye say she wasn't crazy over. Come in an' see +her." + +Francis, a new hope in his heart, tiptoed into the little brown bedroom +where Marjorie lay. It was too much to hope that she would know him. +She had been either delirious or asleep--under narcotics--through the +days of her fever. And once or twice when she had spoken rationally, +it had never been Francis who had happened to be near at the time. + +She lay quite quietly, with her eyes shut, and her long lashes trailing +on her cheeks. When Francis came in she opened her eyes as if it was a +trouble to make that much effort. She was very weak. But she looked +at him intelligently, and even lifted one hand a little from the +coverlet, as if she wanted to be polite and welcome him. He had been +warned not to make any fuss or say anything exciting, if this should +come; so he only sat down across from her and tried to speak naturally. + +"Do you know me, Marjorie?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound as +it always sounded. But it was a little hoarse. + +She spoke, in a thread of a voice, that yet had a little mockery in it. +She seemed to have taken things up where she dropped them. + +"Yes, thank you. You're my sort of husband. This--this is really too +bad of me, Francis. But, anyway, it was your swamp!" + +Just the old, mocking, smiling Marjorie, or her shadow. But it did not +make him angry now; it seemed so piteous that he should have brought +her to this. The swamp faded to nothingness as a cause of her illness +when he compared it to his own behavior. + +"Marjorie," he asked, very gently so as not to disturb her, "would it +be too exciting if I talked to you a little bit about things, and told +you how sorry I was?" + +"Why--no," she said weakly, shutting her eyes. + +"I was wrong, from start to finish," he said impetuously. "I'm sorry. +I want you to forgive me." + +"Why, certainly," she said, so indifferently that his heart sank. It +did not occur to him that he had never said that he cared for her at +all. + +"Is there anything I could get you?" he asked futilely as he felt. + +"I'd like to see Mr. Pennington. He was kind to me." + +"Marjorie, Marjorie, won't you ever forgive me for the way I acted?" + +"Oh, yes," she said, lying with shut eyes, so quiet that her lips +scarcely moved when she talked. "I said so. But you haven't been +kind. It's like--don't you know, when you get a little dog used to +being struck it gets so it cowers when you speak to it, no matter if +you aren't going to strike it that time. I don't want to be hurt any +more. I don't love Pennington--he's too funny-looking, and awfully +old. But he was kind--he never hurt my feelings. . . ." + +She spoke without much inflection, and using as few words as she could. +When she had finished she still lay there, as silent and out of +Francis's reach as if she were dead. He tiptoed out with a sick +feeling that everything was over, which he had never had before. She +was so remote. She cared so little about anything. + +He went back to work, and told Pennington that Marjorie wanted to see +him. When the day was over he returned to the cabin again, and found +Mrs. O'Mara on duty once more. Pennington sat by Marjorie, holding her +hand in his, and speaking to her occasionally. Francis looked at him, +and spoke to him courteously. Pennington smiled at him, and stayed +where he was. Marjorie, Mrs. O'Mara said, seemed to cling to him, and +his presence did her good. And--she broke it as gently as she +could--though the patient was on the road to getting well now, she was +disturbed by his coming in and out. She seemed afraid of him. + +Francis took it very quietly. After that he only came to the bedroom +door to ask, and stepped as softly as he could, so that she would not +even know he had been there. And time went on, and she got better, and +presently could be dressed in soft, loose, fluffy things, and lie out +on the veranda during the warmest part of the day, and see people for a +little while each. It was about this time that Francis went to sleep +at the bunk-house. + +"Why doesn't Francis ever come to see me?" she asked finally. "There +are a great many things I want to know about." + +Pennington, whom she had asked, told her gently. + +"We thought--the physician thought--that he upset you a little when you +were beginning to be better. He is staying away on purpose. Would you +like to see him?" + +"Yes, I think I would," she said. "Can Peggy come talk to me?" + +Peggy could, of course. She came dashing up, from some sylvan nook +where she had been secluded, presumably with Logan, fell on Marjorie +with hearty good-will and many kisses, and demanded to know what she +could do. + +"I--I want to see Francis and talk to him about a lot of things," said +Marjorie, "and I thought perhaps if you'd get me a mirror and a little +bit of powder, and----" + +"Say no more!" said Peggy. "I know what you want as well as if you'd +told me all. I'll be out in a minute with everything in the world." + +She returned with her arms full of toilet things, and for fifteen +minutes helped Marjorie look pretty. She finished by brushing out her +hair and arranging it loosely in curls, with a big ribbon securing it, +like Mary Pickford or one of her rivals. She touched Marjorie's face +with a little perfume to flush it, and draped her picturesquely against +the back of the long chair, with a silk shawl over her instead of the +steamer rug which Mrs. O'Mara, less artistic than utilitarian, had +provided. + +"There," she said, "you look like a doll, or an angel, or anything else +out of a storybook. Now I'll get Francis." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Marjorie waited, with a quietness which was only outward, for Francis. +She did not even know whether he would come; she had only seen him +once; he had said he was sorry for the way he had acted, and asked her +to forgive him, but then it wasn't the first time he had done that. + +"It's getting to be just a little morning custom of his," said Marjorie +to herself, trying to laugh. But she was in earnest about seeing him. +Away down deep in her she was not quite sure why she wanted to. She +was not angry with him--she seemed to herself past that. Of course, +there were things to arrange. + +It seemed like a sorry ending to it all. She had meant to ride +triumphantly through the work, and walk off leaving a crushed Francis +behind her; and make such a success of something back in New York that +he would spend years being very, very sorry. . . . Well, he did seem +sorry. But it was only because he felt guilty about her being ill, +not, so far as she could tell, because he cared a bit about her any +more. And it really was not his fault, her illness. She had been well +and happy, and even liked the work. The doctor had said that the +miasma in the swamp, and her sitting by it for hours, making a wreath +of flowers like a small girl, were alone responsible. And even if he +was softening the blow, she had been tired and worried before she came +up; the housework at the cabin wouldn't have been enough. She must +tell Francis so. He _did_ take things so hard. + +When he came, led by Peggy, neither of them seemed to know what to say +for a little while. Francis sat down by her and spoke constrainedly, +and then merely stared and stared. + +"Well, what is it then?" demanded Peggy, who was hovering about, and, +unlike the Ellisons, seemed to have no emotions to disturb her. "Has +she two heads, or had you forgotten her looks entirely?" + +"I think I must have forgotten her looks entirely," he answered slowly, +never taking his eyes off Marjorie. "You know--well, I hadn't seen +you, Marjorie, for some time. But you always were beautiful." + +Marjorie turned pink up to the ribbon bow that sat out like a little +girl's at one temple. + +"Was I?" was all she found to say. + +"Yes," he said, and said no more. + +At this juncture Peggy rose. + +"Well, I'm sorry not to stay here and help you carry on this fluent +conversation," she said, tossing her head. "But I have an engagement +elsewhere. If you want me ring the bell." + +This was more or less metaphorical--probably a quotation from +Thackeray--because there was no bell in sight. But at any rate Peggy +left with one of her goddess-like sweeps, and was to be heard +thereafter calling Mr. Logan with a good-will. Presently the others, +sitting silently, heard his voice answer gaily, and then no more. They +had met and were off together as usual. + +"You see," said Marjorie, "he really didn't care for me. I think he +and Peggy will marry each other one of these days, even if she is only +sixteen." + +"She will get over being sixteen, of course," said Francis, still in +the preoccupied voice. "I suppose it's her superb vitality that +attracts him. She is actually making him almost human." + +Marjorie smiled faintly at that. + +"You don't like him much, do you?" she said. + +"Do you remember, in your letters, how you always called him 'your +friend with the fits?'" + +"Well, wasn't he?" said Francis defensively. + +"Well, I don't think it was fits," she answered, balancing her ideas as +if they had met only to discuss Logan; "it was some sort of a nervous +seizure. At any rate, Peggy nursed him through one of the attacks, so +if she does marry him she knows the worst. But maybe they won't be +married. I remember, now, he told me once that an emotion to be really +convincing must be only touched lightly and foregone." + +"That man certainly talks a lot of rot," said Francis. It was curious +how, whenever they were together, they fell into intimate +conversation--even if everything in the world had been happening the +minute before. The thought came to Marjorie. "Now, my emotions," +Francis went on, "have certainly been too darn convincing for comfort +for the last year. If I could have touched any of them lightly and +foregone them I'd have been so proud you couldn't see me for dust. But +they weren't that kind. . . . Marjorie, I've been through hell this +last while that you've been sick." + +"I'm sorry," she said. It gave her the opening she had been looking +for. "But that partly was what I sent for you to talk about. Not +hell--I mean--well, our affairs. I'm well enough now to be quite quiet +and calm about them, and I think you are, too. That is," she added, +half laughing, "if you could ever be quiet and calm about anything. +What I've seen of you has either been when you've been repressing +yourself so hard that I could see the emotions bubble underneath, or +when you'd stopped repressing, and were telling me what you really +thought of me." + +"Oh, don't!" he said, wincing. + +"Well, why not, Francis? You see, it's sort of as if we were both dead +now, and talking things over calmly on the golden shore. . . . Isn't +it lovely here! Oh, you don't know how nice it is to be getting well!" + +"And I made you go through all that," he said chokingly, reaching out +instinctively for one of the thin little hands that lay contentedly +outside the silk shawl, and then pulling back again. + +Marjorie looked at him consideringly. She couldn't help thinking, for +a moment, how lovely this would be if it wasn't a case of the golden +shore; if Francis and she hadn't messed things up so; if they had come +up here because they loved each other, and trusted each other to make +happiness; and if Francis, instead of taking his hand back that way, +had held hers as if he had the right to. And she remembered suddenly +their marriage night. He had flung himself down beside her and wrapped +her in his arms, and she had not quite liked it; she had shrunk away +from him. She was so weak now, and it felt a little lonely--if he put +his arms around her now she thought she would like it. But then she +was ill yet, and emotional; probably it was the same feeling that made +men propose to their nurses when they were convalescing. A nurse had +told her about it once, and added that it was considered very unethical +to take a man up on that sort of a proposal. That was it--you just +wanted somebody to be kind to you. + +"Perhaps if I had a cat," said Marjorie inadvertently, aloud. + +"Would you like one?" demanded Francis. "I'll get it this afternoon." + +"Yes, I guess so," she answered, coloring again. "But what made you +think of a cat?" + +"Oh, I just did," she answered untruthfully. "You see--you see, I'm +not strong yet, and my mind rambled around in an inconsequent sort of +way. It just happened on cats. But, Francis, you mustn't reproach +yourself. I know you are feeling altogether too badly about what you +did. But you mustn't. That's just the way you're made. You haven't +nice tame emotions, and in a way you're better so. Why, people like +you, all energy and force and attraction, get so much farther in life. +You're going to be a wonderful success, I know, just because you are so +intense. You meant all right. I know lots of girls who would have +been awfully flattered at your being so jealous. They'd have thought +it meant you were in love with them terribly." + +"They'd have thought right," he said. + +She looked at him--she had been talking with her eyes on a green tree +over in the distance. His head was bowed, and his hands clenched on +his knees, and he had spoken again in the muttering voice he had begun +with. + +"I suppose you were," she said with a little wistful note in her voice +that neither of them knew was there. "But never mind; I want to talk +now about what we are both to do next. If you are really feeling as +badly as you say about my being sick, I don't suppose you mind how long +I take to get well. I'm afraid it will be quite a little while longer." + +He started to speak, but she held up one hand and stopped him. + +"And after that I'll go back to Lucille, if Billy isn't home." + +"He is," said Francis. "He came over in one of the transports in July, +while you were ill. That was the only reason I didn't drag Lucille up +here." + +"Where are they?" demanded Marjorie a little blankly. But after all +she should have expected this. + +"In the flat you and Lucille had. Lucille likes it." + +"How can she?" sighed Marjorie. "Well, she's never tried this. . . . +I wonder what I'd better do? I think I heard something about a place +where they have flats just for business women. Perhaps Billy could +arrange for me to get one before they're all gone. He always loved +attending to things like that for people. I can't go back to Cousin +Anna. I've been through too much. Why, you mayn't think it, but I'm +grown up, Francis! I'm about twenty years older than that foolish +little girl you married. I--I wonder I haven't wrinkles and a little +wisp of fuzzy gray hair!" she added, trying to smile. + +"Don't!" said Francis again, looking at her childish face, with its +showers of loose curls, that was trying to be so brave. He dropped his +eyes again to the clenched hands that were tensed, one on either knee. +"I was foolish and young, too, then," he added. "I think I'm older, +too." + +"Yes . . . it was a mistake," she said in a far-off voice. + +"I wish it hadn't been," he said. + +"Why, I was thinking that, too!" she said. "Isn't it a pity that we +weren't as old then as we are now! Responsible, I mean, and wanting as +much to do right things. That was one thing about it all. I want to +do right more than anything else these days; and I think you do, too. +And it wasn't in style then--do you remember our talking it over up +here once, when we were having a little friendly spat? But I +suppose----" + +"I suppose you would never have married me if you'd been so old and +wise," he said. + +She considered. + +"But neither would you have," she objected. + +Francis looked up at her suddenly, flashingly. "You know better," he +burst out. "You know I'd marry you over again if I were forty years +old, and as wise as Solomon. The kind of love I had for you isn't the +kind that gets changed." + +Marjorie lay for a minute silently. Then she looked at him +incredulously. + +"But you said----" she began very softly. + +"I said things that I ought to be horsewhipped for. I loved you so +much that I was jealous. I do think I've learned a little better. +Why, if you wanted to talk to some other man now, even if I knew you +loved him madly, if it would make you happier I think I'd get him for +you. . . . No. No, I don't believe I could. I want you too much +myself. But--I've learned a better kind of love, at least, than the +kind that only wants to make you miserable. I _did_ get Pennington for +you when you were so ill, and wanted him instead of me. Count that to +me for righteousness, Marge, when you think about me back there in the +city." + +"Then--you mean--that you love me just as much as ever?" + +She lay there, wide-eyed, flushed and unbelieving. + +"As much? A thousand times more--you know it. Good heavens, how could +any one live in the house with you and not care more and more for you +all the time?" + +"But, then, why did you----" + +"Because I was a brute. I've told you that. And because it made me +unhappier and unhappier to see you drifting away from me, and then, +every time I could have done anything to draw you a little closer I'd +lash out and send you farther away with my selfishness and jealousy. I +didn't know it was any surprise to you. It's been the one thing you've +known from the beginning----" + +She shook her head. + +"Every time you lost your temper you said you'd stopped loving me. And +that nobody could love the bad girl I was, to flirt and deceive you----" + +"I've no excuse. I haven't even the nerve to ask you to try it a +little longer. But believe this, Marjorie; the very hardest thing you +could ask me to do----" + +She laughed a little, starry-eyed, + +"If I asked you to go and do the cooking and cleaning for your beloved +men, that you made me do?" she asked whimsically. + +He nodded matter-of-coursely. + +"It would mean Pennington doing my directing, and I don't think he's up +to it; he's a fine second in command, but he can't plan. Yes, I'd do +it in a minute, though it would probably mean the job I'm making my +reputation on going smash. Do you want me to? If the whole thing went +to the devil it would be a small price to pay for getting even another +half-chance to make good with you. May I, Marjorie? Say I may!" + +He was bending forward, alert and passionate, as if it were a chance to +own the world that he was begging for. She told him so. + +"It is--my world. I mean it, Marjorie. I don't deserve it, and I +don't see how you can trust me, but let me do that. Or anything. I +don't care how hard or how ridiculous, if it would mean that some day I +could come back to you and you'd consider--just consider--being my +wife." + +"But, Francis! But, Francis, I don't want you to be ridiculous! I +don't want you to fall down on your work. I don't want you to do +anything----" + +"I know you don't. That's the worst of it. And it's coming to me." + +She was silent for a little while. + +"It hadn't occurred to you, then, that perhaps--perhaps living in the +house with you might have made me--well, a little fonder of you?" + +She did not know what she had expected him to do when she said that. +Anything but what he did do--sit perfectly still and unbelieving, and +look as if she had stabbed him. + +"No," he said finally. "That couldn't happen. Don't talk to me that +way, Marjorie. It's cruel. Not that you haven't the right to be +cruel." + +It was Marjorie's time of triumph, that she had planned for so long, in +those days when the work was hard and things were lonely sometimes. +But she did not take it. She only put out one shy hand, for it was a +little hard for her to go on talking, she was getting so tired, and +said timidly: + +"But it is true, Francis. I--I am fond of you. And if there's +anything to forgive, I have. You know you can't be so dreadfully angry +with people when--when you like them. You--why, you don't have to wait +and have tests. I'll stay with you now, if you want me." + +He stared at her a little longer, still incredulous. Then with an +inarticulate cry he was down on his knees beside her long chair, and he +had her in his arms, just as he had held her the night before he went +away, just after they were married. No, not just the same; for though +he held her as closely and as tenderly, there was something of fear +still in the way he kept his arms about her; as if he did not really +think it was true. He knelt there for a long time, and neither of them +moved. He did not call her affectionate names; he only kept repeating, +"Marjorie! Marjorie! Marjorie!" over and over again, as if her name +would keep her close to him, and hold her real. + +She laughed a little again presently. + +"It's really so, you know, Francis." + +"I don't believe it in the least!" said Francis, in a more assertive +voice than he had used yet. He laughed, too. She looked at the dark, +vivid face so near hers, and so changed from what it had been five +minutes before. + +"Well, you did take a lot of convincing!" she said demurely. "I felt +so bold----" + +"Darling," said Francis, kissing her parenthetically, "do you think it +would be too much for you if you sat on my knees a little while? I +can't get at half enough of you where you are. And doctors say that +being too long in one position is very bad for invalids." + +"You might try," said Marjorie docilely; "though, honestly, Francis, I +don't feel any more like an invalid than you do. I feel perfectly well +and strong--let me see if I can stand up!" + +He really shouldn't--Mrs. O'Mara told him that severely two hours +afterwards--but at that particular moment he would have done anything +in the world Marjorie requested. He lifted her to a standing position +very carefully, and held her supported while she tried how she felt +being really on her feet again. It was the first time. Until now, +Pennington had carried her in and out, while Francis felt a deadly envy +in his heart. + +"See, I'm all well!" she said triumphantly, looking exactly, as he told +her, like a doll, with her lacy draperies and her shoulder-length +curls, and her slim arms thrown out to balance herself. He let her +stand there a minute or so, and then pulled her gently over and held +her for a while. + +At least, they thought it was a while. It was much more like two +hours; there was so much to talk over, and explain, and arrange for +generally. They decided to stay just where they were, for a little +while at least, after Francis's work was done. Marjorie was to get +strong as quickly as possible, and they were both, after their long +practice at being unhappy, to try to be as happy as possible. And the +very first time that Francis was jealous, or objected to any one +kissing her hand or traveling from New York to take her away from a +cruel husband, Marjorie was to leave him forever. This was his +suggestion. + +"But I don't think I would," said Marjorie thoughtfully, lifting her +head a little from his shoulder. "I never did, did I, no matter what +you did to me? You couldn't even make me go when you sent me--I +preferred malarial fever." + +Francis said nothing to that, except to suddenly tighten his arms about +her. He was not yet at the point where he could make a joke of her +illness. She had been too near the Valley of the Shadow for that. + +So they were still sitting very comfortably together, discussing their +mutual life--they had planned as far as the tenth year of their +marriage--when Peggy descended upon them again. + +Marjorie flushed and made a faint effort to escape, but Francis sat +immovably, exactly as if Peggy were not there at all. + +"Oh!" said Peggy. + +"We've made up," said Francis coolly. + +"Then I suppose you won't be wanting me on the premises," said Peggy, +making a dive for the door. + +"I would be delighted if there was a whole procession of you, like a +frieze," said Francis, "walking by and seeing how happy I am." + +"Oh, but I wouldn't!" protested Marjorie. "Do let me get up and be +respectable, Francis. There _will_ be a procession going by +presently--you know the men all come and ask how I am every day." + +At that reluctantly he did put her back in her chair, where she lay for +a little longer, starry-eyed and quite unlike an invalid. Peggy went +inside, judging that in spite of Francis's protests they would be +perfectly happy alone; and, besides, she wanted to tell her mother. +The two on the veranda stayed where they were. + +"But what about the cooking?" demanded Marjorie presently. + +"It's been all right while you were sick. We are going to get through +sooner than I thought." + +"Oh, I'm so glad," she sighed. "I really did want you to get the work +done, and succeed--I never hated you that much, at the worst." + +"Don't talk about the work!" he said passionately. "The work didn't +matter a bit. And I tell you this, Marjorie, if I can help it you +shall never do another stroke of work as long as you live!" + +"That's going too far, as usual," said Marjorie calmly. "You certainly +are a tempestuous person, Francis Ellison! I'd be unhappy without +something to do. . . . May I play on the banjo sometimes in the +evening, and will you stay quite close to me when I do?" + +"You mean----" he asked. + +"I mean that you didn't destroy all those notes when you lost your +temper with me. To begin with, you left note-shaped places in the +dust, on all the things you had put there for me--you really will have +to let me do a little dusting occasionally, dear!--and so I hunted. +One note was under the fresh banjo strings. . . . And you may well be +glad you forgot it." + +"Why, dearest? Did it make you a little sorry for me?" + +"Oh, so sorry! In spite of all you'd said and done, somehow--somehow +when I read that I think I began to fall in love with you all over +again. . . . I cried, I know. I didn't know then that was what was +the matter with me, but I know now it was. You had wanted me so much, +there in our dear little cabin; and try as I would to keep telling +myself that it was a last year's you, it kept feeling like a this +year's." + +"It was," he said fervently. "It was this year's, and every year's, as +long as we both live." + +"As long as we both live," echoed Marjorie. + +They were both quiet for a while. The sun was setting, and the rays +shone down through the trees; through a gap they could see the west, +scarlet and gold and beautiful. Things felt very solemn. Marjorie put +out one hand mutely, and Francis took it and held it closely. It was +more really their marriage day than the one in New York, when they were +both young and reckless, and scarcely more than bits of flotsam in the +tremendous world-current that set toward mating and replacement. They +belonged together now, willingly and deliberately; set to go forward +with what love and forbearance and earnestness of purpose they could, +all the days of their life. They both felt it, and were still. + +But presently Marjorie's laughter awakened Francis from his muse. He +had been promising himself that he would make up to her--that he would +try to erase all his wild doings from her mind. She should forget some +day that he had ever put her in an automobile, and borne her away, +Sabine fashion, to where he could dominate her into submission and +wifehood. He had gone very far into himself, and that light laugh of +hers, that he loved, drew him back from the far places. + +"What is it, dear?" he asked. + +"I was just thinking--I was just thinking what awfully good common +sense you showed, carrying me off that way. And how proud of it I'll +be as long as I live!" said Marjorie. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I'VE MARRIED MARJORIE*** + + +******* This file should be named 22904.txt or 22904.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/0/22904 + + + +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. 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