diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/2023-10-05-366-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/2023-10-05-366-h.htm | 8339 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 8339 deletions
diff --git a/old/2023-10-05-366-h.htm b/old/2023-10-05-366-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1601030..0000000 --- a/old/2023-10-05-366-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8339 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - Bab: a Sub-deb, by Mary Roberts Rinehart - </title> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bab: A Sub-Deb, by Mary Roberts Rinehart - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Bab: A Sub-Deb - -Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart - -Release Date: November, 1995 [EBook #366] -Last Updated: February 28, 2015 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAB: A SUB-DEB *** - - - - -Produced by Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteers - - - - - -</pre> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - BAB: A SUB-DEB - </h1> - <h2> - By Mary Roberts Rinehart - </h2> - <h5> - Author Of "K," "The Circular Staircase," "Kings, Queens And Pawns," Etc. - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE SUB-DEB: A THEME WRITTEN AND - SUBMITTED IN LITERATURE CLASS BY BARBARA PUTNAM ARCHIBALD, 1917. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. THEME: THE CELEBRITY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. HER DIARY: BEING THE DAILY JOURNAL - OF THE SUB-DEB </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I. THE SUB-DEB: A THEME WRITTEN AND SUBMITTED IN LITERATURE CLASS - BY BARBARA PUTNAM ARCHIBALD, 1917. - </h2> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <h3> - DEFINITION OF A THEME: - </h3> - <p> - A theme is a piece of writing, either true or made up by the author, and - consisting of Introduction, Body and Conclusion. It should contain Unity, - Coherence, Emphasis, Perspecuity, Vivacity, and Precision. It may be - ornamented with dialogue, description and choice quotations. - </p> - <h3> - SUBJECT OF THEME: - </h3> - <p> - An interesting Incident of My Christmas Holadays. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - INTRODUCTION: - </h2> - <p> - "A tyrant's power in rigor is exprest."—DRYDEN. - </p> - <p> - I have decided to relate with precision what occurred during my recent - Christmas holiday. Although I was away from this school only four days, - returning unexpectedly the day after Christmas, a number of Incidents - occurred which I believe I should narrate. - </p> - <p> - It is only just and fair that the Upper House, at least, should know of - the injustice of my exile, and that it is all the result of circumstances - over which I had no control. - </p> - <p> - For I make this appeal, and with good reason. Is it any fault of mine that - my sister Leila is 20 months older than I am? Naturally, no. - </p> - <p> - Is it fair also, I ask, that in the best society, a girl is a Sub-Deb the - year before she comes out, and although mature in mind, and even maturer - in many ways than her older sister, the latter is treated as a young lady, - enjoying many privileges, while the former is treated as a mere child, in - spite, as I have observed, of only 20 months difference? I wish to place - myself on record that it is NOT fair. - </p> - <p> - I shall go back, for a short time, to the way things were at home when I - was small. I was very strictly raised. With the exception of Tommy Gray, - who lives next door and only is about my age, I was never permitted to - know any of the Other Sex. - </p> - <p> - Looking back, I am sure that the present way society is organized is - really to blame for everything. I am being frank, and that is the way I - feel. I was too strictly raised. I always had a governess tagging along. - Until I came here to school I had never walked to the corner of the next - street unattended. If it wasn't Mademoiselle, it was mother's maid, and if - it wasn't either of them, it was mother herself, telling me to hold my - toes out and my shoulder blades in. As I have said, I never knew any of - the Other Sex, except the miserable little beasts at dancing school. I - used to make faces at them when Mademoiselle was putting on my slippers - and pulling out my hair bow. They were totally uninteresting, and I used - to put pins in my sash, so that they would get scratched. - </p> - <p> - Their pumps mostly squeaked, and nobody noticed it, although I have known - my parents to dismiss a Butler who creaked at the table. - </p> - <p> - When I was sent away to school, I expected to learn something of life. But - I was disappointed. I do not desire to criticize this institution of - learning. It is an excellent one, as is shown by the fact that the best - families send their daughters here. But to learn life one must know - something of both sides of it, male and female. It was, therefore, a - matter of deep regret to me to find that, with the exception of the - dancing master, who has three children, and the gardener, there were no - members of the sterner sex to be seen. - </p> - <p> - The athletic coach was a girl! As she has left now to be married, I - venture to say that she was not what Lord Chesterfield so euphoniously - termed "SUAVITER IN MODO, FORTATER IN RE." - </p> - <p> - When we go out to walk we are taken to the country, and the three matinees - a year we see in the city are mostly Shakespeare, arranged for the young. - We are allowed only certain magazines, the Atlantic Monthly and one or two - others, and Barbara Armstrong was penalized for having a framed photograph - of her brother in running clothes. - </p> - <p> - At the school dances we are compelled to dance with each other, and the - result is that when at home at Holiday parties I always try to lead, which - annoys the boys I dance with. - </p> - <p> - Notwithstanding all this it is an excellent school. We learn a great deal, - and our dear principal is a most charming and erudite person. But we see - very little of life. And if school is a preparation for life, where are - we? - </p> - <p> - Being here alone since the day after Christmas, I have had time to think - everything out. I am naturally a thinking person. And now I am no longer - indignant. I realize that I was wrong, and that I am only paying the - penalty that I deserve although I consider it most unfair to be given - French translation to do. I do not object to going to bed at nine o'clock, - although ten is the hour in the Upper House, because I have time then to - look back over things, and to reflect, to think. - </p> - <p> - "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." - SHAKESPEARE. - </p> - <h3> - BODY OF THEME: - </h3> - <p> - I now approach the narrative of what happened during the first four days - of my Christmas Holiday. - </p> - <p> - For a period before the fifteenth of December, I was rather worried. All - the girls in the school were getting new clothes for Christmas parties, - and their Families were sending on invitations in great numbers, to - various festivities that were to occur when they went home. - </p> - <p> - Nothing, however, had come for me, and I was worried. But on the 16th - mother's visiting Secretary sent on four that I was to accept, with tiped - acceptances for me to copy and send. She also sent me the good news that I - was to have two party dresses, and I was to send on my measurements for - them. - </p> - <p> - One of the parties was a dinner and theater party, to be given by Carter - Brooks on New Year's Day. Carter Brooks is the well-known Yale Center, - although now no longer such but selling advertizing, ecetera. - </p> - <p> - It is tragic to think that, after having so long anticipated that party, I - am now here in sackcloth and ashes, which is a figure of speech for the - Peter Thompson uniform of the school, with plain white for evenings and no - jewelry. - </p> - <p> - It was with anticipatory joy, therefore, that I sent the acceptances and - the desired measurements, and sat down to cheerfully while away the time - in studies and the various duties of school life, until the Holidays. - </p> - <p> - However, I was not long to rest in piece, for in a few days I received a - letter from Carter Brooks, as follows: - </p> - <p> - DEAR BARBARA: It was sweet of you to write me so promptly, although I - confess to being rather astonished as well as delighted at being called - "Dearest." The signature too was charming, "Ever thine." But, dear child, - won't you write at once and tell me why the waist, bust and hip - measurements? And the request to have them really low in the neck? Ever - thine, CARTER. - </p> - <p> - It will be perceived that I had sent him the letter to mother, by mistake. - </p> - <p> - I was very unhappy about it. It was not an auspicious way to begin the - holidays, especially the low neck. Also I disliked very much having told - him my waist measure which is large owing to basket ball. - </p> - <p> - As I have stated before, I have known very few of the Other Sex, but some - of the girls had had more experience, and in the days before we went home, - we talked a great deal about things. Especially Love. I felt that it was - rather over-done, particularly in fiction. Also I felt and observed at - divers times that I would never marry. It was my intention to go upon the - stage, although modified since by what I am about to relate. - </p> - <p> - The other girls say that I look like Julia Marlowe. - </p> - <p> - Some of the girls had boys who wrote to them, and one of them—I - refrain from giving her name had—a Code. You read every third word. - He called her "Cousin" and he would write like this: - </p> - <p> - Dear Cousin: I am well. Am just about crazy this week to go home. See - notice enclosed you football game. - </p> - <p> - And so on and on. Only what it really said was "I am crazy to see you." - </p> - <p> - (In giving this code I am betraying no secrets, as they have quarreled and - everything is now over between them.) - </p> - <p> - As I had nobody, at that time, and as I had visions of a career, I was a - man-hater. I acknowledge that this was a pose. But after all, what is life - but a pose? - </p> - <p> - "Stupid things!" I always said. "Nothing in their heads but football and - tobacco smoke. Women," I said, "are only their playthings. And when they - do grow up and get a little intelligence they use it in making money." - </p> - <p> - There has been a story in the school—I got it from one of the little - girls—that I was disappointed in love in early youth, the object of - my attachment having been the tenor in our church choir at home. I daresay - I should have denied the soft impeachment, but I did not. It was, although - not appearing so at the time, my first downward step on the path that - leads to destruction. - </p> - <p> - "The way of the transgressor is hard"—Bible. - </p> - <p> - I come now to the momentous day of my return to my dear home for - Christmas. Father and my sister Leila, who from now on I will term "Sis," - met me at the station. Sis was very elegantly dressed, and she said: - </p> - <p> - "Hello, Kid," and turned her cheek for me to kiss. - </p> - <p> - She is, as I have stated, but 20 months older than I, and depends - altogether on her clothes for her beauty. In the morning she is plain, - although having a good skin. She was trimmed up with a bouquet of violets - as large as a dishpan, and she covered them with her hands when I kissed - her. - </p> - <p> - She was waved and powdered, and she had on a perfectly new outfit. And I - was shabby. That is the exact word. Shabby. If you have to hang your - entire wardrobe in a closet ten inches deep, and put it over you on cold - nights, with the steam heat shut off at ten o'clock, it does not make it - look any better. - </p> - <p> - My father has always been my favorite member of the family, and he was - very glad to see me. He has a great deal of tact, also, and later on he - slipped ten dollars in my purse in the motor. I needed it very much, as - after I had paid the porter and bought luncheon, I had only three dollars - left and an I. O. U. from one of the girls for seventy-five cents, which - this may remind her, if it is read in class, she has forgotten. - </p> - <p> - "Good heavens, Barbara," Sis said, while I hugged father, "you certainly - need to be pressed." - </p> - <p> - "I daresay I'll be the better for a hot iron," I retorted, "but at least I - shan't need it on my hair." My hair is curly while hers is straight. - </p> - <p> - "Boarding school wit!" she said, and stocked to the motor. - </p> - <p> - Mother was in the car and glad to see me, but as usual she managed to - restrain her enthusiasm. She put her hands over some orchids she was - wearing when I kissed her. She and Sis were on their way to something or - other. - </p> - <p> - "Trimmed up like Easter hats, you two!" I said. - </p> - <p> - "School has not changed you, I fear, Barbara," mother observed. "I hope - you are studying hard." - </p> - <p> - "Exactly as hard as I have to. No more, no less," I regret to confess that - I replied. And I saw Sis and mother exchange glances of significance. - </p> - <p> - We dropped them at the reception and father went to his office and I went - on home alone. And all at once I began to be embittered. Sis had - everything, and what had I? And when I got home, and saw that Sis had had - her room done over, and ivory toilet things on her dressing table, and two - perfectly huge boxes of candy on a stand and a ball gown laid out on the - bed, I almost wept. - </p> - <p> - My own room was just as I had left it. It had been the night nursery, and - there was still the dent in the mantel where I had thrown a hair brush at - Sis, and the ink spot on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and - everything. - </p> - <p> - Mademoiselle had gone, and Hannah, mother's maid, came to help me off with - my things. I slammed the door in her face, and sat down on the bed and - RAGED. - </p> - <p> - They still thought I was a little girl. They PATRONIZED me. I would hardly - have been surprised if they had sent up a bread and milk supper on a tray. - It was then and there that I made up my mind to show them that I was no - longer a mere child. That the time was gone when they could shut me up in - the nursery and forget me. I was seventeen years and eleven days old, and - Juliet, in Shakespeare, was only sixteen when she had her well-known - affair with Romeo. - </p> - <p> - I had no plan then. It was not until the next afternoon that the thing - sprung (sprang?) fullblown from the head of Jove. - </p> - <p> - The evening was rather dreary. The family was going out, but not until - nine thirty, and mother and Leila went over my clothes. They sat, Sis in - pink chiffon and mother in black and silver, and Hannah took out my things - and held them up. I was obliged to silently sit by, while my rags and - misery were exposed. - </p> - <p> - "Why this open humiliation?" I demanded at last. "I am the family - Cinderella, I admit it. But it isn't necessary to lay so much emphasis on - it, is it?" - </p> - <p> - "Don't be sarcastic, Barbara," said mother. "You are still only a child, - and a very untidy child at that. What do you do with your elbows to rub - them through so? It must have taken patience and application." - </p> - <p> - "Mother" I said, "am I to have the party dresses?" - </p> - <p> - "Two. Very simple." - </p> - <p> - "Low in the neck?" - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not. A small v, perhaps." - </p> - <p> - "I've got a good neck." She rose impressively. - </p> - <p> - "You amaze and shock me, Barbara," she said coldly. - </p> - <p> - "I shouldn't have to wear tulle around my shoulders to hide the bones!" I - retorted. "Sis is rather thin." - </p> - <p> - "You are a very sharp-tongued little girl," mother said, looking up at me. - I am two inches taller than she is. - </p> - <p> - "Unless you learn to curb yourself, there will be no parties for you, and - no party dresses." - </p> - <p> - This was the speech that broke the camel's back. I could endure no more. - </p> - <p> - "I think," I said, "that I shall get married and end everything." - </p> - <p> - Need I explain that I had no serious intention of taking the fatal step? - But it was not deliberate mendacity. It was despair. - </p> - <p> - Mother actually went white. She clutched me by the arm and shook me. - </p> - <p> - "What are you saying?" she demanded. - </p> - <p> - "I think you heard me, mother" I said, very politely. I was however - thinking hard. - </p> - <p> - "Marry whom? Barbara, answer me." - </p> - <p> - "I don't know. Anybody." - </p> - <p> - "She's trying to frighten you, mother" Sis said. "There isn't anybody. - Don't let her fool you." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, isn't there?" I said in a dark and portentous manner. - </p> - <p> - Mother gave me a long look, and went out. I heard her go into father's - dressing-room. But Sis sat on my bed and watched me. - </p> - <p> - "Who is it, Bab?" she asked. "The dancing teacher? Or your riding master? - Or the school plumber?" - </p> - <p> - "Guess again." - </p> - <p> - "You're just enough of a little simpleton to get tied up to some wretched - creature and disgrace us all." - </p> - <p> - I wish to state here that until that moment I had no intention of going - any further with the miserable business. I am naturally truthful, and - deception is hateful to me. But when my sister uttered the above - disparaging remark I saw that, to preserve my own dignity, which I value - above precious stones, I would be compelled to go on. - </p> - <p> - "I'm perfectly mad about him," I said. "And he's crazy about me." - </p> - <p> - "I'd like very much to know," Sis said, as she stood up and stared at me, - "how much you are making up and how much is true." - </p> - <p> - None the less, I saw that she was terrified. The family kitten, to speak - in allegory, had become a lion and showed its claws. - </p> - <p> - When she had gone out I tried to think of some one to hang a love affair - to. But there seemed to be nobody. They knew perfectly well that the - dancing master had one eye and three children, and that the clergyman at - school was elderly, with two wives. One dead. - </p> - <p> - I searched my past, but it was blameless. It was empty and bare, and as I - looked back and saw how little there had been in it but imbibing wisdom - and playing basket-ball and tennis, and typhoid fever when I was fourteen - and almost having to have my head shaved, a great wave of bitterness - agitated me. - </p> - <p> - "Never again," I observed to myself with firmness. "Never again, if I have - to invent a member of the Other Sex." - </p> - <p> - At that time, however, owing to the appearance of Hannah with a mending - basket, I got no further than his name. - </p> - <p> - It was Harold. I decided to have him dark, with a very small black - mustache, and passionate eyes. I felt, too, that he would be jealous. The - eyes would be of the smoldering type, showing the green-eyed monster - beneath. - </p> - <p> - I was very much cheered up. At least they could not ignore me any more, - and I felt that they would see the point. If I was old enough to have a - lover—especially a jealous one with the aforementioned eyes—I - was old enough to have the necks of my frocks cut out. - </p> - <p> - While they were getting their wraps on in the lower hall, I counted my - money. I had thirteen dollars. It was enough for a plan I was beginning to - have in mind. - </p> - <p> - "Go to bed early, Barbara," mother said when they were ready to go out. - </p> - <p> - "You don't mind if I write a letter, do you?" - </p> - <p> - "To whom?" - </p> - <p> - "Oh, just a letter," I said, and she stared at me coldly. - </p> - <p> - "I daresay you will write it, whether I consent or not. Leave it on the - hall table, and it will go out with the morning mail." - </p> - <p> - "I may run out to the box with it." - </p> - <p> - "I forbid your doing anything of the sort." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, very well," I responded meekly. - </p> - <p> - "If there is such haste about it, give it to Hannah to mail." - </p> - <p> - "Very well," I said. - </p> - <p> - She made an excuse to see Hannah before she left, and I knew THAT I WAS - BEING WATCHED. I was greatly excited, and happier than I had been for - weeks. But when I had settled myself in the library, with the paper in - front of me, I could not think of anything to say in a letter. So I wrote - a poem instead. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - "To H—— - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - "Dear love: you seem so far away, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I would that you were near. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I do so long to hear you say - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Again, 'I love you, dear.' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - "Here all is cold and drear and strange - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - With none who with me tarry, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I hope that soon we can arrange - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To run away and marry." - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The last verse did not scan, exactly, but I wished to use the word "marry" - if possible. It would show, I felt, that things were really serious and - impending. A love affair is only a love affair, but marriage is marriage, - and the end of everything. - </p> - <p> - It was at that moment, 10 o'clock, that the strange thing occurred which - did not seem strange at all at the time, but which developed into so great - a mystery later on. Which was to actually threaten my reason and which, - flying on winged feet, was to send me back here to school the day after - Christmas and put my seed pearl necklace in the safe deposit vault. Which - was very unfair, for what had my necklace to do with it? And just now, - when I need comfort, it—the necklace—would help to relieve my - exile. - </p> - <p> - Hannah brought me in a cup of hot milk, with a Valentine's malted milk - tablet dissolved in it. - </p> - <p> - As I stirred it around, it occurred to me that Valentine would be a good - name for Harold. On the spot I named him Harold Valentine, and I wrote the - name on the envelope that had the poem inside, and addressed it to the - town where this school gets its mail. - </p> - <p> - It looked well written out. "Valentine," also, is a word that naturally - connects itself with AFFAIRS DE COUR. And I felt that I was safe, for as - there was no Harold Valentine, he could not call for the letter at the - post office, and would therefore not be able to cause me any trouble, - under any circumstances. And, furthermore. I knew that Hannah would not - mail the letter anyhow, but would give it to mother. So, even if there was - a Harold Valentine, he would never get it. - </p> - <p> - Comforted by these reflections, I drank my malted milk, ignorant of the - fact that destiny, "which never swerves, nor yields to men the helm"—Emerson, - was stocking at my heels. - </p> - <p> - Between sips, as the expression goes, I addressed the envelope to Harold - Valentine, and gave it to Hannah. She went out the front door with it, as - I had expected, but I watched from a window, and she turned right around - and went in the area way. So THAT was all right. - </p> - <p> - It had worked like a Charm. I could tear my hair now when I think how well - it worked. I ought to have been suspicious for that very reason. When - things go very well with me at the start, it is a sure sign that they are - going to blow up eventually. - </p> - <p> - Mother and Sis slept late the next morning, and I went out stealthily and - did some shopping. First I bought myself a bunch of violets, with a white - rose in the center, and I printed on the card: - </p> - <p> - "My love is like a white, white rose. H." And sent it to myself. - </p> - <p> - It was deception, I acknowledge, but having put my hand to the plow, I did - not intend to steer a crooked course. I would go straight to the end. I am - like that in everything I do. But, on deliberating things over, I felt - that Violets, alone and unsupported, were not enough. I felt that If I had - a photograph, it would make everything more real. After all, what is a - love affair without a picture of the Beloved Object? - </p> - <p> - So I bought a photograph. It was hard to find what I wanted, but I got it - at last in a stationer's shop, a young man in a checked suit with a small - mustache—the young man, of course, not the suit. Unluckily, he was - rather blonde, and had a dimple in his chin. But he looked exactly as - though his name ought to be Harold. - </p> - <p> - I may say here that I chose "Harold," not because it is a favorite name of - mine, but because it is romantic in sound. Also because I had never known - any one named Harold and it seemed only discrete. - </p> - <p> - I took it home in my muff and put it under my pillow where Hannah would - find it and probably take it to mother. I wanted to buy a ring too, to - hang on a ribbon around my neck. But the violets had made a fearful hole - in my thirteen dollars. - </p> - <p> - I borrowed a stub pen at the stationer's and I wrote on the photograph, in - large, sprawling letters, "To YOU from ME." - </p> - <p> - "There," I said to myself, when I put it under the pillow. "You look like - a photograph, but you are really a bomb-shell." - </p> - <p> - As things eventuated, it was. More so, indeed. - </p> - <p> - Mother sent for me when I came in. She was sitting in front of her mirror, - having the vibrator used on her hair, and her manner was changed. I - guessed that there had been a family counsel over the poem, and that they - had decided to try kindness. - </p> - <p> - "Sit down, Barbara," she said. "I hope you were not lonely last night?" - </p> - <p> - "I am never lonely, mother. I always have things to think about." - </p> - <p> - I said this in a very pathetic tone. - </p> - <p> - "What sort of things?" mother asked, rather sharply. - </p> - <p> - "Oh—things," I said vaguely. "Life is such a mess, isn't it?" - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not. Unless one makes it so." - </p> - <p> - "But it is so difficult. Things come up and—and it's hard to know - what to do. The only way, I suppose, is to be true to one's belief in - one's self." - </p> - <p> - "Take that thing off my head and go out, Hannah," mother snapped. "Now - then, Barbara, what in the world has come over you?" - </p> - <p> - "Over me? Nothing." - </p> - <p> - "You are being a silly child." - </p> - <p> - "I am no longer a child, mother. I am seventeen. And at seventeen there - are problems. After all, one's life is one's own. One must decide——" - </p> - <p> - "Now, Barbara, I am not going to have any nonsense. You must put that man - out of your head." - </p> - <p> - "Man? What man?" - </p> - <p> - "You think you are in love with some driveling young Fool. I'm not blind, - or an idiot. And I won't have it." - </p> - <p> - "I have not said that there is anyone, have I?" I said in a gentle voice. - "But if there was, just what would you propose to do, mother?" - </p> - <p> - "If you were three years younger I'd propose to spank you." Then I think - she saw that she was taking the wrong method, for she changed her tactics. - "It's the fault of that silly school," she said. (Note: These are my - mother's words, not mine.) "They are hotbeds of sickly sentimentality. - They——" - </p> - <p> - And just then the violets came, addressed to me. Mother opened them - herself, her mouth set. "My love is like a white, white rose," she said. - "Barbara, do you know who sent these?" - </p> - <p> - "Yes, mother," I said meekly. This was quite true. I did. - </p> - <p> - I am indeed sorry to record that here my mother lost her temper, and there - was no end of a fuss. It ended by mother offering me a string of seed - pearls for Christmas, and my party dresses cut V front and back, if I - would, as she phrased it, "put him out of my silly head." - </p> - <p> - "I shall have to write one letter, mother," I said, "to—to break - things off. I cannot tear myself out of another's life without a word." - </p> - <p> - She sniffed. - </p> - <p> - "Very well," she said. "One letter. I trust you to make it only one." - </p> - <p> - I come now to the next day. How true it is, that "Man's life is but a - jest, a dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor at the best!" - </p> - <p> - I spent the morning with mother at the dressmakers and she chose two - perfectly spiffing things, one of white chiffon over silk, made modified - Empire, with little bunches of roses here and there on it, and when she - and the dressmaker were haggling over the roses, I took the scissors and - cut the neck of the lining two inches lower in front. The effect was - positively impressive. The other was blue over orchid, a perfectly - passionate combination. - </p> - <p> - When we got home some of the girls had dropped in, and Carter Brooks and - Sis were having tea in the den. I am perfectly sure that Sis threw a - cigarette in the fire when I went in. When I think of my sitting here - alone, when I have done NOTHING, and Sis playing around and smoking - cigarettes, and nothing said, all for a difference of 20 months, it makes - me furious. - </p> - <p> - "Let's go in and play with the children, Leila," he said. "I'm feeling - young today." - </p> - <p> - Which was perfectly silly. He is not Methuselah. Although thinking himself - so, or almost. - </p> - <p> - Well, they went into the drawing room. Elaine Adams was there waiting for - me, and Betty Anderson and Jane Raleigh. And I hadn't been in the room - five minutes before I knew that they all knew. It turned out later that - Hannah was engaged to the Adams' butler, and she had told him, and he had - told Elaine's governess, who is still there and does the ordering, and - Elaine sends her stockings home for her to darn. - </p> - <p> - Sis had told Carter, too, I saw that, and among them they had rather a - good time. Carter sat down at the piano and struck a few chords, chanting - "My Love is like a white, white rose." - </p> - <p> - "Only you know" he said, turning to me, "that's wrong. It ought to be a - 'red, red rose.'" - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not. The word is 'white.'" - </p> - <p> - "Oh, is it?" he said, with his head on one side. "Strange that both you - and Harold should have got it wrong." - </p> - <p> - I confess to a feeling of uneasiness at that moment. - </p> - <p> - Tea came, and Carter insisted on pouring. - </p> - <p> - "I do so love to pour!" he said. "Really, after a long day's shopping, tea - is the only thing that keeps me going until dinner. Cream or lemon, Leila - dear?" - </p> - <p> - "Both," Sis said in an absent manner, with her eyes on me. "Barbara, come - into the den a moment. I want to show you mother's Christmas gift." - </p> - <p> - She stocked in ahead of me, and lifted a book from the table. Under it was - the photograph. - </p> - <p> - "You wretched child!" she said. "Where did you get that?" - </p> - <p> - "That's not your affair, is it?" - </p> - <p> - "I'm going to make it my affair. Did he give it to you?" - </p> - <p> - "Have you read what's written on it?" - </p> - <p> - "Where did you meet him?" - </p> - <p> - I hesitated because I am by nature truthful. But at last I said: - </p> - <p> - "At school." - </p> - <p> - "Oh," she said slowly. "So you met him at school! What was he doing there? - Teaching elocution?" - </p> - <p> - "Elocution!" - </p> - <p> - "This is Harold, is it?" - </p> - <p> - "Certainly." Well, he WAS Harold, if I chose to call him that, wasn't he? - Sis gave a little sigh. - </p> - <p> - "You're quite hopeless, Bab. And, although I'm perfectly sure you want me - to take the thing to mother, I'll do nothing of the sort." - </p> - <p> - SHE FLUNG IT INTO THE FIRE. I was raging. It had cost me a dollar. It was - quite brown when I got it out, and a corner was burned off. But I got it. - </p> - <p> - "I'll thank you to burn your own things," I said with dignity. And I went - back to the drawing room. - </p> - <p> - The girls and Carter Brooks were talking in an undertone when I got there. - I knew it was about me. And Jane came over to me and put her arm around - me. - </p> - <p> - "You poor thing!" she said. "Just fight it out. We're all with you." - </p> - <p> - "I'm so helpless, Jane." I put all the despair I could into my voice. For - after all, if they were going to talk about my private affairs behind my - back, I felt that they might as well have something to talk about. As - Jane's second cousin once removed is in this school and as Jane will - probably write her all about it, I hope this theme is read aloud in class, - so she will get it all straight. Jane is imaginative and may have a wrong - idea of things. - </p> - <p> - "Don't give in. Let them bully you. They can't really do anything. And - they're scared. Leila is positively sick." - </p> - <p> - "I've promised to write and break it off," I said in a tense tone. - </p> - <p> - "If he really loves you," said Jane, "the letter won't matter." There was - a thrill in her voice. Had I not been uneasy at my deceit, I to would have - thrilled. - </p> - <p> - Some fresh muffins came in just then and I was starving. But I waved them - away, and stood staring at the fire. - </p> - <p> - I am writing all of this as truthfully as I can. I am not defending - myself. What I did I was driven to, as any one can see. It takes a real - shock to make the average family wake up to the fact that the youngest - daughter is not the family baby at seventeen. All I was doing was - furnishing the shock. If things turned out badly, as they did, it was - because I rather overdid the thing. That is all. My motives were perfectly - irreproachable. - </p> - <p> - Well, they fell on the muffins like pigs, and I could hardly stand it. So - I wandered into the den, and it occurred to me to write the letter then. I - felt that they all expected me to do something anyhow. - </p> - <p> - If I had never written the wretched letter things would be better now. As - I say, I overdid. But everything had gone so smoothly all day that I was - deceived. But the real reason was a new set of furs. I had secured the - dresses and the promise of the necklace on a poem and a photograph, and I - thought that a good love letter might bring a muff. It all shows that it - does not do to be grasping. - </p> - <h3> - HAD I NOT WRITTEN THE LETTER, THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN NO TRAGEDY. - </h3> - <p> - But I wrote it and if I do say it, it was a LETTER. I commenced it - "Darling," and I said I was mad to see him, and that I would always love - him. But I told him that the family objected to him, and that this was to - end everything between us. They had started the phonograph in the library, - and were playing "The Rosary." So I ended with a verse from that. It was - really a most affecting letter. I almost wept over it myself, because, if - there had been a Harold, it would have broken his Heart. - </p> - <p> - Of course I meant to give it to Hannah to mail, and she would give it to - mother. Then, after the family had read it and it had got in its work, - including the set of furs, they were welcome to mail it. It would go to - the dead letter office, since there was no Harold. It could not come back - to me, for I had only signed it "Barbara." I had it all figured out - carefully. It looked as if I had everything to gain, including the furs, - and nothing to lose. Alas, how little I knew! - </p> - <p> - "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft allay." Burns. - </p> - <p> - Carter Brooks ambled into the room just as I sealed it and stood gazing - down at me. - </p> - <p> - "You're quite a Person these days, Bab," he said. "I suppose all the - customary Xmas kisses are being saved this year for what's his name." - </p> - <p> - "I don't understand you." - </p> - <p> - "For Harold. You know, Bab, I think I could bear up better if his name - wasn't Harold." - </p> - <p> - "I don't see how it concerns you," I responded. - </p> - <p> - "Don't you? With me crazy about you for lo, these many years! First as a - baby, then as a sub-sub-deb, and now as a sub-deb. Next year, when you are - a real debutante——" - </p> - <p> - "You've concealed your infatuation bravely." - </p> - <p> - "It's been eating me inside. A green and yellow melancholy—hello! A - letter to him!" - </p> - <p> - "Why, so it is," I said in a scornful tone. - </p> - <p> - He picked it up, and looked at it. Then he started and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "No!" he said. "It isn't possible! It isn't old Valentine!" - </p> - <p> - Positively, my knees got cold. I never had such a shock. - </p> - <p> - "It—it certainly is Harold Valentine," I said feebly. - </p> - <p> - "Old Hal!" he muttered. "Well, who would have thought it! And not a word - to me about it, the secretive old duffer!" He held out his hand to me. - "Congratulations, Barbara," he said heartily. "Since you absolutely refuse - me, you couldn't do better. He's the finest chap I know. If it's Valentine - the family is kicking up such a row about, you leave it to me. I'll tell - them a few things." - </p> - <p> - I was stunned. Would anybody have believed it? To pick a name out of the - air, so to speak, and off a malted milk tablet, and then to find that it - actually belonged to some one—was sickening. - </p> - <p> - "It may not be the one you know" I said desperately. "It—it's a - common name. There must be plenty of Valentines." - </p> - <p> - "Sure there are, lace paper and cupids—lots of that sort. But - there's only one Harold Valentine, and now you've got him pinned to the - wall! I'll tell you what I'll do, Barbara. I'm a real friend of yours. - Always have been. Always will be. The chances are against the family - letting him get this letter. I'll give it to him." - </p> - <p> - "GIVE it to him?" - </p> - <p> - "Why, he's here. You know that, don't you? He's in town over the - holidays." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, no!" I said in a gasping Voice. - </p> - <p> - "Sorry," he said. "Probably meant it as a surprise to you. Yes, he's here, - with bells on." - </p> - <p> - He then put the letter in his pocket before my very eyes, and sat down on - the corner of the writing table! - </p> - <p> - "You don't know how all this has relieved my mind," he said. "The poor - chap's been looking down. Not interested in anything. Of course this - explains it. He's the sort to take Love hard. At college he took - everything hard—like to have died once with German measles." - </p> - <p> - He picked up a book, and the charred picture was underneath. He pounced on - it. "Pounced" is exactly the right word. - </p> - <p> - "Hello!" he said, "family again, I suppose. Yes, it's Hal, all right. - Well, who would have thought it!" - </p> - <p> - My last hope died. Then and there I had a nervous chill. I was compelled - to prop my chin on my hand to keep my teeth from chattering. - </p> - <p> - "Tell you what I'll do," he said, in a perfectly cheerful tone that made - me cold all over. "I'll be the cupid for your Valentine. See? Far be it - from me to see love's young dream wiped out by a hardhearted family. I'm - going to see this thing through. You count on me, Barbara. I'll arrange - that you get a chance to see each other, family or no family. Old Hal has - been looking down his nose long enough. When's your first party?" - </p> - <p> - "Tomorrow night," I gasped out. - </p> - <p> - "Very well. Tomorrow night it is. It's the Adams', isn't it, at the Club?" - </p> - <p> - I could only nod. I was beyond speaking. I saw it all clearly. I had been - wicked in deceiving my dear family and now I was to pay the penalty. He - would know at once that I had made him up, or rather he did not know me - and therefore could not possibly be in Love with me. And what then? - </p> - <p> - "But look here," he said, "if I take him there as Valentine, the family - will be on, you know. We'd better call him something else. Got any choice - as to a name?" - </p> - <p> - "Carter" I said frantically. "I think I'd better tell you. I——" - </p> - <p> - "How about calling him Grosvenor?". he babbled on. "Grosvenor's a good - name. Ted Grosvenor—that ought to hit them between the eyes. It's - going to be rather a lark, Miss Bab!" - </p> - <p> - And of course just then mother came in, and the Brooks idiot went in and - poured her a cup of tea, with his little finger stuck out at a right - angel, and every time he had a chance he winked at me. - </p> - <p> - I wanted to die. - </p> - <p> - When they had all gone home it seemed like a bad dream, the whole thing. - It could not be true. I went upstairs and manicured my nails, which - usually comforts me, and put my hair up like Leila's. - </p> - <p> - But nothing could calm me. I had made my own fate, and must lie in it. And - just then Hannah slipped in with a box in her hands and her eyes - frightened. - </p> - <p> - "Oh, Miss Barbara!" she said. "If your mother sees this!" - </p> - <p> - I dropped my manicure scissors, I was so alarmed. But I opened the box, - and clutched the envelope inside. It said "from H——." Then - Carter was right. There was an H after all! - </p> - <p> - Hannah was rolling her hands in her apron and her eyes were popping out of - her head. - </p> - <p> - "I just happened to see the boy at the door," she said, with her silly - teeth chattering. "Oh, Miss Barbara, if Patrick had answered the bell! - What shall we do with them?" - </p> - <p> - "You take them right down the back stairs," I said. "As if it was an empty - box. And put it outside with the waist papers. Quick." - </p> - <p> - She gathered the thing up, but of course mother had to come in just then - and they met in the doorway. She saw it all in one glance, and she - snatched the card out of my hand. - </p> - <p> - "From H——!" she read. "Take them out, Hannah, and throw them - away. No, don't do that. Put them on the Servant's table." Then, when the - door had closed, she turned to me. "Just one more ridiculous episode of - this kind, Barbara," she said, "and you go back to school—Christmas - or no Christmas." - </p> - <p> - I will say this. If she had shown the faintest softness, I'd have told her - the whole thing. But she did not. She looked exactly as gentle as a - macadam pavement. I am one who has to be handled with gentleness. A kind - word will do anything with me, but harsh treatment only makes me - determined. I then become inflexible as iron. - </p> - <p> - That is what happened then. Mother took the wrong course and threatened, - which as I have stated is fatal, as far as I am concerned. I refused to - yield an inch, and it ended in my having my dinner in my room, and mother - threatening to keep me home from the party the next night. It was not a - threat, if she had only known it. - </p> - <p> - But when the next day went by, with no more flowers, and nothing - apparently wrong except that mother was very dignified with me, I began to - feel better. Sis was out all day, and in the afternoon Jane called me up. - </p> - <p> - "How are you?" she said. - </p> - <p> - "Oh, I'm all right." - </p> - <p> - "Everything smooth?" - </p> - <p> - "Well, smooth enough." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, Bab," she said. "I'm just crazy about it. All the girls are." - </p> - <p> - "I knew they were crazy about something." - </p> - <p> - "You poor thing, no wonder you are bitter," she said. "Somebody's coming. - I'll have to ring off. But don't you give in, Bab. Not an inch. Marry your - heart's desire, no matter who butts in." - </p> - <p> - Well, you can see how it was. Even then I could have told father and - mother, and got out of it somehow. But all the girls knew about it, and - there was nothing to do but go on. - </p> - <p> - All that day every time I thought of the Party my heart missed a beat. But - as I would not lie and say that I was ill—I am naturally truthful, - as far as possible—I was compelled to go, although my heart was - breaking. - </p> - <p> - I am not going to write much about the party, except a slight description, - which properly belongs in every theme. - </p> - <p> - All Parties for the school set are alike. The boys range from - knickerbockers to college men in their freshmen year, and one is likely to - dance half the evening with youngsters that one saw last in their - perambulators. It is rather startling to have about six feet of black - trouser legs and white shirt front come and ask one to dance and then to - get one's eyes raised as far as the top of what looks like a particularly - thin pair of tree trunks and see a little boy's face. - </p> - <p> - As this theme is to contain description I shall describe the ball room of - the club where the eventful party occurred. - </p> - <p> - The ball room is white, with red hangings, and looks like a Charlotte - Russe with maraschino cherries. Over the fireplace they had put "Merry - Christmas," in electric lights, and the chandeliers were made into - Christmas trees and hung with colored balls. One of the balls fell off - during the cotillion, and went down the back of one of the girl's dresses, - and they were compelled to up-end her and shake her out in the dressing - room. - </p> - <p> - The favors were insignificant, as usual. It is not considered good taste - to have elaborate things for the school crowd. But when I think of the - silver things Sis always brought home, and remember that I took away about - six Christmas stockings, a toy balloon, four whistles, a wooden canary in - a cage and a box of talcum powder, I feel that things are not fair in this - World. - </p> - <p> - Hannah went with me, and in the motor she said: - </p> - <p> - "Oh, Miss Barbara, do be careful. The family is that upset." - </p> - <p> - "Don't be a silly," I said. "And if the family is half as upset as I am, - it is throwing a fit at this minute." - </p> - <p> - We were early, of course. My mother believes in being on time, and - besides, she and Sis wanted the motor later. And while Hannah was on her - knees taking off my carriage boots, I suddenly decided that I could not go - down. Hannah turned quite pale when I told her. - </p> - <p> - "What will your mother say?" she said. "And you with your new dress and - all! It's as much as my life is worth to take you back home now, Miss - Barbara." - </p> - <p> - Well, that was true enough. There would be a riot if I went home, and I - knew it. - </p> - <p> - "I'll see the steward and get you a cup of tea," Hannah said. "Tea sets me - up like anything when I'm nervous. Now please be a good girl, Miss - Barbara, and don't run off, or do anything foolish." - </p> - <p> - She wanted me to promise, but I would not, although I could not have run - anywhere. My legs were entirely numb. - </p> - <p> - In a half hour at the utmost I knew all would be known, and very likely I - would be a homeless wanderer on the earth. For I felt that never, never - could I return to my dear ones, when my terrible actions became known. - </p> - <p> - Jane came in while I was sipping the tea and she stood off and eyed me - with sympathy. - </p> - <p> - "I don't wonder, Bab!" she said. "The idea of your family acting so - outrageously! And look here" She bent over me and whispered it. "Don't - trust Carter too much. He is perfectly infatuated with Leila, and he will - play into the hands of the enemy. BE CAREFUL." - </p> - <p> - "Loathsome creature!" was my response. "As for trusting him, I trust no - one, these days." - </p> - <p> - "I don't wonder your faith is gone," she observed. But she was talking - with one eye on a mirror. - </p> - <p> - "Pink makes me pale," she said. "I'll bet the maid has a drawer full of - rouge. I'm going to see. How about a touch for you? You look ghastly." - </p> - <p> - "I don't care how I look," I said, recklessly. "I think I'll sprain my - ankle and go home. Anyhow I am not allowed to use rouge." - </p> - <p> - "Not allowed!" she observed. "What has that got to do with it? I don't - understand you, Bab; you are totally changed." - </p> - <p> - "I am suffering," I said. I was to. - </p> - <p> - Just then the maid brought me a folded note. Hannah was hanging up my - wraps, and did not see it. Jane's eyes fairly bulged. - </p> - <p> - "I hope you have saved the cotillion for me," it said. And it was signed. - H——! - </p> - <p> - "Good gracious," Jane said breathlessly. "Don't tell me he is here, and - that that's from him!" - </p> - <p> - I had to swallow twice before I could speak. Then I said, solemnly: - </p> - <p> - "He is here, Jane. He has followed me. I am going to dance the cotillion - with him although I shall probably be disinherited and thrown out into the - world, as a result." - </p> - <p> - I have no recollection whatever of going down the staircase and into the - ballroom. Although I am considered rather brave, and once saved one of the - smaller girls from drowning, as I need not remind the school, when she was - skating on thin ice, I was frightened. I remember that, inside the door, - Jane said "Courage!" in a low tense voice, and that I stepped on - somebody's foot and said "Certainly" instead of apologizing. The shock of - that brought me around somewhat, and I managed to find Mrs. Adams and - Elaine, and not disgrace myself. Then somebody at my elbow said: - </p> - <p> - "All right, Barbara. Everything's fixed." - </p> - <p> - It was Carter. - </p> - <p> - "He's waiting in the corner over there," he said. "We'd better go through - the formality of an introduction. He's positively twittering with - excitement." - </p> - <p> - "Carter" I said desperately. "I want to tell you something first. I've got - myself in an awful mess. I——" - </p> - <p> - "Sure you have," he said. "That's why I'm here, to help you out. Now you - be calm, and there's no reason why you two can't have the evening of your - young lives. I wish I could fall in love. It must be bully." - </p> - <p> - "Carter——!" - </p> - <p> - "Got his note, didn't you?" - </p> - <p> - "Yes, I——" - </p> - <p> - "Here we are," said Carter. "Miss Archibald, I would like to present Mr. - Grosvenor." - </p> - <p> - Somebody bowed in front of me, and then straightened up and looked down at - me. IT WAS THE MAN OF THE PICTURE, LITTLE MUSTACHE AND ALL. My mouth went - perfectly dry. - </p> - <p> - It is all very well to talk about Romance and Love, and all that sort of - thing. But I have concluded that amorous experiences are not always - agreeable. And I have discovered something else. The moment anybody is - crazy about me I begin to hate him. It is curious, but I am like that. I - only care as long as they, or he, is far away. And the moment I touched - H's white kid glove, I knew I loathed him. - </p> - <p> - "Now go to it, you two," Carter said in cautious tone. "Don't be - conspicuous. That's all." - </p> - <p> - And he left us. - </p> - <p> - "Suppose we dance this. Shall we?" said H. And the next moment we were - gliding off. He danced very well. I will say that. But at the time I was - too much occupied with hating him to care about dancing, or anything. But - I was compelled by my pride to see things through. We are a very proud - family and never show our troubles, though our hearts be torn with - anguish. - </p> - <p> - "Think," he said, when we had got away from the band, "think of our being - together like this!" - </p> - <p> - "It's not so surprising, is it? We've got to be together if we are - dancing." - </p> - <p> - "Not that. Do you know, I never knew so long a day as this has been. The - thought of meeting you—er—again, and all that." - </p> - <p> - "You needn't rave for my benefit," I said freezingly. "You know perfectly - well that you never saw me before." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara! With your dear little letter in my breast pocket at this - moment!" - </p> - <p> - "I didn't know men had breast pockets in their evening clothes." - </p> - <p> - "Oh well, have it your own way. I'm too happy to quarrel," he said. "How - well you dance—only, let me lead, won't you? How strange it is to - think that we have never danced together before!" - </p> - <p> - "We must have a talk," I said desperately. "Can't we go somewhere, away - from the noise?" - </p> - <p> - "That would be conspicuous, wouldn't it, under the circumstances? If we - are to overcome the family objection to me, we'll have to be cautious, - Barbara." - </p> - <p> - "Don't call me Barbara," I snapped. "I know perfectly well what you think - of me, and I——" - </p> - <p> - "I think you are wonderful," he said. "Words fail me when I try to tell - you what I am thinking. You've saved the cotillion for me, haven't you? If - not, I'm going to claim it anyhow. IT IS MY RIGHT." - </p> - <p> - He said it in the most determined manner, as if everything was settled. I - felt like a rat in a trap, and Carter, watching from a corner, looked - exactly like a cat. If he had taken his hand in its white glove and washed - his face with it, I would hardly have been surprised. - </p> - <p> - The music stopped, and somebody claimed me for the next. Jane came up, - too, and clutched my arm. - </p> - <p> - "You lucky thing!" she said. "He's perfectly handsome. And oh, Bab, he's - wild about you. I can see it in his eyes." - </p> - <p> - "Don't pinch, Jane," I said coldly. "And don't rave. He's an idiot." - </p> - <p> - She looked at me with her mouth open. - </p> - <p> - "Well, if you don't want him, pass him on to me," she said, and walked - away. - </p> - <p> - It was too silly, after everything that had happened, to dance the next - dance with Willie Graham, who is still in knickerbockers, and a full head - shorter than I am. But that's the way with a Party for the school crowd, - as I've said before. They ask all ages, from perambulators up, and of - course the little boys all want to dance with the older girls. It is - deadly stupid. - </p> - <p> - But H seemed to be having a good time. He danced a lot with Jane, who is a - wretched dancer, with no sense of time whatever. Jane is not pretty, but - she has nice eyes, and I am not afraid, second cousin once removed or no - second cousin once removed, to say she used them. - </p> - <p> - Altogether, it was a terrible evening. I danced three dances out of four - with knickerbockers, and one with old Mr. Adams, who is fat and rotates - his partner at the corners by swinging her on his waistcoat. Carter did - not dance at all, and every time I tried to speak to him he was taking a - crowd of the little girls to the fruit-punch bowl. - </p> - <p> - I determined to have things out with H during the cotillion, and tell him - that I would never marry him, that I would die first. But I was favored a - great deal, and when we did have a chance the music was making such a - noise that I would have had to shout. Our chairs were next to the band. - </p> - <p> - But at last we had a minute, and I went out to the verandah, which was - closed in with awnings. He had to follow, of course, and I turned and - faced him. - </p> - <p> - "Now" I said, "this has got to stop." - </p> - <p> - "I don't understand you, Bab." - </p> - <p> - "You do, perfectly well," I stormed. "I can't stand it. I am going crazy." - </p> - <p> - "Oh," he said slowly. "I see. I've been dancing too much with the little - girl with the eyes! Honestly, Bab, I was only doing it to disarm - suspicion. MY EVERY THOUGHT IS OF YOU." - </p> - <p> - "I mean," I said, as firmly as I could, "that this whole thing has got to - stop. I can't stand it." - </p> - <p> - "Am I to understand," he said solemnly, "that you intend to end - everything?" - </p> - <p> - I felt perfectly wild and helpless. - </p> - <p> - "After that Letter!" he went on. "After that sweet Letter! You said, you - know, that you were mad to see me, and that—it is almost too sacred - to repeat, even to YOU—that you would always love me. After that - Confession I refuse to agree that all is over. It can NEVER be over." - </p> - <p> - "I daresay I am losing my mind," I said. "It all sounds perfectly natural. - But it doesn't mean anything. There CAN'T be any Harold Valentine; because - I made him up. But there is, so there must be. And I am going crazy." - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he stormed, suddenly quite raving, and throwing out his right - hand. It would have been terribly dramatic, only he had a glass of punch - in it. "I am not going to be played with. And you are not going to jilt me - without a reason. Do you mean to deny everything? Are you going to say, - for instance, that I never sent you any violets? Or gave you my - Photograph, with an—er—touching inscription on it?" Then, - appealingly, "You can't mean to deny that Photograph, Bab!" - </p> - <p> - And then that lanky wretch of an Eddie Perkins brought me a toy balloon, - and I had to dance, with my heart crushed. - </p> - <p> - Nevertheless, I ate a fair supper. I felt that I needed Strength. It was - quite a grown-up supper, with bullion and creamed chicken and baked ham - and sandwiches, among other things. But of course they had to show it was - a 'kid' party, after all. For instead of coffee we had milk. - </p> - <p> - Milk! When I was going through a tragedy. For if it is not a tragedy to be - engaged to a man one never saw before, what is it? - </p> - <p> - All through the refreshments I could feel that his eyes were on me. And I - hated him. It was all well enough for Jane to say he was handsome. She - wasn't going to have to marry him. I detest dimples in chins. I always - have. And anybody could see that it was his first mustache, and soft, and - that he took it round like a mother pushing a new baby in a perambulator. - It was sickening. - </p> - <p> - I left just after supper. He did not see me when I went upstairs, but he - had missed me, for when Hannah and I came down, he was at the door, - waiting. Hannah was loaded down with silly favors, and lagged behind, - which gave him a chance to speak to me. I eyed him coldly and tried to - pass him, but I had no chance. - </p> - <p> - "I'll see you tomorrow, DEAREST," he whispered. - </p> - <p> - "Not if I can help it," I said, looking straight ahead. Hannah had dropped - a stocking—not her own. One of the Christmas favors—and was - fumbling about for it. - </p> - <p> - "You are tired and unnerved to-night, Bab. When I have seen your father - tomorrow, and talked to him——" - </p> - <p> - "Don't you dare to see my father." - </p> - <p> - "——and when he has agreed to what I propose," he went on, - without paying any attention to what I had said, "you will be calmer. We - can plan things." - </p> - <p> - Hannah came puffing up then, and he helped us into the motor. He was very - careful to see that we were covered with the robes, and he tucked Hannah's - feet in. She was awfully flattered. Old Fool! And she babbled about him - until I wanted to slap her. - </p> - <p> - "He's a nice young man. Miss Bab," she said. "That is, if he's the One. - And he has nice manners. So considerate. Many a party I've taken your - sister to, and never before——" - </p> - <p> - "I wish you'd shut up, Hannah," I said. "He's a pig, and I hate him." - </p> - <p> - She sulked after that, and helped me out of my things at home without a - word. When I was in bed, however, and she was hanging up my clothes, she - said: - </p> - <p> - "I don't know what's got into you, Miss Barbara. You are that cross that - there's no living with you." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, go away," I said. - </p> - <p> - "And what's more," she added, "I don't know but what your mother ought to - know about these goings on. You're only a little girl, with all your high - and mightiness, and there's going to be no scandal in this family if I can - help it." - </p> - <p> - I put the bedclothes over my head, and she went out. - </p> - <p> - But of course I could not sleep. Sis was not home yet, or mother, and I - went into Sis's room and got a novel from her table. It was the story of a - woman who had married a man in a hurry, and without really loving him, and - when she had been married a year, and hated the very way her husband drank - his coffee and cut the ends off his cigars, she found some one she really - loved with her whole heart. And it was too late. But she wrote him one - letter, the other man, you know, and it caused a lot of trouble. So she - said—I remember the very words— - </p> - <p> - "Half the troubles in the world are caused by letters. Emotions are - changeable things"—this was after she had found that she really - loved her husband after all, but he had had to shoot himself before she - found it out, although not fatally—"but the written word does not - change. It remains always, embodying a dead truth and giving it apparent - life. No woman should ever put her thoughts on paper." - </p> - <p> - She got the letter back, but she had to steal it. And it turned out that - the other man had really only wanted her money all the time. - </p> - <p> - That story was a real illumination to me. I shall have a great deal of - money when I am of age, from my grandmother. I saw it all. It was a trap - sure enough. And if I was to get out I would have to have the letter. - </p> - <h3> - IT WAS THE LETTER THAT PUT ME IN HIS POWER. - </h3> - <p> - The next day was Christmas. I got a lot of things, including the necklace, - and a mending basket from Sis, with the hope that it would make me tidy, - and father had bought me a set of silver fox, which mother did not approve - of, it being too expensive for a young girl to wear, according to her. I - must say that for an hour or two I was happy enough. - </p> - <p> - But the afternoon was terrible. We keep open house on Xmas afternoon, and - father makes a champagne punch, and somebody pours tea, although nobody - drinks it, and there are little cakes from the club, and the house is - decorated with poinsettias. - </p> - <p> - At eleven o'clock the mail came in, and mother sorted it over, while - father took a gold piece out to the post-man. - </p> - <p> - There were about a million cards, and mother glanced at the addresses and - passed them round. But suddenly she frowned. There was a small parcel, - addressed to me. - </p> - <p> - "This looks like a gift, Barbara," she said. And proceeded to open it. - </p> - <p> - My heart skipped two beats, and then hammered. Mother's mouth was set as - she tore off the paper and opened the box. There was a card, which she - glanced at, and underneath, was a book of poems. - </p> - <p> - "Love Lyrics," said mother, in a terrible voice. "To Barbara, from H——" - </p> - <p> - "Mother——" I began, in an earnest tone. - </p> - <p> - "A child of mine receiving such a book from a man!" she went on. "Barbara, - I am speechless." - </p> - <p> - But she was not speechless. If she was speechless for the next half hour, - I would hate to hear her really converse. And all that I could do was to - bear it. For I had made a Frankenstein—see the book read last term - by the Literary Society—not out of grave-yard fragments, but from - malted milk tablets, so to speak, and now it was pursuing me to an early - grave. For I felt that I simply could not continue to live. - </p> - <p> - "Now—where does he live?" - </p> - <p> - "I—don't know, mother." - </p> - <p> - "You sent him a letter." - </p> - <p> - "I don't know where he lives, anyhow." - </p> - <p> - "Leila," mother said, "will you ask Hannah to bring my smelling salts?" - </p> - <p> - "Aren't you going to give me the book?" I asked. "It—it sounds - interesting." - </p> - <p> - "You are shameless," mother said, and threw the thing into the fire. A - good many of my things seemed to be going into the fire at that time. I - cannot help wondering what they would have done if it had all happened in - the summer, and no fires burning. They would have felt quite helpless, I - imagine. - </p> - <p> - Father came back just then, but he did not see the book, which was then - blazing with a very hot red flame. I expected mother to tell him, and I - daresay I should not have been surprised to see my furs follow the book. I - had got into the way of expecting to see things burning that do not belong - in a fireplace. But mother did not tell him. - </p> - <p> - I have thought over this a great deal, and I believe that now I - understand. Mother was unjustly putting the blame for everything on this - School, and mother had chosen the School. My father had not been much - impressed by the catalog. "Too much dancing room and not enough tennis - courts," he had said. This, of course, is my father's opinion. Not mine. - </p> - <p> - The real reason, then, for mother's silence was that she disliked - confessing that she made a mistake in her choice of a School. - </p> - <p> - I ate very little luncheon and my only comfort was my seed pearls. I was - wearing them, for fear the door-bell would ring, and a letter or flowers - would arrive from H. In that case I felt quite sure that someone, in a - frenzy, would burn the pearls also. - </p> - <p> - The afternoon was terrible. It rained solid sheets, and Patrick, the - butler, gave notice three hours after he had received his Christmas - presents, on account of not being let off for early mass. - </p> - <p> - But my father's punch is famous, and people came, and stood around and - buzzed, and told me I had grown and was almost a young lady. And Tommy - Gray got out of his cradle and came to call on me, and coughed all the - time, with a whoop. He developed the whooping cough later. He had on his - first long trousers, and a pair of lavender socks and a tie to match. He - said they were not exactly the same shade, but he did not think it would - be noticed. Hateful child! - </p> - <p> - At half past five, when the place was jammed, I happened to look up. - Carter Brooks was in the hall, and behind him was H. He had seen me before - I saw him, and he had a sort of sickly grin, meant to denote joy. I was - talking to our bishop at the time, and he was asking me what sort of - services we had in the school chapel. - </p> - <p> - I meant to say "non-sectarian," but in my surprise and horror I regret to - say that I said, "vegetarian." Carter Brooks came over to me like a cat to - a saucer of milk, and pulled me off into a corner. - </p> - <p> - "It's all right," he said. "I phoned mama, and she said to bring him. He's - known as Grosvenor here, of course. They'll never suspect a thing. Now, do - I get a small 'thank you'?" - </p> - <p> - "I won't see him." - </p> - <p> - "Now look here, Bab," he protested, "you two have got to make this thing - up You are a pair of idiots, quarreling over nothing. Poor old Hal is all - broken up. He's sensitive. You've got to remember how sensitive he is." - </p> - <p> - "Go, away" I cried, in broken tones. "Go away, and take him with you." - </p> - <p> - "Not until he had spoken to your Father," he observed, setting his jaw. - "He's here for that, and you know it. You can't play fast and loose with a - man, you know." - </p> - <p> - "Don't you dare to let him speak to father!" - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - "That's between you two, of course," he said. "It's not up to me. Tell him - yourself, if you've changed your mind. I don't intend," he went on, - impressively, "to have any share in ruining his life." - </p> - <p> - "Oh piffle," I said. I am aware that this is slang, and does not belong in - a theme. But I was driven to saying it. - </p> - <p> - I got through the crowd by using my elbows. I am afraid I gave the bishop - quite a prod, and I caught Mr. Andrews on his rotating waistcoat. But I - was desperate. - </p> - <p> - Alas, I was too late. - </p> - <p> - The caterer's man, who had taken Patrick's place in a hurry, was at the - punch bowl, and father was gone. I was just in time to see him take H. - into his library and close the door. - </p> - <p> - Here words fail me. I knew perfectly well that beyond that door H, whom I - had invented and who therefore simply did not exist, was asking for my - hand. I made up my mind at once to run away and go on the stage, and I had - even got part way up the stairs, when I remembered that, with a dollar for - the picture and five dollars for the violets and three dollars for the hat - pin I had given Sis, and two dollars and a quarter for mother's - handkerchief case, I had exactly a dollar and seventy-five cents in the - world. - </p> - <h3> - I WAS TRAPPED. - </h3> - <p> - I went up to my room, and sat and waited. Would father be violent, and - throw H. out and then come upstairs, pale with fury and disinherit me? Or - would the whole family conspire together, when the people had gone, and - send me to a convent? I made up my mind, if it was the convent, to take - the veil and be a nun. I would go to nurse lepers, or something, and then, - when it was too late, they would be sorry. - </p> - <p> - The stage or the convent, nun or actress? Which? - </p> - <p> - I left the door open, but there was only the sound of revelry below. I - felt then that it was to be the convent. I pinned a towel around my face, - the way the nuns wear whatever they call them, and from the side it was - very becoming. I really did look like Julia Marlowe, especially as my face - was very sad and tragic. - </p> - <p> - At something before seven every one had gone, and I heard Sis and mother - come upstairs to dress for dinner. I sat and waited, and when I heard - father I got cold all over. But he went on by, and I heard him go into - mother's room and close the door. Well, I knew I had to go through with - it, although my life was blasted. So I dressed and went downstairs. - </p> - <p> - Father was the first down. HE CAME DOWN WHISTLING. - </p> - <p> - It is perfectly true. I could not believe my ears. - </p> - <p> - He approached me with a smiling face. - </p> - <p> - "Well, Bab," he said, exactly as if nothing had happened, "have you had a - nice day?" - </p> - <p> - He had the eyes of a basilisk, that creature of fable. - </p> - <p> - "I've had a lovely day, Father," I replied. I could be basilisk-ish also. - </p> - <p> - There is a mirror over the drawing room mantle, and he turned me around - until we both faced it. - </p> - <p> - "Up to my ears," he said, referring to my height. "And lovers already! - Well, I daresay we must make up our minds to lose you." - </p> - <p> - "I won't be lost," I declared, almost violently. "Of course, if you intend - to shove me off your hands, to the first idiot who comes along and - pretends a lot of stuff, I——" - </p> - <p> - "My dear child!" said father, looking surprised. "Such an outburst! All I - was trying to say, before your mother comes down, is that I—well, - that I understand and that I shall not make my little girl unhappy by—er—by - breaking her heart." - </p> - <p> - "Just what do you mean by that, father?" - </p> - <p> - He looked rather uncomfortable, being one who hates to talk sentiment. - </p> - <p> - "It's like this, Barbara," he said. "If you want to marry this young man—and - you have made it very clear that you do—I am going to see that you - do it. You are young, of course, but after all your dear mother was not - much older than you are when I married her." - </p> - <p> - "Father!" I cried, from an over-flowing heart. - </p> - <p> - "I have noticed that you are not happy, Barbara," he said. "And I shall - not thwart you, or allow you to be thwarted. In affairs of the heart, you - are to have your own way." - </p> - <p> - "I want to tell you something!" I cried. "I will NOT be cast off! I——" - </p> - <p> - "Tut, tut," said Father. "Who is casting you off? I tell you that I like - the young man, and give you my blessing, or what is the present-day - equivalent for it, and you look like a figure of tragedy!" - </p> - <p> - But I could endure no more. My own father had turned on me and was rending - me, so to speak. With a breaking heart and streaming eyes I flew to my - chamber. - </p> - <p> - There, for hours I paced the floor. - </p> - <p> - Never, I determined, would I marry H. Better death, by far. He was a - scheming fortune-hunter, but to tell the family that was to confess all. - And I would never confess. I would run away before I gave Sis such a - chance at me. I would run away, but first I would kill Carter Brooks. - </p> - <p> - Yes, I was driven to thoughts of murder. It shows how the first false step - leads down and down, to crime and even to death. Oh never, never, gentle - reader, take that first false step. Who knows to what it may lead! - </p> - <p> - "One false Step is never retrieved." Gray—On a Favorite Cat. - </p> - <p> - I reflected also on how the woman in the book had ruined her life with a - letter. "The written word does not change," she had said. "It remains - always, embodying a dead truth and giving it apparent life." - </p> - <p> - "Apparent life" was exactly what my letter had given to H. Frankenstein. - That was what I called him, in my agony. I felt that if only I had never - written the Letter there would have been no trouble. And another awful - thought came to me: Was there an H after all? Could there be an H? - </p> - <p> - Once the French teacher had taken us to the theater in New York, and a - woman sitting on a chair and covered with a sheet, had brought a man out - of a perfectly empty cabinet, by simply willing to do it. The cabinet was - empty, for four respectable looking men went up and examined it, and one - even measured it with a Tape-measure. - </p> - <p> - She had materialized him, out of nothing. - </p> - <p> - And while I had had no cabinet, there are many things in this world "that - we do not dream of in our philosophy." Was H. a real person, or a creature - of my disordered brain? In plain and simple language, COULD THERE BE SUCH - A PERSON? - </p> - <p> - I feared not. - </p> - <p> - And if there was no H, really, and I married him, where would I be? - </p> - <p> - There was a ball at the Club that night, and the family all went. No one - came to say good-night to me, and by half past ten I was alone with my - misery. I knew Carter Brooks would be at the ball, and H also, very - likely, dancing around as agreeably as if he really existed, and I had not - made him up. - </p> - <p> - I got the book from Sis's room again, and re-read it. The woman in it had - been in great trouble, too, with her husband cleaning his revolver and - making his will. And at last she had gone to the apartments of the man who - had her letters, in a taxicab covered with a heavy veil, and had got them - back. He had shot himself when she returned—the husband—but - she burned the letters and then called a doctor, and he was saved. Not the - doctor, of course. The husband. - </p> - <p> - The villain's only hold on her had been the letters, so he went to South - Africa and was gored by an elephant, thus passing out of her life. - </p> - <p> - Then and there I knew that I would have to get my letter back from H. - Without it he was powerless. The trouble was that I did not know where he - was staying. Even if he came out of a cabinet, the cabinet would have to - be somewhere, would it not? - </p> - <p> - I felt that I would have to meet guile with guile. And to steal one's own - letter is not really stealing. Of course if he was visiting any one and - pretending to be a real person, I had no chance in the world. But if he - was stopping at a hotel I thought I could manage. The man in the book had - had an apartment, with a Japanese servant, who went away and drew plans of - American forts in the kitchen and left the woman alone with the desk - containing the letter. But I daresay that was unusually lucky and not the - sort of thing to look forward to. - </p> - <p> - With me, to think is to act. Hannah was out, it being Christmas and her - brother-in-law having a wake, being dead, so I was free to do anything I - wanted to. - </p> - <p> - First I called the club and got Carter Brooks on the telephone. - </p> - <p> - "Carter," I said, "I—I am writing a letter. Where is—where - does H. stay?" - </p> - <p> - "Who?" - </p> - <p> - "H.—Mr. Grosvenor." - </p> - <p> - "Why, bless your ardent little heart! Writing, are you? It's sublime, - Bab!" - </p> - <p> - "Where does he live?" - </p> - <p> - "And is it all alone you are, on Christmas Night!" he burbled. (This is a - word from Alice in Wonder Land, and although not in the dictionary, is - quite expressive.) - </p> - <p> - "Yes," I replied, bitterly. "I am old enough to be married off without my - consent, but I am not old enough for a real Ball. It makes me sick." - </p> - <p> - "I can smuggle him here, if you want to talk to him." - </p> - <p> - "Smuggle!" I said, with scorn. "There is no need to smuggle him. The - family is crazy about him. They are flinging me at him." - </p> - <p> - "Well, that's nice," he said. "Who'd have thought it! Shall I bring him to - the 'phone?" - </p> - <p> - "I don't want to talk to him. I hate him." - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he observed, "if you keep that up, he'll begin to believe - you. Don't take these little quarrels too hard, Barbara. He's so happy - to-night in the thought that you——" - </p> - <p> - "Does he live in a cabinet, or where?" - </p> - <p> - "In a what? I don't get that word." - </p> - <p> - "Don't bother. Where shall I send his letter?" - </p> - <p> - Well, it seemed he had an apartment at the arcade, and I rang off. It was - after eleven by that time, and by the time I had got into my school - mackintosh and found a heavy veil of mother's and put it on, it was almost - half past. - </p> - <p> - The house was quiet, and as Patrick had gone, there was no one around in - the lower hall. I slipped out and closed the door behind me, and looked - for a taxicab, but the veil was so heavy that I hailed our own limousine, - and Smith had drawn up at the curb before I knew him. - </p> - <p> - "Where to, lady?" he said. "This is a private car, but I'll take you - anywhere in the city for a dollar." - </p> - <p> - A flush of just indignation rose to my cheek, at the knowledge that Smith - was using our car for a taxicab! And just as I was about to speak to him - severely, and threaten to tell father, I remembered, and walked away. - </p> - <p> - "Make it seventy-five cents," he called after me. But I went on. It was - terrible to think that Smith could go on renting our car to all sorts of - people, covered with germs and everything, and that I could never report - it to the family. - </p> - <p> - I got a real taxi at last, and got out at the arcade, giving the man a - quarter, although ten cents would have been plenty as a tip. - </p> - <p> - I looked at him, and I felt that he could be trusted. - </p> - <p> - "This," I said, holding up the money, "is the price of silence." - </p> - <p> - But if he was trustworthy he was not subtle, and he said: - </p> - <p> - "The what, miss?" - </p> - <p> - "If any one asks if you have driven me here, YOU HAVE NOT" I explained, in - an impressive manner. - </p> - <p> - He examined the quarter, even striking a match to look at it. Then he - replied: "I have not!" and drove away. - </p> - <p> - Concealing my nervousness as best I could, I entered the doomed building. - There was only a hall boy there, asleep in the elevator, and I looked at - the thing with the names on it. "Mr. Grosvenor" was on the fourth floor. - </p> - <p> - I wakened the boy, and he yawned and took me to the fourth floor. My hands - were stiff with nervousness by that time, but the boy was half asleep, and - evidently he took me for some one who belonged there, for he said - "Goodnight" to me, and went on down. There was a square landing with two - doors, and "Grosvenor" was on one. I tried it gently. It was unlocked. - </p> - <h3> - "FACILUS DESCENSUS IN AVERNU." - </h3> - <p> - I am not defending myself. What I did was the result of desperation. But I - cannot even write of my sensations as I stepped through that fatal portal, - without a sinking of the heart. I had, however, had sufficient foresight - to prepare an alibi. In case there was someone present in the apartment I - intended to tell a falsehood, I regret to confess, and to say that I had - got off at the wrong floor. - </p> - <p> - There was a sort of hall, with a clock and a table, and a shaded electric - lamp, and beyond that the door was open into a sitting room. - </p> - <p> - There was a small light burning there, and the remains of a wood fire in - the fireplace. There was no cabinet however. - </p> - <p> - Everything was perfectly quiet, and I went over to the fire and warmed my - hands. My nails were quite blue, but I was strangely calm. I took off - mother's veil, and my mackintosh, so I would be free to work, and I then - looked around the room. There were a number of photographs of rather smart - looking girls, and I curled my lip scornfully. He might have fooled them - but he could not deceive me. And it added to my bitterness to think that - at that moment the villain was dancing—and flirting probably—while - I was driven to actual theft to secure the letter that placed me in his - power. - </p> - <p> - When I had stopped shivering I went to his desk. There were a lot of - letters on the top, all addressed to him as Grosvenor. It struck me - suddenly as strange that if he was only visiting, under an assumed name, - in order to see me, that so many people should be writing to him as Mr. - Grosvenor. And it did not look like the room of a man who was visiting, - unless he took a freight car with him on his travels. - </p> - <p> - THERE WAS A MYSTERY. All at once I knew it. - </p> - <p> - My letter was not on the desk, so I opened the top drawer. It seemed to be - full of bills, and so was the one below it. I had just started on the - third drawer, when a terrible thing happened. - </p> - <p> - "Hello!" said some one behind me. - </p> - <p> - I turned my head slowly, and my heart stopped. - </p> - <p> - THE PORTERES INTO THE PASSAGE HAD OPENED, AND A GENTLEMAN IN HIS EVENING - CLOTHES WAS STANDING THERE. - </p> - <p> - "Just sit still, please," he said, in a perfectly cold voice. And he - turned and locked the door into the hall. I was absolutely unable to - speak. I tried once, but my tongue hit the roof of my mouth like the - clapper of a bell. - </p> - <p> - "Now," he said, when he had turned around. "I wish you would tell me some - good reason why I should not hand you over to the police." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, please don't!" I said. - </p> - <p> - "That's eloquent. But not a reason. I'll sit down and give you a little - time. I take it, you did not expect to find me here." - </p> - <p> - "I'm in the wrong apartment. That's all," I said. "Maybe you'll think - that's an excuse and not a reason. I can't help it if you do." - </p> - <p> - "Well," he said, "that explains some things. It's pretty well known, I - fancy, that I have little worth stealing, except my good name." - </p> - <p> - "I was not stealing," I replied in a sulky manner. - </p> - <p> - "I beg your pardon," he said. "It IS an ugly word. We will strike it from - the record. Would you mind telling me whose apartment you intended to—er—investigate? - If this is the wrong one, you know." - </p> - <p> - "I was looking for a letter." - </p> - <p> - "Letters, letters!" he said. "When will you women learn not to write - letters. Although"—he looked at me closely—"you look rather - young for that sort of thing." He sighed. "It's born in you, I daresay," - he said. - </p> - <p> - Well, for all his patronizing ways, he was not very old himself. - </p> - <p> - "Of course," he said, "if you are telling the truth—and it sounds - fishy, I must say—it's hardly a police matter, is it? It's rather - one for diplomacy. But can you prove what you say?" - </p> - <p> - "My word should be sufficient," I replied stiffly. "How do I know that YOU - belong here?" - </p> - <p> - "Well, you don't, as a matter of fact. Suppose you take my word for that, - and I agree to believe what you say about the wrong apartment, Even then - it's rather unusual. I find a pale and determined looking young lady going - through my desk in a business-like manner. She says she has come for a - letter. Now the question is, is there a letter? If so, what letter?" - </p> - <p> - "It is a love letter," I said. - </p> - <p> - "Don't blush over such a confession," he said. "If it is true, be proud of - it. Love is a wonderful thing. Never be ashamed of being in love, my - child." - </p> - <p> - "I am not in love," I cried with bitter fury. - </p> - <p> - "Ah! Then it is not YOUR letter!" - </p> - <p> - "I wrote it." - </p> - <p> - "But to simulate a passion that does not exist—that is sacrilege. It - is——" - </p> - <p> - "Oh, stop talking," I cried, in a hunted tone. "I can't bear it. If you - are going to arrest me, get it over." - </p> - <p> - "I'd rather NOT arrest you, if we can find a way out. You look so young, - so new to crime! Even your excuse for being here is so naive, that I—won't - you tell me why you wrote a love letter, if you are not in love? And whom - you sent it to? That's important, you see, as it bears on the case. I - intend," he said, "to be judicial, unimpassioned, and quite fair." - </p> - <p> - "I wrote a love letter" I explained, feeling rather cheered, "but it was - not intended for any one, Do you see? It was just a love letter." - </p> - <p> - "Oh," he said. "Of course. It is often done. And after that?" - </p> - <p> - "Well, it had to go somewhere. At least I felt that way about it. So I - made up a name from some malted milk tablets——" - </p> - <p> - "Malted milk tablets!" he said, looking bewildered. - </p> - <p> - "Just as I was thinking up a name to send it to," I explained, "Hannah—that's - mother's maid, you know—brought in some hot milk and some malted - milk tablets, and I took the name from them." - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said, "I'm unprejudiced and quite calm, but isn't the - 'mother's maid' rather piling it on?" - </p> - <p> - "Hannah is mother's maid, and she brought in the milk and the tablets, I - should think," I said, growing sarcastic, "that so far it is clear to the - dullest mind." - </p> - <p> - "Go on," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "You named the letter - for your mother's maid—I mean for the malted milk. Although you have - not yet stated the name you chose; I never heard of any one named Milk, - and as to the other, while I have known some rather thoroughly malted - people—however, let that go." - </p> - <p> - "Valentine's tablets," I said. "Of course, you understand," I said, - bending forward, "there was no such person. I made him up. The Harold was - made up too—Harold Valentine." - </p> - <p> - "I see. Not clearly, perhaps, but I have a gleam of intelligence." - </p> - <p> - "But, after all, there was such a person. That's clear, isn't it? And now - he considers that we are engaged, and—and he insists on marrying - me." - </p> - <p> - "That," he said, "is really easy to understand. I don't blame him at all. - He is clearly a person of discernment." - </p> - <p> - "Of course," I said bitterly, "you would be on HIS side. Every one is." - </p> - <p> - "But the point is this," he went on. "If you made him up out of the whole - cloth, as it were, and there was no such person, how can there be such a - person? I am merely asking to get it all clear in my head. It sounds so - reasonable when you say it, but there seems to be something left out." - </p> - <p> - "I don't know how he can be, but he is," I said, hopelessly. "And he is - exactly like his picture." - </p> - <p> - "Well, that's not unusual, you know." - </p> - <p> - "It is in this case. Because I bought the picture in a shop, and just - pretended it was him. (He?) And it WAS." - </p> - <p> - He got up and paced the floor. - </p> - <p> - "It's a very strange case," he said. "Do you mind if I light a cigarette? - It helps to clear my brain. What was the name you gave him?" - </p> - <p> - "Harold Valentine. But he is here under another name, because of my - family. They think I am a mere child, you see, and so of course he took a - NOM DE PLUME." - </p> - <p> - "A NOM DE PLUME? Oh I see! What is it?" - </p> - <p> - "Grosvenor," I said. "The same as yours." - </p> - <p> - "There's another Grosvenor in the building, That's where the trouble came - in, I suppose, Now let me get this straight. You wrote a letter, and - somehow or other he got it, and now you want it back. Stripped of the - things that baffle my intelligence, that's it, isn't it?" - </p> - <p> - I rose in excitement. - </p> - <p> - "Then, if he lives in the building, the letter is probably here. Why can't - you go and get it for me?" - </p> - <p> - "Very neat! And let you slip away while I am gone?" - </p> - <p> - I saw that he was still uncertain that I was telling him the truth. It was - maddening. And only the Letter itself could convince him. - </p> - <p> - "Oh, please try to get it," I cried, almost weeping. "You can lock me in - here, if you are afraid I will run away. And he is out. I know he is. He - is at the club ball." - </p> - <p> - "Naturally," he said "the fact that you are asking me to compound a - felony, commit larceny, and be an accessory after the fact does not - trouble you. As I told you before, all I have left is my good name, and - now——!" - </p> - <p> - "Please!" I said. - </p> - <p> - He stared down at me. - </p> - <p> - "Certainly," he said. "Asked in that tone, murder would be one of the - easiest things I do. But I shall lock you in." - </p> - <p> - "Very well," I said meekly. And after I had described it—the letter—to - him he went out. - </p> - <p> - I had won, but my triumph was but sackcloth and ashes in my mouth. I had - won, but at what a cost! Ah, how I wished that I might live again the past - few days! That I might never have started on my path of deception! Or - that, since my intentions at the start had been so innocent, I had taken - another photograph at the shop, which I had fancied considerably but had - heartlessly rejected because of no mustache. - </p> - <p> - He was gone for a long time, and I sat and palpitated. For what if H. had - returned early and found him and called in the police? - </p> - <p> - But the latter had not occurred, for at ten minutes after one he came - back, entering by the window from a fire-escape, and much streaked with - dirt. - </p> - <p> - "Narrow escape, dear child!" he observed, locking the window and drawing - the shade. "Just as I got it, your—er—gentleman friend - returned and fitted his key in the lock. I am not at all sure," he said, - wiping his hands with his handkerchief, "that he will not regard the open - window as a suspicious circumstance. He may be of a low turn of mind. - However, all's well that ends here in this room. Here it is." - </p> - <p> - I took it, and my heart gave a great leap of joy. I was saved. - </p> - <p> - "Now," he said, "we'll order a taxicab and get you home. And while it is - coming suppose you tell me the thing over again. It's not as clear to me - as it ought to be, even now." - </p> - <p> - So then I told him—about not being out yet, and Sis having flowers - sent her, and her room done over, and never getting to bed until dawn. And - that they treated me like a mere child, which was the reason for - everything, and about the poem, which he considered quite good. And then - about the letter. - </p> - <p> - "I get the whole thing a bit clearer now," he said. "Of course, it is - still cloudy in places. The making up somebody to write to is - understandable, under the circumstances. But it is odd to have had the - very person materialize, so to speak. It makes me wonder—well, how - about burning the letter, now we've got it? It would be better, I think. - The way things have been going with you, if we don't destroy it, it is - likely to walk off into somebody else's pocket and cause more trouble." - </p> - <p> - So we burned it, and then the telephone rang and said the taxi was there. - </p> - <p> - "I'll get my coat and be ready in a jiffy," he said, "and maybe we can - smuggle you into the house and no one the wiser. We'll try anyhow." - </p> - <p> - He went into the other room and I sat by the fire and thought. You - remember that when I was planning Harold Valentine, I had imagined him - with a small, dark mustache, and deep, passionate eyes? Well, this Mr. - Grosvenor had both, or rather, all three. And he had the loveliest smile, - with no dimple. He was, I felt, exactly the sort of man I could die for. - </p> - <p> - It was too tragic that, with all the world to choose from, I had not taken - him instead of H. - </p> - <p> - We walked downstairs, so as not to give the elevator boy a chance to talk, - he said. But he was asleep again, and we got to the street and to the - taxicab without being seen. - </p> - <p> - Oh, I was very cheerful. When I think of it—but I might have known, - all along. Nothing went right with me that week. - </p> - <p> - Just before we got to the house he said: - </p> - <p> - "Goodnight and goodbye, little Barbara. I'll never forget you and this - evening. And save me a dance at your coming-out party. I'll be there." - </p> - <p> - I held out my hand, and he took it and kissed it. It was all perfectly - thrilling. And then we drew up in front of the house and he helped me out, - and my entire family had just got out of the motor and was lined up on the - pavement staring at us! - </p> - <p> - "All right, are you?" he said, as coolly as if they had not been anywhere - in sight. "Well, good night and good luck!" And he got into the taxicab - and drove away, leaving me in the hands of the enemy. - </p> - <p> - The next morning I was sent back to school. They never gave me a chance to - explain, for mother went into hysterics, after accusing me of having men - dangling around waiting at every corner. They had to have a doctor, and - things were awful. - </p> - <p> - The only person who said anything was Sis. She came to my room that night - when I was in bed, and stood looking down at me. She was very angry, but - there was a sort of awe in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - "My hat's off to you, Barbara," she said. "Where in the world do you pick - them all up? Things must have changed at school since I was there." - </p> - <p> - "I'm sick to death of the other sex," I replied languidly. "It's no - punishment to send me away. I need a little piece and quiet." And I did. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CONCLUSION: - </h2> - <p> - All this holiday week, while the girls are away, I have been writing this - theme, for literature class. To-day is New Years and I am putting in the - finishing touches. I intend to have it typed in the village and to send a - copy to father, who I think will understand, and another copy, but with a - few lines cut, to Mr. Grosvenor. The nice one. There were some things he - did not quite understand, and this will explain. - </p> - <p> - I shall also send a copy to Carter Brooks, who came out handsomely with an - apology this morning in a letter and a ten pound box of candy. - </p> - <p> - His letter explains everything. H. is a real person and did not come out - of a cabinet. Carter recognized the photograph as being one of a Mr. - Grosvenor he went to college with, who had gone on the stage and was - playing in a stock company at home. Only they were not playing Christmas - week, as business, he says, is rotten then. When he saw me writing the - letter he felt that it was all a bluff, especially as he had seen me - sending myself the violets at the florists. - </p> - <p> - So he got Mr. Grosvenor, the blonde one, to pretend he was Harold - Valentine. Only things slipped up. I quote from Carter's letter: - </p> - <p> - "He's a bully chap, Bab, and he went into it for a lark, roses and poems - and all. But when he saw that you took it rather hard, he felt it wasn't - square. He went to your father to explain and apologized, but your father - seemed to think you needed a lesson. He's a pretty good sport, your - father. And he said to let it go on for a day or two. A little worry - wouldn't hurt you." - </p> - <p> - However, I do not call it being a good sport to see one's daughter - perfectly wretched and do nothing to help. And more than that, to - willfully permit one's child to suffer, and enjoy it. - </p> - <p> - But it was father, after all, who got the jolt, I think, when he saw me - get out of the taxicab. - </p> - <p> - Therefore I will not explain, for a time. A little worry will not hurt him - either. - </p> - <p> - I will not send him his copy for a week. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps, after all, I will give him something to worry about eventually. - For I have received a box of roses, with no card, but a pen and ink - drawing of a gentleman in evening clothes crawling onto a fire-escape - through an open window. He has dropped his heart, and it is two floors - below. - </p> - <p> - My narrative has now come to a conclusion, and I will close with a few - reflections drawn from my own sad and tragic Experience. I trust the girls - of this school will ponder and reflect. - </p> - <p> - Deception is a very sad thing. It starts very easy, and without warning, - and everything seems to be going all right, and no rocks ahead. When - suddenly the breakers loom up, and your frail vessel sinks, with you on - board, and maybe your dear ones, dragged down with you. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Oh, what a tangled Web we weave, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - When first we practice to deceive. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Sir Walter Scott. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II. THEME: THE CELEBRITY - </h2> - <p> - We have been requested to write, during this vacation, a true and - veracious account of a meeting with any celebrity we happened to meet - during the summer. If no celebrity, any interesting character would do, - excepting one's own family. - </p> - <p> - But as one's own family is neither celebrated nor interesting, there is no - temptation to write about it. - </p> - <p> - As I met Mr. Reginald Beecher this summer, I have chosen him as my - subject. - </p> - <p> - Brief history of the Subject: He was born in 1890 at Woodbury, N. J. - Attended public high schools, and in 1910 graduated from Princeton - University. - </p> - <p> - Following year produced first Play in New York, called Her Soul. Followed - this by the Soul Mate, and this by The Divorce. - </p> - <p> - Description of Subject. Mr. Beecher is tall and slender, and wears a very - small dark Mustache. Although but twenty-six years of age, his hair on - close inspection reveals here and there a silver thread. His teeth are - good, and his eyes amber, with small flecks of brown in them. He has been - vaccinated twice. - </p> - <p> - It has always been one of my chief ambitions to meet a celebrity. On one - or two occasions we have had them at school, but they never sit at the - Junior's table. Also, they are seldom connected with either the Drama or - The Movies (a slang term but apparently taking a place in our literature). - </p> - <p> - It was my intention, on being given this subject for my midsummer theme, - to seek out Mrs. Bainbridge, a lady author who has a cottage across the - bay from ours, and to ask the privilege of sitting at her feet for a few - hours, basking in the sunshine of her presence, and learning from her own - lips her favorite Flower, her favorite Poem and the favorite child of her - brain. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Of all those arts in which the wise excel, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Duke of Buckingham - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - I had meant to write my theme on her, but I learned in time that she was - forty years of age. Her work is therefore done. She has passed her active - years, and I consider that it is not the past of American Letters which is - at stake, but the future. Besides, I was more interested in the drama than - in literature. - </p> - <p> - Possibly it is owing to the fact that the girls think I resemble Julia - Marlowe, that from my earliest years my mind has been turned toward the - stage. I am very determined and fixed in my ways, and with me to decide to - do a thing is to decide to do it. I am not of a romantic nature, however, - and as I learned of the dangers of the theater, I drew back. Even a strong - nature, such as mine is, on occasions, can be influenced. I therefore - decided to change my plans, and to write plays instead of acting in them. - </p> - <p> - At first I meant to write comedies, but as I realized the gravity of life, - and its bitterness and disappointments, I turned naturally to tragedy. - Surely, as dear Shakespeare says: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The world is a stage - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Where every man must play a part, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And mine a sad one. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - This explains my sincere interest in Mr. Beecher. His works were all - realistic and sad. I remember that I saw the first one three years ago, - when a mere child, and became violently ill from crying and had to be - taken home. - </p> - <p> - The school will recall that last year I wrote a play, patterned on The - Divorce, and that only a certain narrowness of view on the part of the - faculty prevented it being the class play. If I may be permitted to - express an opinion, we of the class of 1917 are not children, and should - not be treated as such. - </p> - <p> - Encouraged by the applause of my class-mates, and feeling that I was of a - more serious turn of mind than most of them, who seem to think of pleasure - only, I decided to write a play during the summer. I would thus be - improving my vacation hours, and, I considered, keeping out of mischief. - It was pure idleness which had caused my trouble during the last Christmas - holidays. How true it is that the devil finds work for idle hands! - </p> - <p> - With a play and this theme I believed that the devil would give me up as a - total loss, and go elsewhere. - </p> - <p> - How little we can read the future! - </p> - <p> - I now proceed to an account of my meeting and acquaintance with Mr. - Beecher. It is my intention to conceal nothing. I can only comfort myself - with the thought that my motives were innocent, and that I was obeying - orders and securing material for a theme. I consider that the attitude of - my family is wrong and cruel, and that my sister Leila, being only 20 - months older, although out in society, has no need to write me the sort of - letters she has been writing. Twenty months is twenty months, and not two - years, although she seems to think it is. - </p> - <p> - I returned home full of happy plans for my vacation. When I look back it - seems strange that the gay and innocent young girl of the train can have - been! So much that is tragic has since happened. If I had not had a cinder - in my eye things would have been different. But why repine? Fate - frequently hangs thus on a single hair—an eye-lash, as one may say. - </p> - <p> - Father met me at the train. I had got the aforementioned cinder in my eye, - and a very nice young man had taken it out for me. I still cannot see what - harm there was in our chatting together after that, especially as we said - nothing to object to. But father looked very disagreeable about it, and - the young man went away in a hurry. But it started us off wrong, although - I got him—father—to promise not to tell mother. - </p> - <p> - "I do wish you would be more careful, Bab," he said with a sort of sigh. - </p> - <p> - "Careful!" I said. "Then it's not doing things, but being found out, that - matters!" - </p> - <p> - "Careful in your conduct, Bab." - </p> - <p> - "He was a beautiful young man, father," I observed, slipping my arm - through his. - </p> - <p> - "Barbara, Barbara! Your poor mother——" - </p> - <p> - "Now look here, father" I said. "If it was mother who was interested in - him it might be troublesome. But it is only me. And I warn you, here and - now, that I expect to be thrilled at the sight of a nice young man right - along. It goes up my back and out the roots of my hair." - </p> - <p> - Well, my father is a real person, so he told me to talk sense, and gave me - twenty dollars, and agreed to say nothing about the young man to mother, - if I would root for Canada against the Adirondacks for the summer, because - of the fishing. - </p> - <p> - Mother was waiting in the hall for me, but she held me off with both - hands. - </p> - <p> - "Not until you have bathed and changed your clothing, Barbara," she said. - "I have never had it." - </p> - <p> - She meant the whooping cough. The school will recall the epidemic which - ravaged us last June, and changed us from a peaceful institution to what - sounded like a dog show. - </p> - <p> - Well, I got the same old room, not much fixed up, but they had put up - different curtains anyhow, thank goodness. I had been hinting all spring - for new furniture, but my family does not take a hint unless it is - chloroformed first, and I found the same old stuff there. - </p> - <p> - They believe in waiting until a girl makes her debut before giving her - anything but the necessities of life. - </p> - <p> - Sis was off for a week-end, but Hannah was there, and I kissed her. Not - that I'm so fond of her, but I had to kiss somebody. - </p> - <p> - "Well, Miss Barbara!" she said. "How you've grown!" - </p> - <p> - That made me rather sore, because I am not a child any longer, but they - all talk to me as if I were but six years old, and small for my age. - </p> - <p> - "I've stopped growing, Hannah," I said, with dignity. "At least, almost. - But I see I still draw the nursery." - </p> - <p> - Hannah was opening my suitcase, and she looked up and said: "I tried to - get you the blue room, Miss Bab. But Miss Leila said she needed it for - house parties." - </p> - <p> - "Never mind," I said. "I don't care anything about furniture. I have other - things to think about, Hannah; I want the school room desk up here." - </p> - <p> - "Desk!" she said, with her jaw drooping. - </p> - <p> - "I am writing now," I said. "I need a lot of ink, and paper, and a good - lamp. Let them keep the blue room, Hannah, for their selfish purposes. I - shall be happy in my work. I need nothing more." - </p> - <p> - "Writing!" said Hannah. "Is it a book you're writing?" - </p> - <p> - "A play." - </p> - <p> - "Listen to the child! A play!" - </p> - <p> - I sat on the edge of the bed. - </p> - <p> - "Listen, Hannah," I said. "It is not what is outside of us that matters. - It is what is inside. It is what we are, not what we eat, or look like, or - wear. I have given up everything, Hannah, to my career." - </p> - <p> - "You're young yet," said Hannah. "You used to be fond enough of the boys." - </p> - <p> - Hannah has been with us for years, so she gets rather talky at times, and - has to be sat upon. - </p> - <p> - "I care nothing whatever for the Other Sex," I replied haughtily. - </p> - <p> - She was opening my suitcase at the time, and I was surveying the chamber - which was to be the seen of my Literary Life, at least for some time. - </p> - <p> - "Now and then," I said to Hannah, "I shall read you parts of it. Only you - mustn't run and tell mother." - </p> - <p> - "Why not?" said she, peering into the Suitcase. - </p> - <p> - "Because I intend to deal with Life," I said. "I shall deal with real - Things, and not the way we think them. I am young, but I have thought a - great deal. I shall mince nothing." - </p> - <p> - "Look here, Miss Barbara," Hannah said, all at once, "what are you doing - with this whiskey flask? And these socks? And—you come right here, - and tell me where you got the things in this suitcase." I stocked over to - the bed, and my blood froze in my veins. IT WAS NOT MINE. - </p> - <p> - Words cannot fully express how I felt. While fully convinced that there - had been a mistake, I knew not when or how. Hannah was staring at me with - cold and accusing eyes. - </p> - <p> - "You're a very young lady, Miss Barbara," she said, with her eyes full of - Suspicion, "to be carrying a flask about with you." I was as puzzled as - she was, but I remained calm and to all appearances Spartan. - </p> - <p> - "I am young in years," I remarked. "But I have seen Life, Hannah." - </p> - <p> - Now I meant nothing by this at the time. But it was getting on my nerves - to be put in the infant class all the time. The Christmas before they had - done it, and I had had my revenge. Although it had hurt me more than it - hurt them, and if I gave them a fright I gave myself a worse one. As I - said at that time: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Oh, what a tangled web we weave, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - When first we practice to deceive. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Sir Walter Scott. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Hannah gave me a horrified glare, and dipped into the suitcase again. She - brought up a tin box of cigarettes, and I thought she was going to have - delirium tremens at once. - </p> - <p> - Well, at first I thought the girls at school had played a trick on me, and - a low down mean trick at that. There are always those who think it is - funny to do that sort of thing, but they are the first to squeal when - anything is done to them. Once I put a small garter snake in a girl's - muff, and it went up her sleeve, which is nothing to some of the things - she had done to me. And you would have thought the school was on fire. - </p> - <p> - Anyhow, I said to myself that some Smarty was trying to get me into - trouble, and Hannah would run to the family, and they'd never believe me. - All at once I saw all my cherished plans for the summer gone, and me in - the country somewhere with Mademoiselle, and walking through the pasture - with a botany in one hand and a folding cup in the other, in case we found - a spring a cow had not stepped in. Mademoiselle was once my Governess, but - has retired to private life, except in cases of emergency. - </p> - <p> - I am naturally very quick in mind. The Archibalds are all like that, and - when once we decide on a course we stick to it through thick and thin. But - we do not lie. It is ridiculous for Hannah to say I said the cigarettes - were mine. All I said was: - </p> - <p> - "I suppose you are going to tell the family. You'd better run, or you'll - burst." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, Miss Barbara, Miss Barbara!" she said. "And you so young to be so - wild!" - </p> - <p> - This was unjust, and I am one to resent injustice. I had returned home - with my mind fixed on serious things, and now I was being told I was wild. - </p> - <p> - "If I tell your mother she'll have a fit," Hannah said, evidently drawn - hither and thither by emotion. "Now see here, Miss Bab, you've just come - home, and there was trouble at your last vacation that I'm like to - remember to my dying day. You tell me how those things got there, like a - good girl, and I'll say nothing about them." - </p> - <p> - I am naturally sweet in disposition, but to call me a good girl and remind - me of last Christmas holidays was too much. My natural firmness came to - the front. - </p> - <p> - "Certainly NOT," I said. - </p> - <p> - "You needn't stick your lip out at me, Miss Bab, that was only giving you - a chance, and forgetting my duty to help you, not to mention probably - losing my place when the family finds out." - </p> - <p> - "Finds out what?" - </p> - <p> - "What you've been up to, the stage, and writing plays, and now liquor and - tobacco!" - </p> - <p> - Now I may be at fault in the narrative that follows. But I ask the school - if this was fair treatment. I had returned to my home full of high ideals, - only to see them crushed beneath the heal of domestic tyranny. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Necessity is the argument of tyrants; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - it is the creed of slaves. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - William Pitt. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - How true are these immortal words. - </p> - <p> - It was with a firm countenance but a sinking heart that I saw Hannah leave - the room. I had come home inspired with lofty ambition, and it had ended - thus. Heart-broken, I wandered to the bedside, and let my eyes fall on the - suitcase, the container of all my woe. - </p> - <p> - Well, I was surprised, all right. It was not and never had been mine. - Instead of my blue serge sailor suit and my 'robe de nuit' and kimono - etc., it contained a checked gentleman's suit, a mussed shirt and a cap. - At first I was merely astonished. Then a sense of loss overpowered me. I - suffered. I was prostrated with grief. Not that I cared a rap for the - clothes I'd lost, being most of them to small and patched here and there. - But I had lost the plot of my play. My career was gone. - </p> - <p> - I was undone. - </p> - <p> - It may be asked what has this recital to do with the account of meeting a - celebrity. I reply that it has a great deal to do with it. A bare recital - of a meeting may be news, but it is not art. - </p> - <p> - A theme consists of Introduction, Body and Conclusion. - </p> - <p> - This is still the Introduction. - </p> - <p> - When I was at last revived enough to think I knew what had happened. The - young man who took the cinder out of my eye had come to sit beside me, - which I consider was merely kindness on his part and nothing like - flirting, and he had brought his suitcase over, and they had got mixed up. - But I knew the family would call it flirting, and not listen to a word I - said. - </p> - <p> - A madness seized me. Now that everything is over, I realize that it was - madness. But "there is a divinity that shapes our ends etc." It was to be. - It was Karma, or Kismet, or whatever the word is. It was written in the - Book of Fate that I was to go ahead, and wreck my life, and generally ruin - everything. - </p> - <p> - I locked the door behind Hannah, and stood with tragic feet, "where the - brook and river meet." What was I to do? How hide this evidence of my - (presumed) duplicity? I was innocent, but I looked guilty. This, as - everyone knows, is worse than guilt. - </p> - <p> - I unpacked the suitcase as fast as I could, therefore, and being just - about distracted, I bundled the things up and put them all together in the - toy closet, where all Sis's dolls and mine are, mine being mostly pretty - badly gone, as I was always hard on dolls. - </p> - <p> - How far removed were those innocent years when I played with dolls! - </p> - <p> - Well, I knew Hannah pretty well, and therefore was not surprised when, - having hidden the trousers under a doll buggy, I heard mother's voice at - the door. - </p> - <p> - "Let me in, Barbara," she said. - </p> - <p> - I closed the closet door, and said: "What is it, mother?" - </p> - <p> - "Let me in." - </p> - <p> - So I let her in, and pretended I expected her to kiss me, which she had - not yet, on account of the whooping cough. But she seemed to have - forgotten that. Also the kiss. - </p> - <p> - "Barbara," she said, in the meanest voice, "how long have you been - smoking?" - </p> - <p> - Now I must pause to explain this. Had mother approached me in a sweet and - maternal manner, I would have been softened, and would have told the whole - story. But she did not. She was, as you might say, steaming with rage. And - seeing that I was misunderstood, I hardened. I can be as hard as adamant - when necessary. - </p> - <p> - "What do you mean, mother?" - </p> - <p> - "Don't answer one question with another." - </p> - <p> - "How can I answer when I don't understand you?" - </p> - <p> - She simply twitched with fury. - </p> - <p> - "You—a mere Child!" she raved. "And I can hardly bring myself to - mention it—the idea of your owning a flask, and bringing it into - this house—it is—it is——" - </p> - <p> - Well, I was growing cold and more haughty every moment, so I said: "I - don't see why the mere mention of a flask upsets you so. It isn't because - you aren't used to one, especially when traveling. And since I was a mere - baby I have been accustomed to intoxicants." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara!" she interjected, in the most dreadful tone. - </p> - <p> - "I mean, in the family," I said. "I have seen wine on our table ever since - I can remember. I knew to put salt on a claret stain before I could talk." - </p> - <p> - Well, you know how it is to see an enemy on the run, and although I regret - to refer to my dear mother as an enemy, still at that moment she was such - and no less. And she was beating it. It was the reference to my youth that - had aroused me, and I was like a wounded lion. Besides, I knew well enough - that if they refused to see that I was practically grown up, if not - entirely, I would get a lot of Sis's clothes, fixed up with new ribbons. - Faded old things! I'd had them for years. - </p> - <p> - Better to be considered a bad woman than an unformed child. - </p> - <p> - "However, mother," I finished, "if it is any comfort to you, I did not buy - that flask. And I am not a confirmed alcoholic. By no means." - </p> - <p> - "This settles it," she said, in a melancholy tone. "When I think of the - comfort Leila has been to me, and the anxiety you have caused, I wonder - where you get your—your DEVILTRY from. I am positively faint." - </p> - <p> - I was alarmed, for she did look queer, with her face all white around the - rouge. So I reached for the flask. - </p> - <p> - "I'll give you a swig of this," I said. "It will pull you around in no - time." - </p> - <p> - But she held me off fiercely. - </p> - <p> - "Never!" she said. "Never again. I shall empty the wine cellar. There will - be nothing to drink in this house from now on. I do not know what we are - coming to." - </p> - <p> - She walked into the bathroom, and I heard her emptying the flask down the - drain pipe. It was a very handsome flask, silver with gold stripes, and - all at once I knew the young man would want it back. So I said: - </p> - <p> - "Mother, please leave the flask here anyhow." - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not." - </p> - <p> - "It's not mine, mother." - </p> - <p> - "Whose is it?" - </p> - <p> - "It—a friend of mine loaned it to me." - </p> - <p> - "Who?" - </p> - <p> - "I can't tell you." - </p> - <p> - "You can't TELL me! Barbara, I am utterly bewildered. I sent you away a - simple child, and you return to me—what?" - </p> - <p> - Well, we had about an hour's fight over it, and we ended in a compromise. - I gave up the flask, and promised not to smoke and so forth, and I was to - have some new dresses and a silk sweater, and to be allowed to stay up - until ten o'clock, and to have a desk in my room for my work. - </p> - <p> - "Work!" mother said. "Career! What next? Why can't you be like Leila, and - settle down to having a good time?" - </p> - <p> - "Leila and I are different," I said loftily, for I resented her tone. - "Leila is a child of the moment. Life for her is one grand, sweet Song. - For me it is a serious matter. 'Life is real, life is earnest, and the - grave is not its goal,'" I quoted in impassioned tones. - </p> - <p> - (Because that is the way I feel. How can the grave be its goal? THERE MUST - BE SOMETHING BEYOND. I have thought it all out, and I believe in a world - beyond, but not in a hell. Hell, I believe, is the state of mind one gets - into in this world as a result of one's wicked acts or one's wicked - thoughts, and is in one's self.) - </p> - <p> - As I have said, the other side of the compromise was that I was not to - carry flasks with me, or drink any punch at parties if it had a stick in - it, and you can generally find out by the taste. For if it is what Carter - Brooks calls "loaded" it stings your tongue. Or if it tastes like cider - it's probably champagne. And I was not to smoke any cigarettes. - </p> - <p> - Mother was holding out on the sweater at that time, saying that Sis had a - perfectly good one from Miami, and why not wear that? So I put up a strong - protest about the cigarettes, although I have never smoked but once as I - think the school knows, and that only half through, owing to getting - dizzy. I said that Sis smoked now and then, because she thought it looked - smart; but that, if I was to have a career, I felt that the soothing - influence of tobacco would help a lot. - </p> - <p> - So I got the new sweater, and everything looked smooth again, and mother - kissed me on the way out, and said she had not meant to be harsh, but that - my great uncle Putnam had been a notorious drunkard, and I looked like - him, although of a more refined type. - </p> - <p> - There was a dreadful row that night, however, when father came home. We - were all dressed for dinner, and waiting in the drawing room, and Leila - was complaining about me, as usual. - </p> - <p> - "She looks older than I do now, mother," she said. "If she goes to the - seashore with us I'll have her always tagging at my heals. I don't see why - I can't have my first summer in peace." Oh, yes, we were going to the - shore, after all. Sis wanted it, and everybody does what she wants, - regardless of what they prefer, even fishing. - </p> - <p> - "First summer!" I exclaimed. "One would think you were a teething baby!" - </p> - <p> - "I was speaking to mother, Barbara. Everyone knows that a debutante only - has one year nowadays, and if she doesn't go off in that year she's swept - away by the flood of new girls the next fall. We might as well be frank. - And while Barbara's not a beauty, as soon as the bones in her neck get a - little flesh on them she won't be hopeless, and she has a flippant manner - that men like." - </p> - <p> - "I intend to keep Barbara under my eyes this summer," mother said firmly. - "After last Christmas's happenings, and our discovery today, I shall keep - her with me. She need not, however, interfere with you, Leila. Her hours - are mostly different, and I will see that her friends are the younger - boys." - </p> - <p> - I said nothing, but I knew perfectly well she had in mind Eddie Perkins - and Willie Graham, and a lot of other little kids that hang around the - fruit punch at parties, and throw the peas from the croquettes at each - other when the footmen are not near, and pretend they are allowed to - smoke, but have sworn off for the summer. - </p> - <p> - I was naturally indignant at Sis's words, which were not filial, to my - mind, but I replied as sweetly as possible: - </p> - <p> - "I shall not be in your way, Leila. I ask nothing but food and shelter, - and that perhaps not for long." - </p> - <p> - "Why? Do you intend to die?" she demanded. - </p> - <p> - "I intend to work," I said. "It's more interesting than dieing, and will - be a novelty in this house." - </p> - <p> - Father came in just then, and he said: - </p> - <p> - "I'll not wait to dress, Clara. Hello, children. I'll just change my - collar while you ring for the cocktails." - </p> - <p> - Mother got up and faced him with majesty. - </p> - <p> - "We are not going to have, any" she said. - </p> - <p> - "Any what?" said father from the doorway. - </p> - <p> - "I have had some fruit juice prepared with a dash of bitters. It is quite - nice. And I'll ask you, James, not to explode before the servants. I will - explain later." - </p> - <p> - Father has a very nice disposition but I could see that mother's manner - got on his nerves, as it got on mine. Anyhow there was a terrific fuss, - with Sis playing the piano so that the servants would not hear, and in the - end father had a cocktail. Mother waited until he had had it, and was - quieter, and then she told him about me, and my having a flask in my - suitcase. Of course I could have explained, but if they persisted in - misunderstanding me, why not let them do so, and be miserable? - </p> - <p> - "It's a very strange thing, Bab," he said, looking at me, "that everything - in this house is quiet until you come home, and then we get as lively as - kittens in a frying pan. We'll have to marry you off pretty soon, to save - our piece of mind." - </p> - <p> - "James!" said my mother. "Remember last winter, please." - </p> - <p> - There was no claret or anything with dinner, and father ordered mineral - water, and criticized the food, and fussed about Sis's dressmaker's bill. - And the second man gave notice immediately after we left the dining room. - When mother reported that, as we were having coffee in the drawing room, - father said: - </p> - <p> - "Humph! Well, what can you expect? Those fellows have been getting the - best half of a bottle of claret every night since they've been here, and - now it's cut off. Damned if I wouldn't like to leave myself." - </p> - <p> - From that time on I knew that I was watched. It made little or no - difference to me. I had my work, and it filled my life. There were times - when my soul was so filled with joy that I could hardly bare it. I had one - act done in two days. I wrote out the love scenes in full, because I - wanted to be sure of what they would say to each other. How I thrilled as - each marvelous burst of fantasy flowed from my pen! But the dialogue of - less interesting parts I left for the actors to fill in themselves. I - consider this the best way, as it gives them a chance to be original, and - not to have to say the same thing over and over. - </p> - <p> - Jane Raleigh came over to see me the day after I came home, and I read her - some of the love scenes. She positively wept with excitement. - </p> - <p> - "Bab," she said, "if any man, no matter who, ever said those things to me, - I'd go straight into his arms. I couldn't help it. Whose going to act in - it?" - </p> - <p> - "I think I'll have Robert Edeson, or Richard Mansfield." - </p> - <p> - "Mansfield's dead," said Jane. - </p> - <p> - "Honestly?" - </p> - <p> - "Honest he is. Why don't you get some of these moving picture actors? They - never have a chance in the Movies, only acting and not talking." - </p> - <p> - Well, that sounded logical. And then I read her the place where the cruel - first husband comes back and finds her married again and happy, and takes - the children out to drown them, only he can't because they can swim, and - they pull him in instead. The curtain goes down on nothing but a few - bubbles rising to mark his watery grave. - </p> - <p> - Jane was crying. - </p> - <p> - "It is too touching for words, Bab!" she said. "It has broken my heart. I - can just close my eyes and see the theater dark, and the stage almost - dark, and just those bubbles coming up and breaking. Would you have to - have a tank?" - </p> - <p> - "I daresay," I replied dreamily. "Let the other people worry about that. I - can only give them the material, and hope that they have intelligence - enough to grasp it." - </p> - <p> - I think Sis must have told Carter Brooks something about the trouble I was - in, for he brought me a box of candy one afternoon, and winked at me when - mother was not looking. - </p> - <p> - "Don't open it here," he whispered. - </p> - <p> - So I was forced to control my impatience, though passionately fond of - candy. And when I got to my room later, the box was full of cigarettes. I - could have screamed. It just gave me one more thing to hide, as if a man's - suit and shirt and so on was not sufficient. - </p> - <p> - But Carter paid more attention to me than he ever had before, and at a tea - dance somebody had at the country club he took me to one side and gave me - a good talking to. - </p> - <p> - "You're being rather a bad child, aren't you?" he said. - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not." - </p> - <p> - "Well, not bad, but—er—naughty. Now see here, Bab, I'm fond of - you, and you're growing into a mighty pretty girl. But your whole social - life is at stake. For heaven's sake, at least until you're married, cut - out the cigarettes and booze." - </p> - <p> - That cut me to the heart, but what could I say? - </p> - <p> - Well, July came, and we had rented a house at Little Hampton and - everywhere one went one fell over an open trunk or a barrel containing - silver or linen. - </p> - <p> - Mother went around with her lips moving as if in prayer, but she was - really repeating lists, such as sowing basket, table candles, headache - tablets, black silk stockings and tennis rackets. - </p> - <p> - Sis got some lovely clothes, mostly imported, but they had a woman come in - and sew for me. Hannah and she used to interrupt my most precious moments - at my desk by running a tape measure around me, or pinning a paper pattern - to me. The sewing woman always had her mouth full of pins, and once, owing - to my remarking that I wished I had been illegitimate, so I could go away - and live my own life, she swallowed one. It caused a grate deal of - excitement, with Hannah blaming me and giving her vinegar to swallow to - soften the pin. Well, it turned out all right, for she kept on living, but - she pretended to have sharp pains all over her here and there, and if the - pin had been as lively as a tadpole and wriggled from spot to spot, it - could not have hurt in so many places. - </p> - <p> - Of course they blamed me, and I shut myself up more and more in my - sanctuary. There I lived with the creatures of my dreams, and forgot for a - while that I was only a Sub-Deb, and that Leila's last year's tennis - clothes were being fixed over for me. - </p> - <p> - But how true what dear Shakespeare says: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - dreams, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Which are the children of an idle brain. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Begot of nothing but vain fantasy. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - I loved my dreams, but alas, they were not enough. After a tortured hour - or two at my desk, living in myself the agonies of my characters, - suffering the pangs of the wife with two husbands and both living, - struggling in the water with the children, fruit of the first union, dying - with number two and blowing my last bubbles heavenward—after all - these emotions, I was done out. - </p> - <p> - Jane came in one day and found me prostrate on my couch, with a light of - suffering in my eyes. - </p> - <p> - "Dearest!" cried Jane, and gliding to my side, fell on her knees. - </p> - <p> - "Jane!" - </p> - <p> - "What is it? You are ill?" - </p> - <p> - I could hardly more than whisper. In a low tone I said: - </p> - <p> - "He is dead." - </p> - <p> - "Dearest!" - </p> - <p> - "Drowned!" - </p> - <p> - At first she thought I meant a member of my family. But when she - understood she looked serious. - </p> - <p> - "You are too intense, Bab," she said solemnly. "You suffer too much. You - are wearing yourself out." - </p> - <p> - "There is no other way," I replied in broken tones. - </p> - <p> - Jane went to the Mirror and looked at herself. Then she turned to me. - </p> - <p> - "Others don't do it." - </p> - <p> - "I must work out my own Salvation, Jane," I observed firmly. But she had - roused me from my apathy, and I went into Sis's room, returning with a box - of candy some one had sent her. "I must feel, Jane, or I cannot write." - </p> - <p> - "Pooh! Loads of writers get fat on it. Why don't you try comedy? It pays - well." - </p> - <p> - "Oh—MONEY!" I said, in a disgusted tone. - </p> - <p> - "Your FORTE, of course, is love," she said. "Probably that's because - you've had so much experience." Owing to certain reasons it is generally - supposed that I have experienced the gentle passion. But not so, alas! - "Bab," Jane said, suddenly, "I have been your friend for a long time. I - have never betrayed you. You can trust me with your life. Why don't you - tell me?" - </p> - <p> - "Tell you what?" - </p> - <p> - "Something has happened. I see it in your eyes. No girl who is happy and - has not a tragic story stays at home shut up at a messy desk when everyone - is out at the club playing tennis. Don't talk to me about a career. A - girl's career is a man and nothing else. And especially after last winter, - Bab. Is—is it the same one?" - </p> - <p> - Here I made my fatal error. I should have said at once that there was no - one, just as there had been no one last winter. But she looked so intense, - sitting there, and after all, why should I not have an amorous experience? - I am not ugly, and can dance well, although inclined to lead because of - dancing with other girls all winter at school. So I lay back on my pillow - and stared at the ceiling. - </p> - <p> - "No. It is not the same man." - </p> - <p> - "What is he like? Bab, I'm so excited I can't sit still." - </p> - <p> - "It—it hurts to talk about him," I observed faintly. - </p> - <p> - Now I intended to let it go at that, and should have, had not Jane kept on - asking questions. Because I had had a good lesson the winter before, and - did not intend to deceive again. And this I will say—I really told - Jane Raleigh nothing. She jumped to her own conclusions. And as for her - people saying she cannot chum with me any more, I will only say this: If - Jane Raleigh smokes she did not learn it from me. - </p> - <p> - Well, I had gone as far as I meant to. I was not really in love with - anyone, although I liked Carter Brooks, and would possibly have loved him - with all the depth of my nature if Sis had not kept an eye on me most of - the time. However—— - </p> - <p> - Jane seemed to be expecting something, and I tried to think of some way to - satisfy her and not make any trouble. And then I thought of the suitcase. - So I locked the door and made her promise not to tell, and got the whole - thing out of the toy closet. - </p> - <p> - "Wha—what is it?" asked Jane. - </p> - <p> - I said nothing, but opened it all up. The flask was gone, but the rest was - there, and Carter's box too. Jane leaned down and lifted the trousers and - poked around somewhat. Then she straitened and said: - </p> - <p> - "You have run away and got married, Bab." - </p> - <p> - "Jane!" - </p> - <p> - She looked at me piercingly. - </p> - <p> - "Don't lie to me," she said accusingly. "Or else what are you doing with a - man's whole outfit, including his dirty collar? Bab, I just can't bare - it." - </p> - <p> - Well, I saw that I had gone to far, and was about to tell Jane the truth - when I heard the sewing woman in the hall. I had all I could do to get the - things put away, and with Jane looking like death I had to stand there and - be fitted for one of Sis's chiffon frocks, with the low neck filled in - with net. - </p> - <p> - "You must remember, Miss Bab," said the human pin cushion, "that you are - still a very young girl, and not out yet." - </p> - <p> - Jane got up off the bed suddenly. - </p> - <p> - "I—I guess I'll go, Bab," she said. "I don't feel very well." - </p> - <p> - As she went out she stopped in the doorway and crossed her heart, meaning - that she would die before she would tell anything. But I was not - comfortable. It is not a pleasant thought that your best friend considers - you married and gone beyond recall, when in truth you are not, or even - thinking about it, except in idle moments. - </p> - <p> - The seen now changes. Life is nothing but such changes. No sooner do we - alight on one branch, and begin to sip the honey from it, but we are taken - up and carried elsewhere, perhaps to the mountains or to the sea-shore, - and there left to make new friends and find new methods of enjoyment. - </p> - <p> - The flight—or journey—was in itself an anxious time. For on my - otherwise clear conscience rested the weight of that strange suitcase. - Fortunately Hannah was so busy that I was left to pack my belongings - myself, and thus for a time my guilty secret was safe. I put my things in - on top of the masculine articles, not daring to leave any of them in the - closet, owing to house-cleaning, which is always done before our return in - the fall. - </p> - <p> - On the train I had a very unpleasant experience, due to Sis opening my - suitcase to look for a magazine, and drawing out a soiled gentleman's - collar. She gave me a very piercing glance, but said nothing and at the - next opportunity I threw it out of a window, concealed in a newspaper. - </p> - <p> - We now approach the catastrophe. My book on play writing divides plays - into Introduction, Development, Crisis, Denouement and Catastrophe. And so - one may divide life. In my case the cinder proved the introduction, as - there was none other. I consider that the suitcase was the development, my - showing it to Jane Raleigh was the crisis, and the denouement or - catastrophe occurred later on. - </p> - <p> - Let us then proceed to the catastrophe. - </p> - <p> - Jane Raleigh came to see me off at the train. Her family was coming the - next day. And instead of flowers, she put a small bundle into my hands. - "Keep it hidden, Bab," she said, "and tear up the card." - </p> - <p> - I looked when I got a chance, and she had crocheted me a wash cloth, with - a pink edge. "For your linen chest," the card said, "and I'm doing a bath - towel to match." - </p> - <p> - I tore up the card, but I put the wash cloth with the other things I was - trying to hide, because it is bad luck to throw a gift away. But I hoped, - as I seemed to be getting more things to conceal all the time, that she - would make me a small bath towel, and not the sort as big as a bed spread. - </p> - <p> - Father went with us to get us settled, and we had a long talk while mother - and Sis made out lists for dinners and so forth. - </p> - <p> - "Look here, Bab," he said, "something's wrong with you. I seem to have - lost my only boy, and have got instead a sort of tear-y young person I - don't recognize." - </p> - <p> - "I'm growing up, father" I said. I did not mean to rebuke him, but ye - gods! Was I the only one to see that I was no longer a child? - </p> - <p> - "Sometimes I think you are not very happy with us." - </p> - <p> - "Happy?" I pondered. "Well, after all, what is happiness?" - </p> - <p> - He took a spell of coughing then, and when it was over he put his arms - around me and was quite affectionate. - </p> - <p> - "What a queer little rat it is!" he said. - </p> - <p> - I only repeat this to show how even my father, with all his affection and - good qualities, did not understand and never would understand. My heart - was full of a longing to be understood. I wanted to tell him my yearnings - for better things, my aspirations to make my life a great and glorious - thing. AND HE DID NOT UNDERSTAND. - </p> - <p> - He gave me five dollars instead. Think of the tragedy of it! - </p> - <p> - As we went along, and he pulled my ear and finally went asleep with a hand - on my shoulder, the bareness of my life came to me. I shook with sobs. And - outside somewhere Sis and mother made dinner lists. Then and there I made - up my mind to work hard and achieve, to become great and powerful, to - write things that would ring the hearts of men—and women, to, of - course—and to come back to them some day, famous and beautiful, and - when they sued for my love, to be kind and haughty, but cold. I felt that - I would always be cold, although gracious. - </p> - <p> - I decided then to be a writer of plays first, and then later on to act in - them. I would thus be able to say what came into my head, as it was my own - play. Also to arrange the scenes so as to wear a variety of gowns, - including evening things. I spent the rest of the afternoon manicuring my - nails in our state room. - </p> - <p> - Well, we got there at last. It was a large house, but everything was to - thin about it. The school will understand this, the same being the - condition of the new freshman dormitory. The walls were to thin, and so - were the floors. The doors shivered in the wind, and palpitated if you - slammed them. Also you could hear every sound everywhere. - </p> - <p> - I looked around me in despair. Where, oh where, was I to find my cherished - solitude? Where? - </p> - <p> - On account of Hannah hating a new place, and considering the house an - insult to the servants, especially only one bathroom for the lot of them, - she let me unpack alone, and so far I was safe. But where was I to work? - Fate settled that for me however. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - There is no armor against fate; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Death lays his icy hand on Kings. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - J. Shirley; Dirge. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Previously, however, mother and I had had a talk. She sailed into my room - one evening, dressed for dinner, and found me in my ROBE DE NUIT, curled - up in the window seat admiring the view of the ocean. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" she said. "Is this the way you intend going to dinner?" - </p> - <p> - "I do not care for any dinner," I replied. Then, seeing she did not - understand, I said coldly. "How can I care for food, mother, when the sea - looks like a dying opal?" - </p> - <p> - "Dying pussycat!" mother said, in a very nasty way. "I don't know what has - come over you, Barbara. You used to be a normal child, and there was some - accounting for what you were going to do. But now! Take off that - nightgown, and I'll have Tanney hold off dinner for half an hour." - </p> - <p> - Tanney was the butler who had taken Patrick's place. - </p> - <p> - "If you insist," I said coldly. "But I shall not eat." - </p> - <p> - "Why not?" - </p> - <p> - "You wouldn't understand, mother." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, I wouldn't? Well, suppose I try," she said, and sat down. "I am not - very intelligent, but if you put it clearly I may grasp it. Perhaps you'd - better speak slowly, also." - </p> - <p> - So, sitting there in my room, while the sea throbbed in tireless beats - against the shore, while the light faded and the stars issued, one by one, - like a rash on the face of the sky, I told mother of my dreams. I - intended, I said, to write life as it really is, and not as supposed to - be. - </p> - <p> - "It may in places be, ugly" I said, "but truth is my banner. The truth is - never ugly, because it is real. It is, for instance, not ugly if a man is - in love with the wife of another, if it is real love, and not the passing - fancy of a moment." - </p> - <p> - Mother opened her mouth, but did not say anything. - </p> - <p> - "There was a time," I said, "when I longed for things that now have no - value whatever to me. I cared for clothes and even for the attentions of - the other sex. But that has passed away, mother. I have now no thought but - for my career." - </p> - <p> - I watched her face, and soon the dreadful understanding came to me. She, - too, did not understand. My literary aspirations were as nothing to her! - </p> - <p> - Oh, the bitterness of that moment. My mother, who had cared for me as a - child, and obeyed my slightest wish, no longer understood me. And saddest - of all, there was no way out. None. Once, in my youth, I had believed that - I was not the child of my parents at all, but an adopted one—perhaps - of rank and kept out of my inheritance by those who had selfish motives. - But now I knew that I had no rank or inheritance, save what I should carve - out for myself. There was no way out. None. - </p> - <p> - Mother rose slowly, staring at me with perfectly fixed and glassy eyes. - </p> - <p> - "I am absolutely sure," she said, "that you are on the edge of something. - It may be typhoid, or it may be an elopement. But one thing is certain. - You are not normal." - </p> - <p> - With this she left me to my thoughts. But she did not neglect me. Sis came - up after dinner, and I saw mother's fine hand in that. Although not hungry - in the usual sense of the word, I had begun to grow rather empty, and was - nibbling out of a box of chocolates when Sis came. - </p> - <p> - She got very little out of me. To one with softness and tenderness I would - have told all, but Sis is not that sort. And at last she showed her claws. - </p> - <p> - "Don't fool yourself for a minute," she said. "This literary pose has not - fooled anybody. Either you're doing it to appear interesting, or you've - done something you're scared about. Which is it?" - </p> - <p> - I refused to reply. - </p> - <p> - "Because if it's the first, and you're trying to look literary, you are - going about it wrong," she said. "Real Literary People don't go round - mooning and talking about the opal sea." - </p> - <p> - I saw mother had been talking, and I drew myself up. - </p> - <p> - "They look and act like other people," said Leila, going to the bureau and - spilling powder all over the place. "Look at Beecher." - </p> - <p> - "Beecher!" I cried, with a thrill that started inside my elbows. (I have - read this to one or two of the girls, and they say there is no such - thrill. But not all people act alike under the influence of emotion, and - mine is in my arms, as stated.) - </p> - <p> - "The playwright," Sis said. "He's staying next door. And if he does any - languishing it is not by himself." - </p> - <p> - There may be some who have for a long time had an ideal, but without - hoping ever to meet him, and then suddenly learning that he is nearby, - with indeed but a wall or two between, can be calm and cool. But I am not - like that. Although long suppression has taught me to dissemble at times, - where my heart is concerned I am powerless. - </p> - <p> - For it was at last my heart that was touched. I, who had scorned the other - sex and felt that I was born cold and always would be cold, that day I - discovered the truth. Reginald Beecher was my ideal. I had never spoken to - him, nor indeed seen him, except for his pictures. But the very mention of - his name brought a lump to my throat. - </p> - <p> - Feeling better immediately, I got Sis out of the room and coaxed Hannah to - bring me some dinner. While she was sneaking it out of the pantry I was - dressing, and soon, as a new being, I was out on the stone bench at the - foot of the lawn, gazing with rapt eyes at the sea. - </p> - <p> - But fate was against me. Eddie Perkins saw me there and came over. He had - but recently been put in long trousers, and those not his best ones but - only white flannels. He was never sure of his garters, and was always - looking to see if his socks were coming down. Well, he came over just as I - was sure I saw Reginald Beecher next door on the veranda, and made himself - a nuisance right away, trying all sorts of kid tricks, such as snapping a - rubber band at me, and pulling out hairpins. - </p> - <p> - But I felt that I must talk to someone. So I said: - </p> - <p> - "Eddie, if you had your choice of love or a career, which would it be?" - </p> - <p> - "Why not both," he said, hitching the rubber band onto one of his front - teeth and playing on it. "Neither ought to take up all a fellow's time. - Say, listen to this! Talk about a ukelele!" - </p> - <p> - "A woman can never have both." - </p> - <p> - He played a while, strumming with one finger until the hand slipped off - and stung him on the lip. - </p> - <p> - "Once," I said, "I dreamed of a career. But I believe love's the most - important." - </p> - <p> - Well, I shall pass lightly over what followed. Why is it that a girl - cannot speak of love without every member of the other sex present, no - matter how young, thinking it is he? And as for mother maintaining that I - kissed that wretched child, and they saw me from the drawing-room, it is - not true and never was true. It was but one more misunderstanding which - convinced the family that I was carrying on all manner of affairs. - </p> - <p> - Carter Brooks had arrived that day, and was staying at the Perkins' - cottage. I got rid of the Perkins' baby, as his nose was bleeding—but - I had not slapped him hard at all, and felt little or no compunction—when - I heard Carter coming down the walk. He had called to see Leila, but she - had gone to a beach dance and left him alone. He never paid any attention - to me when she was around, and I received him coolly. - </p> - <p> - "Hello!" he said. - </p> - <p> - "Well?" I replied. - </p> - <p> - "Is that the way you greet me, Bab?" - </p> - <p> - "It's the way I would greet most any left-over," I said. "I eat hash at - school, but I don't have to pretend to like it." - </p> - <p> - "I came to see YOU." - </p> - <p> - "How youthful of you!" I replied, in stinging tones. - </p> - <p> - He sat down on a bench and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "What's got into you lately?" he said. "Just as you're getting to be the - prettiest girl around, and I'm strong for you, you—you turn into a - regular rattlesnake." - </p> - <p> - The kindness of his tone upset me considerably, to who so few kind words - had come recently. I am compelled to confess that I wept, although I had - not expected to, and indeed shed few tears, although bitter ones. - </p> - <p> - How could I possibly know that the chaste salute of Eddie Perkins and my - head on Carter Brooks' shoulder were both plainly visible against the - rising moon? But this was the case, especially from the house next door. - </p> - <p> - But I digress. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Carter held me off and shook me somewhat. - </p> - <p> - "Sit up here and tell me about it," he said. "I'm getting more scared - every minute. You are such an impulsive little beast, and you turn the - fellows' heads so—look here, is Jane Raleigh lying, or did you run - away and get married to someone?" - </p> - <p> - I am aware that I should have said, then and there, No. But it seemed a - shame to spoil things just as they were getting interesting. So I said, - through my tears: - </p> - <p> - "Nobody understands me. Nobody. And I'm so lonely." - </p> - <p> - "And of course you haven't run away with anyone, have you?" - </p> - <p> - "Not—exactly." - </p> - <p> - "Bless you, Bab!" he said. And I might as well say that he kissed me, - because he did, although unexpectedly. Somebody just then moved a chair on - the porch next door and coughed rather loudly, so Carter drew a long - breath and got up. - </p> - <p> - "There's something about you lately, Bab, that I don't understand," he - said. "You—you're mysterious. That's the word. In a couple of years - you'll be the real thing." - </p> - <p> - "Come and see me then," I said in a demure manner. And he went away. - </p> - <p> - So I sat on my bench and looked at the sea and dreamed. It seemed to me - that centuries must have passed since I was a lighthearted girl, running - up and down that beach, paddling, and so forth, with no thought of the - future farther away than my next meal. - </p> - <p> - Once I lived to eat. Now I merely ate to live, and hardly that. The fires - of genius must be fed, but no more. - </p> - <p> - Sitting there, I suddenly made a discovery. The boat house was near me, - and I realized that upstairs, above the bath-houses, et cetera, there must - be a room or two. The very thought intrigued me (a new word for interest, - but coming into use, and sounding well). - </p> - <p> - Solitude—how I craved it for my work. And here it was, or would be - when I had got the place fixed up. True, the next door boat-house was - close, but a boat-house is a quiet place, generally, and I knew that - nowhere, aside from the desert, is there perfect silence. - </p> - <p> - I investigated at once, but found the place locked and the boatman gone. - However, there was a lattice, and I climbed up that and got in. I had a - fright there, as it seemed to be full of people, but I soon saw it was - only the family bathing suits hung up to dry. Aside from the odor of - drying things it was a fine study, and I decided to take a small table - there, and the various tools of my profession. - </p> - <p> - Climbing down, however, I had a surprise. For a man was just below, and I - nearly put my foot on his shoulder in the darkness. - </p> - <p> - "Hello!" he said. "So it's YOU." - </p> - <p> - I was quite speechless. It was Mr. Beecher himself, in his dinner clothes - and bareheaded. - </p> - <p> - Oh fluttering heart, be still. Oh pen, move steadily. OH TEMPORA O MORES! - </p> - <p> - "Let me down," I said. I was still hanging to the lattice. - </p> - <p> - "In a moment," he said. "I have an idea that the instant I do you'll - vanish. And I have something to tell you." - </p> - <p> - I could hardly believe my ears. - </p> - <p> - "You see," he went on, "I think you must move that bench." - </p> - <p> - "Bench?" - </p> - <p> - "You seem to be so very popular," he said. "And of course I'm only a - transient and don't matter. But some evening one of the admirers may be on - the Patten's porch, while another is with you on the bench. And—the - Moon rises beyond it." - </p> - <p> - I was silent with horror. So that was what he thought of me. Like all the - others, he, too, did not understand. He considered me a flirt, when my - only thoughts were serious ones, of immortality and so on. - </p> - <p> - "You'd better come down now," he said. "I was afraid to warn you until I - saw you climbing the lattice. Then I knew you were still young enough to - take a friendly word of advice." - </p> - <p> - I got down then and stood before him. He was magnificent. Is there - anything more beautiful than a tall man with a gleaming expanse of dress - shirt? I think not. - </p> - <p> - But he was staring at me. - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said. "I'm afraid I've made a mistake after all. I thought - you were a little girl." - </p> - <p> - "That needn't worry you. Everybody does," I replied. "I'm seventeen, but I - shall be a mere child until I come out." - </p> - <p> - "Oh!" he said. - </p> - <p> - "One day I am a child in the nursery," I said. "And the next I'm grown up - and ready to be sold to the highest bidder." - </p> - <p> - "I beg your pardon, I——" - </p> - <p> - "But I am as grown up now as I will ever be," I said. "And indeed more so. - I think a great deal now, because I have plenty of time. But my sister - never thinks at all. She is too busy." - </p> - <p> - "Suppose we sit on the bench. The moon is too high to be a menace, and - besides, I am not dangerous. Now, what do you think about?" - </p> - <p> - "About life, mostly. But of course there is death, which is beautiful but - cold. And—one always thinks of love, doesn't one?" - </p> - <p> - "Does one?" he asked. I could see he was much interested. As for me, I - dared not consider whom it was who sat beside me, almost touching. That - way lay madness. - </p> - <p> - "Don't you ever," he said, "reflect on just ordinary things, like clothes - and so forth?" - </p> - <p> - I shrugged my shoulders. - </p> - <p> - "I don't get enough new clothes to worry about. Mostly I think of my - work." - </p> - <p> - "Work?" - </p> - <p> - "I am a writer" I said in a low, earnest tone. - </p> - <p> - "No! How—how amazing. What do you write?" - </p> - <p> - "I'm on a play now." - </p> - <p> - "A comedy?" - </p> - <p> - "No. A tragedy. How can I write a comedy when a play must always end in a - catastrophe? The book says all plays end in crisis, denouement and - catastrophe." - </p> - <p> - "I can't believe it," he said. "But, to tell you a secret, I never read - any books about plays." - </p> - <p> - "We are not all gifted from berth, as you are," I observed, not to merely - please him, but because I considered it the simple truth. - </p> - <p> - He pulled out his watch and looked at it in the moonlight. - </p> - <p> - "All this reminds me," he said, "that I have promised to go to work - tonight. But this is so—er—thrilling that I guess the work can - wait. Well—now go on." - </p> - <p> - Oh, the joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in the - company of one who understood, who—as he himself had said in "Her - Soul"—spoke my own language! Except for the occasional mosquito, - there was no sound save the tumescent sea and his voice. - </p> - <p> - Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat it - sounds to listen to father conversing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes, or - even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about themselves. - </p> - <p> - We were at last interrupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down - their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in front - of us and said: - </p> - <p> - "Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, go away, and sing, or do something," said Mr. Beecher sharply. - </p> - <p> - "You gave me your word of honor" said the Patten man. "I can only remind - you of that. Also of the expense I'm incurring, and all the rest of it. - I've shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit." - </p> - <p> - He turned on his heel, but came back for a last word or two. - </p> - <p> - "Now see here," he said, "we have everything fixed the way you said you - wanted it. And I'll give you ten minutes. That's all." - </p> - <p> - He stalked away, and Mr. Beecher looked at me. - </p> - <p> - "Ten minutes of heaven," he said, "and then perdition with that bunch. - Look here," he said, "I—I'm awfully interested in what you are - telling me. Let's cut off up the beach and talk." - </p> - <p> - Oh night of nights! Oh moon of moons! - </p> - <p> - Our talk was strictly business. He asked me my plot, and although I had - been warned not to do so, even to David Belasco, I gave it to him fully. - And even now, when all is over, I am not sorry. Let him use it if he will. - I can think of plenty of plots. - </p> - <p> - The real tragedy is that we met father. He had been ordered to give up - smoking, and I considered he had done so, mother feeling that I should be - encouraged in leaving off cigarettes. So when I saw the cigar I was sure - it was not father. It proved to be, however, and although he passed with - nothing worse than a glare, I knew I was in more trouble. - </p> - <p> - At last we reached the bench again, and I said good night. Our relations - continued business-like to the last. He said: - </p> - <p> - "Good night, little authoress, and let's have some more talks." - </p> - <p> - "I'm afraid I've bored you," I said. - </p> - <p> - "Bored me!" he said. "I haven't spent such an evening for years!" - </p> - <p> - The family acted perfectly absurd about it. Seeing that they were going to - make a fuss, I refused to say with whom I had been walking. You'd have - thought I had committed a crime. - </p> - <p> - "It has come to this, Barbara," mother said, pacing the floor. "You cannot - be trusted out of our sight. Where do you meet all these men? If this is - how things are now, what will it be when given your liberty?" - </p> - <p> - Well, it is to painful to record. I was told not to leave the place for - three days, although allowed the boat-house. And of course Sis had to - chime in that she'd heard a rumor I had run away and got married, and - although of course she knew it wasn't true, owing to no time to do so, - still where there was smoke there was fire. - </p> - <p> - But I felt that their confidence in me was going, and that night, after - all were in the land of dreams, I took that wretched suit of clothes and - so on to the boathouse, and hid them in the rafters upstairs. - </p> - <p> - I come now to the strange event of the next day, and its sequel. - </p> - <p> - The Patten place and ours are close together, and no other house near. - Mother had been very cool about the Pattens, owing to nobody knowing them - that we knew. Although I must say they had the most interesting people all - the time, and Sis was crazy to call and meet some of them. - </p> - <p> - Jane came that day to visit her aunt, and she ran down to see me first - thing. - </p> - <p> - "Come and have a ride," she said. "I've got the runabout, and after that - we'll bathe and have a real time." - </p> - <p> - But I shook my head. - </p> - <p> - "I'm a prisoner, Jane," I said. - </p> - <p> - "Honestly! Is it the play, or something else?" - </p> - <p> - "Something else, Jane," I said. "I can tell you nothing more. I am simply - in trouble, as usual." - </p> - <p> - "But why make you a prisoner, unless——" She stopped suddenly - and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "He has claimed you!" she said. "He is here, somewhere about this place, - and now, having had time to think it over, you do not want to go to him. - Don't deny it. I see it in your face. Oh, Bab, my heart aches for you." - </p> - <p> - It sounded so like a play that I kept it up. Alas, with what results! - </p> - <p> - "What else can I do, Jane?" I said. - </p> - <p> - "You can refuse, if you do not love him. Oh Bab, I did not say it before, - thinking you loved him. But no man who wears clothes like those could ever - win my heart. At least, not permanently." - </p> - <p> - Well, she did most of the talking. She had finished the bath towel, which - was a large size, after all, and monogrammed, and she made me promise - never to let my husband use it. When she went away she left it with me, - and I carried it out and put it on the rafters, with the other things—I - seemed to be getting more to hide every day. - </p> - <p> - Things went all wrong the next day. Sis was in a bad temper, and as much - as said I was flirting with Carter Brooks, although she never intends to - marry him herself, owing to his not having money and never having asked - her. - </p> - <p> - I spent the morning in fixing up a studio in the boat-house, and felt - better by noon. I took two boards on trestles and made a desk, and brought - a dictionary and some pens and ink out. I use a dictionary because now and - then I am uncertain how to spell a word. - </p> - <p> - Events now moved swiftly and terribly. I did not do much work, being - exhausted by my efforts to fix up the studio, and besides, feeling that - nothing much was worth while when one's family did not and never would - understand. At eleven o'clock Sis and Carter and Jane and some others went - in bathing from our dock. Jane called up to me, but I pretended not to - hear. They had a good time judging by the noise, although I should think - Jane would cover her arms and neck in the water, being very thin. Legs one - can do nothing with, although I should think stripes going around would - help. But arms can have sleeves. - </p> - <p> - However—the people next door went in too, and I thrilled to the core - when Mr. Beecher left the bath-house and went down to the beech. What a - physique! What shoulders, all brown and muscular! And to think that, - strong as they were, they wrote the tender love scenes of his plays. - Strong and tender—what descriptive words they are! It was then that - I saw he had been vaccinated twice. - </p> - <p> - To resume. All the Pattens went in, and a new girl with them, in a one - piece suit. I do not deny that she was pretty. I only say that she was not - modest, and that the way she stood on the Patten's dock and posed for Mr. - Beecher's benefit was unnecessary and well, not respectable. - </p> - <p> - She was nothing to me, nor I to her. But I watched her closely. I confess - that I was interested in Mr. Beecher. Why not? He was a public character, - and entitled to respect. Nay, even to love. But I maintain and will to my - dying day, that such love is different from that ordinarily born to the - other sex, and a thing to be proud of. - </p> - <p> - Well, I was seeing a drama and did not even know it. After the rest had - gone, Mr. Patten came to the door into Mr. Beecher's room in the - bath-house—they are all in a row, with doors opening on the sand—and - he had a box in his hand. He looked around, and no one was looking except - me, and he did not see me. He looked very fierce and glum, and shortly - after he carried in a chair and a folding card table. I thought this was - very strange, but imagine how I felt when he came out carrying Mr. - Beecher's clothes! He brought them all, going on his tiptoes and watching - every minute. I felt like screaming. - </p> - <p> - However, I considered that it was a practical joke, and I am no spoil - sport. So I sat still and waited. They stayed in the water a long time, - and the girl with the figure was always crawling out on the dock and then - diving in to show off. Leila and the rest got sick of her actions and came - in to lunch. They called up to me, but I said I was not hungry. - </p> - <p> - "I don't know what's come over Bab," I heard Sis say to Carter Brooks. - "She's crazy, I think." - </p> - <p> - "She's seventeen," he said. "That's all. They get over it mostly, but she - has it hard." - </p> - <p> - I loathed him. - </p> - <p> - Pretty soon the other crowd came up, and I could see every one knew the - joke but Mr. Beecher. They all scuttled into their doorways, and Mr. - Patten waited till Mr. Beecher was inside and had thrown out the shirt of - his bathing suit. Then he locked the door from the outside. - </p> - <p> - There was a silence for a minute. Then Mr. Beecher said in a terrible - voice. - </p> - <p> - "So that's the game, is it?" - </p> - <p> - "Now listen, Reg," Mr. Patten said, in a soothing voice. "I've tried - everything but force, and now I'm driven to that. I've got to have that - third act. The company's got the first two acts well under way, and I'm - getting wires about every hour. I've got to have that script." - </p> - <p> - "You go to Hell!" said Mr. Beecher. You could hear him plainly through the - window, high up in the wall. And although I do not approve of an oath, - there are times when it eases the tortured soul. - </p> - <p> - "Now be reasonable, Reg," Mr. Patten pleaded. "I've put a fortune in this - thing, and you're lying down on the job. You could do it in four hours if - you'd put your mind to it." - </p> - <p> - There was no answer to this. And he went on: - </p> - <p> - "I'll send out food or anything. But nothing to drink. There's champagne - on the ice for you when you've finished, however. And you'll find pens and - ink and paper on the table." - </p> - <p> - The answer to this was Mr. Beecher's full weight against the door. But it - held, even against the full force of his fine physic. - </p> - <p> - "Even if you do break it open," Mr. Patten said, "you can't go very far - the way you are. Now be a good fellow, and let's get this thing done. It's - for your good as well as mine. You'll make a fortune out of it." - </p> - <p> - Then he went into his own door, and soon came out, looking like a - gentleman, unless one knew, as I did, that he was a whited sepulcher. - </p> - <p> - How long I sat there, paralyzed with emotion, I do not know. Hannah came - out and roused me from my trance of grief. She is a kindly soul, although - too afraid of mother to be helpful. - </p> - <p> - "Come in like a good girl, Miss Bab," she said. "There's that fruit salad - that cook prides herself on, and I'll ask her to brown a bit of sweetbread - for you." - </p> - <p> - "Hannah," I said in a low voice, "there is a crime being committed in this - neighborhood, and you talk to me of food." - </p> - <p> - "Good gracious, Miss Bab!" - </p> - <p> - "I cannot tell you any more than that, Hannah," I said gently, "because it - is only being done now, and I cannot make up my mind about it. But of - course I do not want any food." - </p> - <p> - As I say, I was perfectly gentle with her, and I do not understand why she - burst into tears and went away. - </p> - <p> - I sat and thought it all over. I could not leave, under the circumstances. - But yet, what was I to do? It was hardly a police matter, being between - friends, as one may say, and yet I simply could not bare to leave my ideal - there in that damp bath-house without either food or, as one may say, - raiment. - </p> - <p> - About the middle of the afternoon it occurred to me to try to find a key - for the lock of the bath-house. I therefore left my studio and proceeded - to the house. I passed close by the fatal building, but there was no sound - from it. - </p> - <p> - I found a number of trunk-keys in a drawer in the library, and was about - to escape with them, when father came in. He gave me a long look, and - said: - </p> - <p> - "Bee still buzzing?" - </p> - <p> - I had hoped for some understanding from him, but my spirits fell at this - speech. - </p> - <p> - "I am still working, father," I said, in a firm if nervous tone. "I am not - doing as good work as I would if things were different, but—I am at - least content, if not happy." - </p> - <p> - He stared at me, and then came over to me. - </p> - <p> - "Put out your tongue," he said. - </p> - <p> - Even against this crowning infamy I was silent. - </p> - <p> - "That's all right," he said. "Now see here, Chicken, get into your riding - togs and we'll order the horses. I don't intend to let this play-acting - upset your health." - </p> - <p> - But I refused. "Unless, of course, you insist," I finished. He only shook - his head, however, and left the room. I felt that I had lost my last - friend. - </p> - <p> - I did not try the keys myself, but instead stood off a short distance and - threw them through the window. I learned later that they struck Mr. - Beecher on the head. Not knowing, of course, that I had flung them, and - that my reason was pure friendliness and idealism, he threw them out again - with a violent exclamation. They fell at my feet, and lay there, useless, - rejected, tragic. - </p> - <p> - At last I summoned courage to speak. - </p> - <p> - "Can't I do something to help?" I said, in a quaking voice, to the window. - </p> - <p> - There was no answer, but I could hear a pen scratching on paper. - </p> - <p> - "I do so want to help you," I said, in a louder tone. - </p> - <p> - "Go, away" said his voice, rather abstracted than angry. - </p> - <p> - "May I try the keys?" I asked. Be still, my heart! For the scratching had - ceased. - </p> - <p> - "Who's that?" asked the beloved voice. I say 'beloved' because an ideal is - always beloved. The voice was beloved, but sharp. - </p> - <p> - "It's me." - </p> - <p> - I heard him mutter something, and I think he came to the door. - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said. "Go away. Do you understand? I want to work. And - don't come near here again until seven o'clock." - </p> - <p> - "Very well," I said faintly. - </p> - <p> - "And then come without fail," he said. - </p> - <p> - "Yes, Mr. Beecher," I replied. How commanding he was! Strong but tender! - </p> - <p> - "And if anyone comes around making a noise, before that, you shoot them - for me, will you?" - </p> - <p> - "SHOOT them?" - </p> - <p> - "Drive them off, or use a bean-shooter. Anything. But don't yell at them. - It distracts me." - </p> - <p> - It was a sacred trust. I, and only I, stood between him and his MAGNUM - OPUS. I sat down on the steps of our bath-house, and took up my vigil. - </p> - <p> - It was about five o'clock when I heard Jane approaching. I knew it was - Jane, because she always wears tight shoes, and limps when unobserved. - Although having the reputation of the smallest foot of any girl in our set - in the city, I prefer comfort and ease, unhampered by heals—French - or otherwise. No man will ever marry a girl because she wears a small - shoe, and catches her heals in holes in the boardwalk, and has to soak her - feet at night before she can sleep. However—— - </p> - <p> - Jane came on, and found me crouched on the doorstep, in a lowly attitude, - and holding my finger to my lips. - </p> - <p> - She stopped and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "Hello," she said. "What do you think you are? A statue?" - </p> - <p> - "Hush, Jane," I said, in a low tone. "I can only ask you to be quiet and - speak in whispers. I cannot give the reason." - </p> - <p> - "Good heavens!" she whispered. "What has happened, Bab?" - </p> - <p> - "It is happening now, but I cannot explain." - </p> - <p> - "WHAT is happening?" - </p> - <p> - "Jane," I whispered, earnestly, "you have known me a long time and I have - always been trustworthy, have I not?" - </p> - <p> - She nodded. She is never exactly pretty, and now she had opened her mouth - and forgot to close it. - </p> - <p> - "Then ask no questions. Trust me, as I am trusting you." It seemed to me - that Mr. Beecher threw his pen at the door, and began to pace the - bath-house. Owing of course to his being in his bare feet, I was not - certain. Jane heard something, too, for she clutched my arm. - </p> - <p> - "Bab," she said, in intense tones, "if you don't explain I shall lose my - mind. I feel now that I am going to shriek." - </p> - <p> - She looked at me searchingly. - </p> - <p> - "Somebody is a prisoner. That's all." - </p> - <p> - It was the truth, was it not? And was there any reasons for Jane Raleigh - to jump to conclusions as she did, and even to repeat later in public that - I had told her that my lover had come for me, and that father had locked - him up to prevent my running away with him, immuring him in the Patten's - bath-house? Certainly not. - </p> - <p> - Just then I saw the boatman coming who looks after our motor boat, and I - tiptoed to him and asked him to go away, and not to come back unless he - had quieter boats and would not whistle. He acted very ugly about it, I - must say, but he went. - </p> - <p> - When I came back, Jane was sitting thinking, with her forehead all - puckered. - </p> - <p> - "What I don't understand, Bab," she said, "is, why no noise?" - </p> - <p> - "Because he is writing," I explained. "Although his clothing has been - taken away, he is writing. I don't think I told you, Jane, but that is his - business. He is a writer. And if I tell you his name you will faint with - surprise." - </p> - <p> - She looked at me searchingly. - </p> - <p> - "Locked up—and writing, and his clothing gone! What's he writing, - Bab? His will?" - </p> - <p> - "He is doing his duty to the end, Jane," I said softly. "He is writing the - last act of a play. The company is rehearsing the first two acts, and he - has to get this one ready, though the heavens fall." - </p> - <p> - But to my surprise, she got up and said to me, in a firm voice: - </p> - <p> - "Either you are crazy, Barbara Archibald, or you think I am. You've been - stuffing me for about a week, and I don't believe a word of it. And you'll - apologize to me or I'll never speak to you again." - </p> - <p> - She said this loudly, and then went away, And Mr. Beecher said, through - the door. - </p> - <p> - "What the devil's the row about?" - </p> - <p> - Perhaps my nerves were going, or possibly it was no luncheon and probably - no dinner. But I said, just as if he had been an ordinary person: - </p> - <p> - "Go on and write and get through. I can't stew on these steps all day." - </p> - <p> - "I thought you were an amiable child." - </p> - <p> - "I'm not amiable and I'm not a child." - </p> - <p> - "Don't spoil your pretty face with frowns." - </p> - <p> - "It's MY face. And you can't see it anyhow," I replied, venting in - feminine fashion, my anger at Jane on the nearest object. - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said, through the door, "you've been my good angel. I'm - doing more work than I've done in two months, although it was a dirty, - low-down way to make me do it. You're not going back on me now, are you?" - </p> - <p> - Well, I was mollified, as who would not be? So I said: - </p> - <p> - "Well?" - </p> - <p> - "What did Patten do with my clothes?" - </p> - <p> - "He took them with him." He was silent, except for a muttered word. - </p> - <p> - "You might throw those keys back again," he said. "Let me know first, - however. You're the most accurate thrower I've ever seen." - </p> - <p> - So I threw them through the window and I believe hit the ink bottle. But - no matter. And he tried them, but none availed. - </p> - <p> - So he gave up, and went back to work, having saved enough ink to finish - with. But a few minutes later he called to me again, and I moved to the - doorstep, where I sat listening, while apparently admiring the sea. He - explained that having been thus forced, he had almost finished the last - act, and it was a corker. And he said if he had his clothes and some - money, and a key to get out, he'd go right back to town with it and put it - in rehearsal. And at the same time he would give the Pattens something to - worry about over night. Because, play or no play, it was a rotten thing to - lock a man in a bath-house and take his clothes away. - </p> - <p> - "But of course I can't get my clothes," he said. "They'll take cussed good - care of that. And there's the key too. We're up against it, little - sister." - </p> - <p> - Although excited by his calling me thus, I retained my faculties, and - said: - </p> - <p> - "I have a suit of clothes you can have." - </p> - <p> - "Thanks awfully," he said. "But from the slight acquaintance we have had, - I don't believe they would fit me." - </p> - <p> - "Gentleman's clothes," I said frigidly. - </p> - <p> - "You have?" - </p> - <p> - "In my studio," I said. "I can bring them, if you like. They look quite - good, although creased." - </p> - <p> - "You know" he said, after a moment's silence, "I can't quite believe this - is really happening to me! Go and bring the suit of clothes, and—you - don't happen to have a cigar, I suppose?" - </p> - <p> - "I have a large box of cigarettes." - </p> - <p> - "It is true," I heard him say through the door. "It is all true. I am - here, locked in. The play is almost done. And a very young lady on the - doorstep is offering me a suit of clothes and tobacco. I pinch myself. I - am awake." - </p> - <p> - Alas! Mingled with my joy at serving my ideal there was also grief. My - idle had feet of clay. He was a slave, like the rest of us, to his body. - He required clothes and tobacco. I felt that, before long, he might even - ask for an apple, or something to stay the pangs of hunger. This I felt I - could not bare. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps I would better pass over quickly the events of the next hour. I - got the suit and the cigarettes, and even Jane's bath towel, and threw - them in to him. Also I believe he took a shower, as I heard the water - running, At about seven o'clock he said he had finished the play. He put - on the clothes which he observed almost fitted him, although gayer than he - usually wore, and said that if I would give him a hair pin he thought he - could pick the lock. But he did not succeed. - </p> - <p> - Being now dressed, however, he drew a chair to the window and we talked - together. It seemed like a dream that I should be there, on such intimate - terms with a great playwright, who had just, even if under compulsion, - finished a last act, I bared my very soul to him, such as about resembling - Julia Marlowe, and no one understanding my craving to achieve a place in - the world of art. We were once interrupted by Hannah looking for me for - dinner. But I hid in a bath-house, and she went away. - </p> - <p> - What was food to me compared with such a conversation? - </p> - <p> - When Hannah had disappeared, he said suddenly: - </p> - <p> - "It's rather unusual, isn't it, your having a suit of clothes and - everything in your—er—studio?" - </p> - <p> - But I did not explain fully, merely saving that it was a painful story. - </p> - <p> - At half past seven I saw mother on the veranda looking for me, and I - ducked out of sight, I was by this time very hungry, although I did not - like to mention the fact, But Mr. Beecher made a suggestion, which was - this: that the Pattens were evidently going to let him starve until he got - through work, and that he would see them in perdition before he would be - the butt for their funny remarks when they freed him. He therefore tried - to escape out the window, but stuck fast, and finally gave it up. - </p> - <p> - At last he said: - </p> - <p> - "Look here, you're a curious child, but a nervy one. How'd you like to see - if you can get the key? If you do we'll go to a hotel and have a real - meal, and we can talk about your career." - </p> - <p> - Although quivering with terror, I consented. How could I do otherwise, - with such a prospect? For now I began to see that all other emotions - previously felt were as nothing to this one. I confess, without shame, - that I felt the stirring of the tender passion in my breast. Ah me, that - it should have died ere it had hardly lived! - </p> - <p> - "Where is the key?" I asked, in a rapt but anxious tone. - </p> - <p> - He thought a while. - </p> - <p> - "Generally," he said, "it hangs on a nail at the back entry. But the - chances are that Patten took it up to his room this time, for safety, - You'd know it if you saw it. It has some buttons off somebody's bathing - suit tied to it." - </p> - <p> - Here it was necessary to hide again, as father came stocking out, calling - me in an angry tone. But shortly after-wards I was on my way to the - Patten's house, on shaking knees. It was by now twilight, that beautiful - period of romance, although the dinner hour also. Through the dusk I sped, - toward what? I knew not. - </p> - <p> - The Pattens and the one-piece lady were at dinner, and having a very good - time, in spite of having locked a guest in the bath-house. Being used to - servants and prowling around, since at one time when younger I had a habit - of taking things from the pantry, I was quickly able to see that the key - was not in the entry. I therefore went around to the front door and went - in, being prepared, if discovered, to say that someone was in their - bath-house and they ought to know it. But I was not heard among their - sounds of revelry, and was able to proceed upstairs, which I did. - </p> - <p> - But not having asked which was Mr. Patten's room, I was at a loss and - almost discovered by a maid who was turning down the beds—much too - early, also, and not allowed in the best houses until nine-thirty, since - otherwise the rooms look undressed and informal. - </p> - <p> - I had but time to duck into another chamber, and from there to a closet. - </p> - <h3> - I REMAINED IN THAT CLOSET ALL NIGHT. - </h3> - <p> - I will explain. No sooner had the maid gone than a woman came into the - room and closed the door. I heard her moving around and I suddenly felt - that she was going to bed, and might get her robe de nuit out of the - closet. I was petrified. But it seems, while she really WAS undressing at - that early hour, the maid had laid her night clothes out, and I was saved. - </p> - <p> - Very soon a knock came to the door, and somebody came in, like Mrs. - Patten's voice and said: "You're not going to bed, surely!" - </p> - <p> - "I'm going to pretend to have a sick headache," said the other person, and - I knew it was the one-piece lady. "He's going to come back in a frenzy, - and he'll take it out on me, unless I'm prepared." - </p> - <p> - "Poor Reggie!" said Mrs. Patten, "To think of him locked in there alone, - and no clothes or anything. It's too funny for words." - </p> - <p> - "You're not married to him." - </p> - <p> - My heart stopped beating. Was SHE married to him? She was indeed. My dream - was over. And the worst part of it was that for a married man I had done - without food or exercise and now stood in a hot closet in danger of a - terrible fuss. - </p> - <p> - "No, thank heaven!" said Mrs. Patten. "But it was the only way to make him - work. He is a lazy dog. But don't worry. We'll feed him before he sees - you. He's always rather tractable after he's fed." - </p> - <p> - Were ALL my dreams to go? Would they leave nothing to my shattered - illusions? Alas, no. - </p> - <p> - "Jolly him a little, too," said——can I write it?—Mrs. - Beecher. "Tell him he's the greatest thing in the world. That will help - some. He's vain, you know, awfully vain. I expect he's written a lot of - piffle." - </p> - <p> - Had they listened they would have heard a low, dry sob, wrung from my - tortured heart. But Mrs. Beecher had started a vibrator, and my anguished - cry was lost. - </p> - <p> - "Well," said Mrs. Patten, "Will has gone down to let him out, I expect - he'll attack him. He's got a vile temper. I'll sit with you till he comes - back, if you don't mind. I'm feeling nervous." - </p> - <p> - It was indeed painful to recall the next half hour. I must tell the truth - however. They discussed us, especially mother, who had not called. They - said that we thought we were the whole summer colony, although every one - was afraid of mother's tongue, and nobody would marry Leila, except Carter - Brooks, and he was poor and no prospects. And that I was an incorrigible, - and carried on something ghastly, and was going to be put in a convent. I - became justly furious and was about to step out and tell them a few plain - facts, when somebody hammered at the door and then came in. It was Mr. - Patten. - </p> - <p> - "He's gone!" he said. - </p> - <p> - "Well, he won't go far, in bathing trunks," said Mrs. Beecher. - </p> - <p> - "That's just it. His bathing trunks are there." - </p> - <p> - "Well, he won't go far without them!" - </p> - <p> - "He's gone so far I can't locate him." - </p> - <p> - I heard Mrs. Beecher get up. - </p> - <p> - "Are you in earnest, Will?" she said. "Do you mean that he has gone - without a stitch of clothes, and can't be found?" - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Patten gave a sort of screech. - </p> - <p> - "You don't think—oh Will, he's so temperamental. You don't think - he's drowned himself?" - </p> - <p> - "No such luck," said Mrs. Beecher, in a cold tone. I hated her for it. - True, he had deceived me. He was not as I had thought him. In our two - conversations he had not mentioned his wife, leaving me to believe him - free to love "where he listed," as the poet says. - </p> - <p> - "There are a few clues," said Mr. Patten. "He got out by means of a wire - hairpin, for one thing. And he took the manuscript with him, which he'd - hardly have done if he meant to drown himself. Or even if, as we fear, he - had no pockets. He has smoked a lot of cigarettes out of a candy box, - which I did not supply him, and he left behind a bath towel that does not, - I think, belong to us." - </p> - <p> - "I should think he would have worn it," said Mrs. Beecher, in a scornful - tone. - </p> - <p> - "Here's the bath towel," Mr. Patten went on. "You may recognize the - initials. I don't." - </p> - <p> - "B. P. A.," said Mrs. Beecher. "Look here, don't they call that—that - flibbertigibbet next door 'Barbara'?" - </p> - <p> - "The little devil!" said Mr. Patten, in a raging tone. "She let him out, - and of course he's done no work on the play or anything. I'd like to choke - her." - </p> - <p> - Nobody spoke then, and my heart beat fast and hard. I leave it to anybody, - how they'd like to be shut in a closet and threatened with a violent death - from without. Would or would they not ever be the same person afterwords? - </p> - <p> - "I'll tell you what I'd do," said the Beecher woman. "I'd climb up the - back of father, next door, and tell him what his little daughter has done, - because I know she's mixed up in it, towel or no towel. Reg is always - sappy when they're seventeen. And she's been looking moon-eyed at him for - days." - </p> - <p> - Well, the Pattens went away, and Mrs. Beecher manicured her nails,—I - could hear her filing them—and sang around and was not much - concerned, although for all she knew he was in the briny deep, a corpse. - How true it is that "the paths of glory lead but to the grave." - </p> - <p> - I got very tired and much hotter, and I sat down on the floor. After what - seemed like hours, Mrs. Patten came back, all breathless, and she said: - </p> - <p> - "The girl's gone too, Clare." - </p> - <p> - "What girl?" - </p> - <p> - "Next door. If you want excitement, they've got it. The mother is in - hysterics and there's a party searching the beach for her body. The truth - is, of course, if that towel means anything." - </p> - <p> - "That Reg has run away with her, of course," said Mrs. Beecher, in a - resigned tone. "I wish he would grow up and learn something. He's becoming - a nuisance. And when there are so many interesting people to run away - with, to choose that chit!" - </p> - <p> - Yes, she said that, And in my retreat I could but sit and listen, and of - course perspire, which I did freely. Mrs. Patten went away, after talking - about the "scandal" for some time. And I sat and thought of the beach - being searched for my body, a thought which filled my eyes with tears of - pity for what might have been, I still hoped Mrs. Beecher would go to bed, - but she did not. Through the key hole I could see her with a book, - reading, and not caring at all that Mr. Beecher's body, and mine too, - might be washing about in the cruel sea, or have eloped to New York. - </p> - <p> - I loathed her. - </p> - <p> - At last I must have slept, for a bell rang, and there I was still in the - closet, and she was answering it. - </p> - <p> - "Arrested?" she said, "Well, I should think he'd better be, if what you - say about clothing is true.... Well, then—what's he arrested for?... - Oh, kidnapping! Well, if I'm any judge, they ought to arrest the Archibald - girl for kidnapping HIM. No, don't bother me with it tonight. I'll try to - read myself to sleep." - </p> - <p> - So this was marriage! Did she flee to her unjustly accused husband's side - and comfort him? Not she. She went to bed. - </p> - <p> - At daylight, being about smothered, I opened the closet door and drew a - breath of fresh air. Also I looked at her, and she was asleep, with her - hair in patent wavers. Ye gods! - </p> - <p> - The wife of Reginald Beecher thus to distort her looks at night! I could - not bare it. - </p> - <p> - I averted my eyes, and on my tiptoes made for the window. - </p> - <p> - My sufferings were over. In a short time I had slid down and was making my - way through the dewy morn toward my home. Before the sun was up, or more - than starting, I had climbed to my casement by means of a wire trellis, - and put on my 'robe de nuit'. But before I settled to sleep I went to the - pantry and there satisfied the pangs of hunger having had nothing since - breakfast the day before. All the lights seemed to be on, on the lower - floor, which I considered wasteful of Tanney, the butler. But being - sleepy, gave it no further thought. And so to bed, as the great English - dairy-keeper, Pepys, had said in his dairy. - </p> - <p> - It seemed but a few moments later that I heard a scream, and opening my - eyes, saw Leila in the doorway. She screamed again, and mother came and - stood beside her. Although very drowsy, I saw that they still wore their - dinner clothes. - </p> - <p> - They stared as if transfixed, and then mother gave a low moan, and said to - Sis: - </p> - <p> - "That unfortunate man has been in jail all night." - </p> - <p> - And Sis said: "Jane Raleigh is crazy. That's all." Then they looked at me, - and mother burst into tears. But Sis said: - </p> - <p> - "You little imp! Don't tell me you've been in that bed all night. I KNOW - BETTER." - </p> - <p> - I closed my eyes. They were not of the understanding sort, and never would - be. - </p> - <p> - "If that's the way you feel I shall tell you nothing," I said wearily. - </p> - <p> - "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" mother said, in a slow and dreadful voice. - </p> - <p> - Well, I saw then that a part of the truth must be disclosed, especially - since she has for some time considered sending me to a convent, although - without cause, and has not done so for fear of my taking the veil. So I - told her this. I said: - </p> - <p> - "I spent the night shut in a clothes closet, but where is my secret. I - cannot tell you." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara! You MUST tell me." - </p> - <p> - "It is not my secret alone, mother." - </p> - <p> - She caught at the foot of the bed. - </p> - <p> - "Who was shut with you in that closet?" she demanded in a shaking voice. - "Barbara, there is another wretched man in all this. It could not have - been Mr. Beecher, because he has been in the station house all night." - </p> - <p> - I sat up, leaning on one elbow, and looked at her earnestly. - </p> - <p> - "Mother" I said, "you have done enough damage, interfering with careers—not - only mine, but another's imperiled now by not having a last act. I can - tell you no more, except"—here my voice took on a deep and intense - fiber—"that I have done nothing to be ashamed of, although - unconventional." - </p> - <p> - Mother put her hands to her face, and emitted a low, despairing cry. - </p> - <p> - "Come," Leila said to her, as to a troubled child. "Come, and Hannah can - use the vibrator on your spine." - </p> - <p> - So she went, but before she left she said: - </p> - <p> - "Barbara, if you will only promise to be a good girl, and give us a chance - to live this scandal down, I will give you anything you ask for." - </p> - <p> - "Mother!" Sis said, in an angry tone. - </p> - <p> - "What can I do, Leila?" mother said. "The girl is attractive, and probably - men will always be following her and making trouble. Think of last winter. - I know it is bribery, but it is better than scandal." - </p> - <p> - "I want nothing, mother," I said, in a low, heart stricken tone, "save to - be allowed to live my own life and to have a career." - </p> - <p> - "My heavens," mother said, "if I hear that word again, I'll go crazy." - </p> - <p> - So she went away, and Sis came over and looked down at me. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" she said. "What's happened anyhow? Of course you've been up to - some mischief, but I don't suppose anybody will ever know the truth of it. - I was hoping you'd make it this time and get married, and stop worrying - us." - </p> - <p> - "Go away, please, and let me sleep," I said. "As to getting married, under - no circumstances did I expect to marry him. He has a wife already. - Personally, I think she's a total loss. She wears patent wavers at night, - and sleeps with her mouth open. But who am I to interfere with the - marriage bond? I never have and never will." - </p> - <p> - But Sis only gave me a wild look and went away. - </p> - <p> - This, dear readers and schoolmates, is the true story of my meeting with - and parting from Reginald Beecher, the playwright. Whatever the papers may - say, it is not true, except the fact that he was recognized by Jane - Raleigh, who knew the suit he wore, when in the act of pawning his ring to - get money to escape from his captors (I. E., The Pattens). It was the - necktie which struck her first, and also his guilty expression. As I was - missing by that time, Jane put two and two together and made an elopement. - </p> - <p> - Sometimes I sit and think things over, my fingers wandering "over the - ivory keys" of the typewriter they gave me to promise not to elope with - anybody—although such a thing is far from my mind—and the - world seems a cruel and unjust place, especially to those with ambition. - </p> - <p> - For Reginald Beecher is no longer my ideal, my night of the pen. I will - tell about that in a few words. - </p> - <p> - Jane Raleigh and I went to a matinee late in September before returning to - our institutions of learning. Jane clutched my arm as we looked at our - programs and pointed to something. - </p> - <p> - How my heart beat! For whatever had come between us, I was still loyal to - him. - </p> - <p> - This was a new play by him! - </p> - <p> - "Ah," my heart seemed to say, "now again you will hear his dear words, - although spoken by alien mouths. - </p> - <p> - "The love scenes——" - </p> - <p> - I could not finish. Although married and forever beyond me, I could still - hear his manly tones as issuing from the door of the Bath-house. I - thrilled with excitement. As the curtain rose I closed my eyes in ecstasy. - </p> - <p> - "Bab!" Jane said, in a quavering tone. - </p> - <p> - I looked. What did I see? The bath-house itself, the very one. And as I - stared I saw a girl, wearing her hair as I wear mine, cross the stage with - a bunch of keys in her hand, and say to the bath-house door. - </p> - <p> - "Can't I do something to help? I do so want to help you." - </p> - <h3> - MY VERY WORDS. - </h3> - <p> - And a voice from beyond the bath-house door said: - </p> - <p> - "Who's that?" - </p> - <h3> - HIS WORDS. - </h3> - <p> - I could bare no more. Heedless of Jane's protests and anguish, I got up - and went out, into the light of day. My body was bent with misery. Because - at last I knew that, like mother and all the rest, he too, did not - understand me and never would! To him I was but material, the stuff that - plays are made of! - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And now we know that he never could know, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And did not understand. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Kipling. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Ignoring Jane's observation that the tickets had cost two dollars each, I - gathered up the scattered skeins of my life together, and fled. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III. HER DIARY: BEING THE DAILY JOURNAL OF THE SUB-DEB - </h2> - <p> - JANUARY 1st. I have today received this diary from home, having come back - a few days early to make up a French condition. - </p> - <p> - Weather, clear and cold. - </p> - <p> - New Year's dinner. Roast chicken (Turkey being very expensive), mashed - turnips, sweet potatoes and mince pie. - </p> - <p> - It is my intention to record in this book the details of my Daily Life, my - thoughts which are to sacred for utterance, and my ambitions. Because who - is there to whom I can speak them? I am surrounded by those who exist for - the mere pleasures of the day, or whose lives are bound up in recitations. - </p> - <p> - For instance, at dinner today, being mostly faculty and a few girls who - live in the far West, the conversation was entirely on buying a phonograph - for dancing because the music teacher has the measles and is quarantined - in the infirmary. And on Miss Everett's cousin, who has written a play. - </p> - <p> - When one looks at Miss Everett, one recognizes that no cousin of hers - could write a play. - </p> - <p> - New Year's resolution—to help someone every day. Today helped - Mademoiselle to put on her rubbers. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 2ND. Today I wrote my French theme, beginning, "Les hommes songent - moins a leur ame qua leur corps." Mademoiselle sent for me and objected, - saying that it was not a theme for a young girl, and that I must write a - new one, on the subject of pears. How is one to develop in this - atmosphere? - </p> - <p> - Some of the girls are coming back. They straggle in, and put the favors - they got at cotillions on the dresser, and their holiday gifts, and each - one relates some amorous experience while at home. Dear Diary, is there - something wrong with me, that love has passed me by? I have had offers of - devotion but none that appealed to me, being mostly either too young or - not attracting me by physical charm. I am not cold, although frequently - accused of it, Beneath my frigid exterior beats a warm heart. I intend to - be honest in this diary, and so I admit it. But, except for passing - fancies—one being, alas, for a married man—I remain without - the divine passion. - </p> - <p> - What must it be to thrill at the approach of the loved form? To harken to - each ring of the telephone bell, in the hope that, if it is not the - idolized voice, it is at least a message from it? To waken in the morning - and, looking around the familiar room, to muse: "Today I may see him—on - the way to the post office, or rushing past in his racing car." And to - know that at the same moment HE to is musing: "Today I may see her, as she - exercises herself at basket ball, or mounts her horse for a daily canter!" - </p> - <p> - Although I have no horse. The school does not care for them, considering - walking the best exercise. - </p> - <p> - Have flunked the French again, Mademoiselle not feeling well, and marking - off for the smallest thing. - </p> - <p> - Today's helpful deed—assisted one of the younger girls with her - spelling. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 4TH. Miss Everett's cousin's play is coming here. The school is to - have free tickets, as they are "trying it on the dog." Which means seeing - if it is good enough for the large cities. - </p> - <p> - We have decided, if Everett marks us well in English from now on, to - applaud it, but if she is unpleasant, to sit still and show no interest. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 5TH, 6TH, 7TH, 8TH. Bad weather, which is depressing to one of my - temperament. Also boil on nose. - </p> - <p> - A few helpful deeds—nothing worth putting down. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 9TH. Boil cut. - </p> - <p> - Again I can face my image in my mirror, and not shrink. - </p> - <p> - Mademoiselle is sick and no French. MISERICORDE! - </p> - <p> - Helpful deed—sent Mademoiselle some fudge, but this school does not - encourage kindness. Reprimanded for cooking in room. School sympathizes - with me. We will go to Miss Everett's cousin's play, but we will damn it - with faint praise. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 10TH. I have written this date, and now I sit back and regard it. - As it is impressed on this white paper, so, Dear Diary, is it written on - my soul. To others it may be but the tenth of January. To me it is the day - of days. Oh, tenth of January! Oh, Monday. Oh, day of my awakening! - </p> - <p> - It is now late at night, and around me my schoolmates are sleeping the - sleep of the young and heart free. Lights being off, I am writing by the - faint luminosity of a candle. Propped up in bed, my mackinaw coat over my - 'robe de nuit' for warmth, I sit and dream. And as I dream I still hear in - my ears his final words: "My darling. My woman!" - </p> - <p> - How wonderful to have them said to one night after night, the while being - in his embrace, his tender arms around one! I refer to the heroine in the - play, to whom he says the above rapturous words. - </p> - <p> - Coming home from the theater tonight, still dazed with the revelation of - what I am capable of, once aroused, I asked Miss Everett if her cousin had - said anything about Mr. Egleston being in love with the leading character. - She observed: - </p> - <p> - "No. But he may be. She is very pretty." - </p> - <p> - "Possibly," I remarked. "But I should like to see her in the morning, when - she gets up." - </p> - <p> - All the girls were perfectly mad about Mr. Egleston, although pretending - merely to admire his Art. But I am being honest, as I agreed at the start, - and now I know, as I sit here with the soft, although chilly breezes of - the night blowing on my hot brow, now I know that this thing that has come - to me is Love. Moreover, it is the Love of my Life. He will never know it, - but I am his. He is exactly my ideal, strong and tall and passionate. And - clever, too. He said some awfully clever things. - </p> - <p> - I believe that he saw me. He looked in my direction. But what does it - matter? I am small, insignificant. He probably thinks me a mere child, - although seventeen. - </p> - <p> - What matters, oh Diary, is that I am at last in Love. It is hopeless. Just - now, when I had written that word, I buried my face in my hands. There is - no hope. None. I shall never see him again. He passed out of my life on - the 11:45 train. But I love him. MON DIEU, how I love him! - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 11TH. We are going home. WE ARE GOING HOME. WE ARE GOING HOME. WE - ARE GOING HOME! - </p> - <p> - Mademoiselle has the measles. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 13TH. The family managed to restrain its ecstasy on seeing me - today. The house is full of people, as they are having a dinner-dance - tonight. Sis had moved into my room, to let one of the visitors have hers, - and she acted in a very unfilial manner when she came home and found me in - it. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" she said. "Expelled at last?" - </p> - <p> - "Not at all," I replied in a lofty manner. "I am here through no fault of - my own. And I'd thank you to have Hannah take your clothes off my bed." - </p> - <p> - She gave me a bitter glance. - </p> - <p> - "I never knew it to fail!" she said. "Just as everything is fixed, and - we're recovering from you're being here for the holidays, you come back - and stir up a lot of trouble. What brought you, anyhow?" - </p> - <p> - "Measles." - </p> - <p> - She snatched up her ball gown. - </p> - <p> - "Very well," she said. "I'll see that you're quarantined, Miss Barbara, - all right. And If you think you're going to slip downstairs tonight after - dinner and WORM yourself into this party, I'll show you." - </p> - <p> - She flounced out, and shortly afterward mother took a minute from the - florist, and came upstairs. - </p> - <p> - "I do hope you are not going to be troublesome, Barbara," she said. "You - are too young to understand, but I want everything to go well tonight, and - Leila ought not to be worried." - </p> - <p> - "Can't I dance a little?" - </p> - <p> - "You can sit on the stairs and watch." She looked fidgety. "I—I'll - send up a nice dinner, and you can put on your dark blue, with a fresh - collar, and—it ought to satisfy you, Barbara, that you are at home - and possibly have brought the measles with you, without making a lot of - fuss. When you come out——" - </p> - <p> - "Oh, very well," I murmured, in a resigned tone. "I don't care enough - about it to want to dance with a lot of souses anyhow." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara!" said mother. - </p> - <p> - "I suppose you have some one on the string for her," I said, with the - abandon of my thwarted hopes. "Well, I hope she gets him. Because if not, - I daresay I shall be kept in the cradle for years to come." - </p> - <p> - "You will come out when you reach a proper age," she said, "if your - impertinence does not kill me off before my time." - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, I am fond of my mother, and I felt repentant and stricken. - </p> - <p> - So I became more agreeable, although feeling all the time that she does - not and never will understand my temperament. I said: - </p> - <p> - "I don't care about society, and you know it, mother. If you'll keep Leila - out of this room, which isn't much but is my castle while here, I'll - probably go to bed early." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara, sometimes I think you have no affection for your sister." - </p> - <p> - I had agreed to honesty January first, so I replied. - </p> - <p> - "I have, of course, mother. But I am fonder of her while at school than at - home. And I should be a better sister if not condemned to her old things, - including hats which do not suit my type." - </p> - <p> - Mother moved over majestically to the door and shut it. Then she came and - stood over me. - </p> - <p> - "I've come to the conclusion, Barbara," she said, "to appeal to your - better nature. Do you wish Leila to be married and happy?" - </p> - <p> - "I've just said, mother——" - </p> - <p> - "Because a very interesting thing is happening," said mother, trying to - look playful. "I—a chance any girl would jump at." - </p> - <p> - So here I sit, Dear Diary, while there are sounds of revelry below, and - Sis jumps at her chance, which is the Honorable Page Beresford, who is an - Englishman visiting here because he has a weak heart and can't fight. And - father is away on business, and I am all alone. - </p> - <p> - I have been looking for a rash, but no luck. - </p> - <p> - Ah me, how the strains of the orchestra recall that magic night in the - theater when Adrian Egleston looked down into my eyes and although - ostensibly to an actress, said to my beating heart: "My Darling! My - Woman!" - </p> - <p> - 3 A. M. I wonder if I can control my hands to write. - </p> - <p> - In mother's room across the hall I can hear furious voices, and I know - that Leila is begging to have me sent to Switzerland. Let her beg. - Switzerland is not far from England, and in England—— - </p> - <p> - Here I pause to reflect a moment. How is this thing possible? Can I love - members of the other sex? And if such is the case, how can I go on with my - life? Better far to end it now, than to perchance marry one, and find the - other still in my heart. The terrible thought has come to me that I am - fickle. - </p> - <p> - Fickle or polygamous—which? - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, I have not been a good girl. My New Year's Resolutions have - gone to airy nothing. - </p> - <p> - The way they went was this: I had settled down to a quiet evening, spent - with his beloved picture which I had clipped from a newspaper. (Adrian's. - I had not as yet met the other.) And, as I sat in my chamber, I grew more - and more desolate. I love life, although pessimistic at times. And it - seemed hard that I should be there, in exile, while my sister, only 20 - months older, was jumping at her chance below. - </p> - <p> - At last I decided to try on one of Sis's frocks and see how I looked in - it. I thought, if it looked all right, I might hang over the stairs and - see what I then scornfully termed "His Nibs." Never again shall I so call - him. - </p> - <p> - I got an evening gown from Sis's closet, and it fitted me quite well, - although tight at the waste for me, owing to basketball. It was also too - low, so that when I had got it all hooked about four inches of my lingerie - showed. As it had been hard as anything to hook, I was obliged to take the - scissors and cut off the said lingerie. The result was good, although very - decollete. I have no bones in my neck, or practically so. - </p> - <p> - And now came my moment of temptation. How easy to put my hair up on my - head, and then, by the servant's staircase, make my way to the scene - below! - </p> - <p> - I, however, considered that I looked pale, although mature. I looked at - least nineteen. So I went into Sis's room, which was full of evening wraps - but empty, and put on a touch of rouge. With that and my eyebrows - blackened, I would not have known myself, had I not been certain it was I - and no other. - </p> - <p> - I then made my way down the back stairs. - </p> - <p> - Ah me, Dear Diary, was that but a few hours ago? Is it but a short time - since Mr. Beresford was sitting at my feet, thinking me a debutante, and - staring soulfully into my very heart? Is it but a matter of minutes since - Leila found us there, and in a manner which revealed the true feeling she - has for me, ordered me to go upstairs and take off Maddie Mackenzie's - gown? - </p> - <p> - (Yes, it was not Leila's after all. I had forgotten that Maddie had taken - her room. And except for pulling it somewhat at the waist, I am sure I did - not hurt the old thing.) - </p> - <p> - I shall now go to bed and dream. Of which one I know not. My heart is - full. Romance has come at last into my dull and dreary life. Below, the - revelers have gone. The flowers hang their herbaceous heads. The music has - flowed away into the river of the past. I am alone with my Heart. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 14TH. How complicated my life grows, Dear Diary! How full and yet - how incomplete! How everything begins and nothing ends! - </p> - <p> - HE is in town. - </p> - <p> - I discovered it at breakfast. I knew I was in for it, and I got down - early, counting on mother breakfasting in bed. I would have felt better if - father had been at home, because he understands somewhat the way they keep - me down. But he was away about an order for shells (not sea; war), and I - was to bare my chiding alone. I had eaten my fruit and cereal, and was - about to begin on sausage, when mother came in, having risen early from - her slumbers to take the decorations to the hospital. - </p> - <p> - "So here you are, wretched child!" she said, giving me one of her coldest - looks. "Barbara, I wonder if you ever think whither you are tending." - </p> - <p> - I ate a sausage. - </p> - <p> - What, Dear Diary, was there to say? - </p> - <p> - "To disobey!" she went on. "To force yourself on the attention of Mr. - Beresford, in a borrowed dress, with your eyelashes blackened and your - face painted——" - </p> - <p> - "I should think, mother," I observed, "that if he wants to marry into this - family, and is not merely being dragged into it, that he ought to see the - worst at the start." She glared, without speaking. "You know," I - continued, "it would be a dreadful thing to have the ceremony performed - and everything too late to back out, and then have ME sprung on him. It - wouldn't be honest, would it?" - </p> - <p> - "Barbara!" she said in a terrible tone. "First disobedience, and now - sarcasm. If your father was only here! I feel so alone and helpless." - </p> - <p> - Her tone cut me to the heart. After all she was my own mother, or at least - maintained so, in spite of numerous questions engendered by our lack of - resemblance, moral as well as physical. But I did not offer to embarrass - her, as she was at that moment poring out her tea. I hid my misery behind - the morning paper, and there I beheld the fated vision. Had I felt any - doubt as to the state of my affections it was settled then. My heart - leaped in my bosom. My face suffused. My hands trembled so that a piece of - sausage slipped from my fork. His picture looked out at me with that well - remembered gaze from the depths of the morning paper! - </p> - <p> - Oh, Adrian, Adrian! - </p> - <p> - Here in the same city as I, looking out over perchance the same newspaper - to perchance the same sun, wondering—ah, what was he wondering? - </p> - <p> - I was not even then, in that first rapture, foolish about him. I knew that - to him I was probably but a tender memory. I knew, too, that he was but - human and probably very conceited. On the other hand, I pride myself on - being a good judge of character, and he carried nobility in every - lineament. Even the obliteration of one eye by the printer could only - hamper but not destroy his dear face. - </p> - <p> - "Barbara," mother said sharply. "I am speaking. Are you being sulky?" - </p> - <p> - "Pardon me, mother," I said in my gentlest tones. "I was but dreaming." - And as she made no reply, but rang the bell viciously, I went on, pursuing - my line of thought. "Mother, were you ever in love?" - </p> - <p> - "Love! What sort of love?" - </p> - <p> - I sat up and stared at her. - </p> - <p> - "Is there more than one sort?" I demanded. - </p> - <p> - "There is a very silly, schoolgirl love," she said, eying me, "that people - outgrow and blush to look back on." - </p> - <p> - "Do you?" - </p> - <p> - "Do I what?" - </p> - <p> - "Do you blush to look back on it?" - </p> - <p> - Mother rose and made a sweeping gesture with her right arm. - </p> - <p> - "I wash my hands of you!" she said. "You are impertinent and indelicate. - At your age I was an innocent child, not troubling with things that did - not concern me. As for love, I had never heard of it until I came out." - </p> - <p> - "Life must have burst on you like an explosion," I observed. "I suppose - you thought that babies——" - </p> - <p> - "Silence!" mother shrieked. And seeing that she persisted in ignoring the - real things of life while in my presence, I went out, clutching the - precious paper to my heart. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 15TH. I am alone in my boudoir (which is really the old - schoolroom, and used now for a sewing room). - </p> - <p> - My very soul is sick, oh Diary. How can I face the truth? How write it out - for my eyes to see? But I must. For something must be done! The play is - failing. - </p> - <p> - The way I discovered it was this. Yesterday, being short of money, I sold - my amethyst pin to Jane, one of the housemaids, for two dollars, throwing - in a lace collar when she seemed doubtful, as I had a special purpose for - using funds. Had father been at home I could have touched him, but mother - is different. - </p> - <p> - I then went out to buy a frame for his picture, which I had repaired by - drawing in the other eye, although lacking the fire and passionate look of - the original. At the shop I was compelled to show it, to buy a frame to - fit. The clerk was almost overpowered. - </p> - <p> - "Do you know him?" she asked, in a low and throbbing tone. - </p> - <p> - "Not intimately," I replied. - </p> - <p> - "Don't you love the Play?" she said. "I'm crazy about it. I've been back - three times. Parts of it I know off by heart. He's very handsome. That - picture don't do him justice." - </p> - <p> - I gave her a searching glance. Was it possible that, without any - acquaintance with him whatever, she had fallen in love with him? It was - indeed. She showed it in every line of her silly face. - </p> - <p> - I drew myself up haughtily. "I should think it would be very expensive, - going so often," I said, in a cool tone. - </p> - <p> - "Not so very. You see, the play is a failure, and they give us girls - tickets to dress the house. Fill it up, you know. Half the girls in the - store are crazy about Mr. Egleston." - </p> - <p> - My world shuddered about me. What—fail! That beautiful play, ending - "My darling, my woman"? It could not be. Fate would not be cruel. Was - there no appreciation of the best in art? Was it indeed true, as Miss - Everett has complained, although not in these exact words, that the - Theater was only supported now by chorus girls' legs, dancing about in - utter abandon? - </p> - <p> - With an expression of despair on my features, I left the store, carrying - the frame under my arm. - </p> - <p> - One thing is certain. I must see the play again, and judge it with a - critical eye. IF IT IS WORTH SAVING, IT MUST BE SAVED. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 16TH. Is it only a day since I saw you, Dear Diary? Can so much - have happened in the single lapse of a few hours? I look in my mirror, and - I look much as before, only with perhaps a touch of pallor. Who would not - be pale? - </p> - <p> - I have seen HIM again, and there is no longer any doubt in my heart. Page - Beresford is attractive, and if it were not for circumstances as they are - I would not answer for the consequences. But things ARE as they are. There - is no changing that. And I have read my own heart. - </p> - <p> - I am not fickle. On the contrary, I am true as steal. - </p> - <p> - I have put his picture under my mattress, and have given Jane my gold cuff - pins to say nothing when she makes my bed. And now, with the house full of - people downstairs acting in a flippant and noisy manner, I shall record - how it all happened. - </p> - <p> - My financial condition was not improved this morning, father having not - returned. But I knew that I must see the play, as mentioned above, even if - it became necessary to borrow from Hannah. At last, seeing no other way, I - tried this, but failed. - </p> - <p> - "What for?" she said, in a suspicious way. - </p> - <p> - "I need it terribly, Hannah," I said. - </p> - <p> - "You'd ought to get it from your mother, then, Miss Barbara. The last time - I gave you some you paid it back in postage stamps, and I haven't written - a letter since. They're all stuck together now, and a total loss." - </p> - <p> - "Very well," I said, frigidly. "But the next time you break anything——" - </p> - <p> - "How much do you want?" she asked. - </p> - <p> - I took a quick look at her, and I saw at once that she had decided to lend - it to me and then run and tell mother, beginning, "I think you'd ought to - know, Mrs. Archibald——" - </p> - <p> - "Nothing doing, Hannah," I said, in a most dignified manner. "But I think - you are an old clam, and I don't mind saying so." - </p> - <p> - I was now thrown on my own resources, and very bitter. I seemed to have no - friends, at a time when I needed them most, when I was, as one may say, - "standing with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet." - </p> - <p> - Tonight I am no longer sick of life, as I was then. My throws of anguish - have departed. But I was then utterly reckless, and even considered - running away and going on the stage myself. - </p> - <p> - I have long desired a career for myself, anyhow. I have a good mind, and - learn easily, and I am not a parasite. The idea of being such has always - been repugnant to me, while the idea of a few dollars at a time doled out - to one of independent mind is galling. And how is one to remember what one - has done with one's allowance, when it is mostly eaten up by small loans, - carfare, stamps, church collection, rose water and glycerin, and other - mild cosmetics, and the additional food necessary when one is still - growing? - </p> - <p> - To resume, Dear Diary; having utterly failed with Hannah, and having - shortly after met Sis on the stairs, I said to her, in a sisterly tone, - intimate rather than fond: - </p> - <p> - "I daresay you can lend me five dollars for a day or so." - </p> - <p> - "I daresay I can. But I won't," was her cruel reply. - </p> - <p> - "Oh, very well," I said briefly. But I could not refrain from making a - grimace at her back, and she saw me in a mirror. - </p> - <p> - "When I think," she said heartlessly, "that that wretched school may be - closed for weeks, I could scream." - </p> - <p> - "Well, scream!" I replied. "You'll scream harder if I've brought the - measles home on me. And if you're laid up, you can say good-bye to the - dishonorable. You've got him tied, maybe," I remarked, "but not thrown as - yet." - </p> - <p> - (A remark I had learned from one of the girls, Trudie Mills, who comes - from Montana.) - </p> - <p> - I was therefore compelled to dispose of my silver napkin ring from school. - Jane was bought up, she said, and I sold it to the cook for fifty cents - and half a mince pie although baked with our own materials. - </p> - <p> - All my fate, therefore, hung on a paltry fifty cents. - </p> - <p> - I was torn with anxiety. Was it enough? Could I, for fifty cents, steal - away from the sordid cares of life, and lose myself in obliviousness, - gazing only it his dear face, listening to his dear and softly modulated - voice, and wondering if, as his eyes swept the audience, they might - perchance light on me and brighten with a momentary gleam in their - unfathomable depths? Only this and nothing more, was my expectation. - </p> - <p> - How different was the reality! - </p> - <p> - Having ascertained that there was a matinee, I departed at an early hour - after luncheon, wearing my blue velvet with my fox furs. White gloves and - white topped shoes completed my outfit, and, my own chapeau showing the - effect of a rainstorm on the way home from church while away at school, I - took a chance on one of Sis's, a perfectly maddening one of rose-colored - velvet. As the pink made me look pale, I added a touch of rouge. - </p> - <p> - I looked fully out, and indeed almost second season. I have a way of - assuming a serious and mature manner, so that I am frequently taken for - older than I really am. Then, taking a few roses left from the - decorations, and thrusting them carelessly into the belt of my coat, I - went out the back door, as Sis was getting ready for some girls to play - bridge, in the front of the house. - </p> - <p> - Had I felt any grief at deceiving my family, the bridge party would have - knocked them. For, as usual, I had not been asked, although playing a good - game myself, and having on more than one occasion won most of the money in - the Upper House at school. - </p> - <p> - I was early at the theater. No one was there, and women were going around - taking covers off the seats. My fifty cents gave me a good seat, from - which I opined, alas, that the shop girl had been right and business was - rotten. But at last, after hours of waiting, the faint tuning of musical - instruments was heard. - </p> - <p> - From that time I lived in a daze. I have never before felt so strange. I - have known and respected the other sex, and indeed once or twice been - kissed by it. But I had remained cold. My pulses had never fluttered. I - was always concerned only with the fear that others had overseen and would - perhaps tell. But now—I did not care who would see, if only Adrian - would put his arms about me. Divine shamelessness! Brave Rapture! For if - one who he could not possibly love, being so close to her in her make-up, - if one who was indeed employed to be made love to, could submit in public - to his embraces, why should not I, who would have died for him? - </p> - <p> - These were my thoughts as the play went on. The hours flew on joyous feet. - When Adrian came to the footlights and looking apparently square at me, - declaimed: "The world owes me a living. I will have it," I almost swooned. - His clothes were worn. He looked hungry and gaunt. But how true that - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - "Rags are royal raiment, when worn for virtue's sake." - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - (I shall stop here and go down to the pantry. I could eat no dinner, being - filled with emotion. But I must keep strong if I am to help Adrian in his - trouble. The mince pie was excellent, but after all pastry does not take - the place of solid food.) - </p> - <p> - LATER: I shall now go on with my recital. As the theater was almost empty, - at the end of Act One I put on the pink hat and left it on as though - absent-minded. There was no one behind me. And, although during act one I - had thought that he perhaps felt my presence, he had not once looked - directly at me. - </p> - <p> - But the hat captured his errant gaze, as one may say. And, after capture, - it remained on my face, so much so that I flushed and a woman sitting near - with a very plain girl in a skunk collar, observed: - </p> - <p> - "Really, it is outrageous." - </p> - <p> - Now came a moment which I thrill even to recollect. For Adrian plucked a - pink rose from a vase—he was in the millionaire's house, and was - starving in the midst of luxury—and held it to his lips. - </p> - <p> - The rose, not the house, of course. Looking over it, he smiled down at me. - </p> - <p> - LATER: It is midnight. I cannot sleep. Perchance he too, is lying awake. I - am sitting at the window in my robe de nuit. Below, mother and Sis have - just come in, and Smith has slammed the door of the car and gone back to - the garage. How puny is the life my family leads! Nothing but eating and - playing, with no higher thoughts. - </p> - <p> - A man has just gone by. For a moment I thought I recognized the footstep. - But no, it was but the night watchman. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 17TH. Father still away. No money, as mother absolutely refuses on - account of Maddie Mackenzie's gown, which she had to send away to be - repaired. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 18TH. Father still away. The Hon. sent Sis a huge bunch of orchids - today. She refused me even one. She is always tight with flowers and - candy. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 19TH. The paper says that Adrian's play is going to close the end - of next week. No business. How can I endure to know that he is suffering, - and that I cannot help, even to the extent of buying one ticket? Matinee - today, and no money. Father still away. - </p> - <p> - I have tried to do a kind deed today, feeling that perhaps it would soften - mother's heart and she would advance my allowance. I offered to manicure - her nails for her, but she refused, saying that as Hannah had done it for - many years, she guessed she could manage now. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 20TH. Today I did a desperate thing, dear Diary. - </p> - <p> - "The desperate is the wisest course." Butler. - </p> - <p> - It is Sunday. I went to church, and thought things over. What a wonderful - thing it would be if I could save the play! Why should I feel that my sex - is a handicap? - </p> - <p> - The rector preached on "The Opportunities of Women." The Sermon gave me - courage to go on. When he said, "Women today step in where men are afraid - to tread, and bring success out of failure," I felt that it was meant for - me. - </p> - <p> - Had no money for the plate, and mother attempted to smuggle a half dollar - to me. I refused, however, as if I cannot give my own money to the - heathen, I will give none. Mother turned pale, and the man with the plate - gave me a black look. What can he know of my reasons? - </p> - <p> - Beresford lunched with us, and as I discouraged him entirely, he was very - attentive to Sis. Mother is planing a big wedding, and I found Sis in the - store room yesterday looking up mother's wedding veil. - </p> - <p> - No old stuff for me. - </p> - <p> - I guess Beresford is trying to forget that he kissed my hand the other - night, for he called me "Little Miss Barbara" today, meaning little in the - sense of young. I gave him a stern glance. - </p> - <p> - "I am not any littler than the other night," I observed. - </p> - <p> - "That was merely an affectionate diminutive," he said, looking - uncomfortable. - </p> - <p> - "If you don't mind," I said coldly, "you might do as you have heretofore—reserve - your affectionate advances until we are alone." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara!" mother said. And began quickly to talk about a Lady Something - or other we'd met on a train in Switzerland. Because—they can talk - until they are black in the face, dear Diary, but it is true we do not - know any of the British Nobility, except the aforementioned and the man - who comes once a year with flavoring extracts, who says he is the third - son of a baronet. - </p> - <p> - Every one being out this afternoon, I suddenly had an inspiration, and - sent for Carter Brooks. I then put my hair up and put on my blue silk, - because while I do not believe in woman using her feminine charm when - talking business, I do believe that she should look her best under any and - all circumstances. - </p> - <p> - He was rather surprised not to find Sis in, as I had used her name in - telephoning. - </p> - <p> - "I did it," I explained, "because I knew that you felt no interest in me, - and I had to see you." - </p> - <p> - He looked at me, and said: - </p> - <p> - "I'm rather flabbergasted, Bab. I—what ought I to say, anyhow?" - </p> - <p> - He came very close, dear Diary, and suddenly I saw in his eyes the - horrible truth. He thought me in love with him, and sending for him while - the family was out. - </p> - <p> - Words cannot paint my agony of soul. I stepped back, but he seized my - hand, in a caressing gesture. - </p> - <p> - "Bab!" he said. "Dear little Bab!" - </p> - <p> - Had my affections not been otherwise engaged, I should have thrilled at - his accents. But, although handsome and of good family, though poor, I - could not see it that way. - </p> - <p> - So I drew my hand away, and retreated behind a sofa. - </p> - <p> - "We must have an understanding, Carter" I Said. "I have sent for you, but - not for the reason you seem to think. I am in desperate trouble." - </p> - <p> - He looked dumfounded. - </p> - <p> - "Trouble!" he said. "You! Why, little Bab" - </p> - <p> - "If you don't mind," I put in, rather pettishly, because of not being - little, "I wish you would treat me like almost a debutante, if not - entirely. I am not a child in arms." - </p> - <p> - "You are sweet enough to be, if the arms might be mine." - </p> - <p> - I have puzzled over this, since, dear Diary. Because there must be some - reason why men fall in love with me. I am not ugly, but I am not - beautiful, my nose being too short. And as for clothes, I get none except - Leila's old things. But Jane Raleigh says there are women like that. She - has a cousin who has had four husbands and is beginning on a fifth, - although not pretty and very slovenly, but with a mass of red hair. - </p> - <p> - Are all men to be my lovers? - </p> - <p> - "Carter," I said earnestly, "I must tell you now that I do not care for - you—in that way." - </p> - <p> - "What made you send for me, then?" - </p> - <p> - "Good gracious!" I exclaimed, losing my temper somewhat. "I can send for - the ice man without his thinking I'm crazy about him, can't I?" - </p> - <p> - "Thanks." - </p> - <p> - "The truth is," I said, sitting down and motioning him to a seat in my - maturest manner, "I—I want some money. There are many things, but - the money comes first." - </p> - <p> - He just sat and looked at me with his mouth open. - </p> - <p> - "Well," he said at last, "of course—I suppose you know you've come - to a Bank that's gone into the hands of a receiver. But aside from that, - Bab, it's a pretty mean trick to send for me and let me think—well, - no matter about that. How much do you want?" - </p> - <p> - "I can pay it back as soon as father comes home," I said, to relieve his - mind. It is against my principals to borrow money, especially from one who - has little or none. But since I was doing it, I felt I might as well ask - for a lot. - </p> - <p> - "Could you let me have ten dollars?" I said, in a faint tone. - </p> - <p> - He drew a long breath. - </p> - <p> - "Well, I guess yes," he observed. "I thought you were going to touch me - for a hundred, anyhow. I—I suppose you wouldn't give me a kiss and - call it square." - </p> - <p> - I considered. Because after all, a kiss is not much, and ten dollars is a - good deal. But at last my better nature won out. - </p> - <p> - "Certainly not," I said coldly. "And if there is a string to it I do not - want it." - </p> - <p> - So he apologized, and came and sat beside me, without being a nuisance, - and asked me what my other troubles were. - </p> - <p> - "Carter" I said, in a grave voice, "I know that you believe me young and - incapable of affection. But you are wrong. I am of a most loving - disposition." - </p> - <p> - "Now see here, Bab," he said. "Be fair. If I am not to hold your hand, or—or - be what you call a nuisance, don't talk like this. I am but human," he - said, "and there is something about you lately that—well, go on with - your story. Only, as I say, don't try me to far." - </p> - <p> - "It's like this," I explained. "Girls think they are cold and distant, and - indeed, frequently are." - </p> - <p> - "Frequently!" - </p> - <p> - "Until they meet the right one. Then they learn that their hearts are, as - you say, but human." - </p> - <p> - "Bab," he said, suddenly turning and facing me, "an awful thought has come - to me. You are in love—and not with me!" - </p> - <p> - "I am in love, and not with you," I said in tragic tones. - </p> - <p> - I had not thought he would feel it deeply—because of having been - interested in Leila since they went out in their perambulators together. - But I could see it was a shock to him. He got up and stood looking in the - fire, and his shoulders shook with grief. - </p> - <p> - "So I have lost you," he said in a smothered voice. And then—"Who is - the sneaking scoundrel?" - </p> - <p> - I forgave him this, because of his being upset, and in a rapt attitude I - told him the whole story. He listened, as one in a daze. - </p> - <p> - "But I gather," he said, when at last the recital was over, "that you have - never met the—met him." - </p> - <p> - "Not in the ordinary use of the word," I remarked. "But then it is not an - ordinary situation. We have met and we have not. Our eyes have spoken, if - not our vocal chords." Seeing his eyes on me I added, "if you do not - believe that soul can cry unto soul, Carter, I shall go no further." - </p> - <p> - "Oh!" he exclaimed. "There is more, is there? I trust it is not painful, - because I have stood as much as I can now without breaking down." - </p> - <p> - "Nothing of which I am ashamed," I said, rising to my full height. "I have - come to you for help, Carter. That play must not fail!" - </p> - <p> - We faced each other over those vital words—faced, and found no - solution. - </p> - <p> - "Is it a good play?" he asked, at last. - </p> - <p> - "It is a beautiful play. Oh, Carter, when at the end he takes his - sweetheart in his arms—the leading lady, and not at all attractive. - Jane Raleigh says that the star generally hates his leading lady—there - is not a dry eye in the house." - </p> - <p> - "Must be a jolly little thing. Well, of course I'm no theatrical manager, - but if it's any good there's only one way to save it. Advertise. I didn't - know the piece was in town, which shows that the publicity has been - rotten." - </p> - <p> - He began to walk the floor. I don't think I have mentioned it, but that is - Carter's business. Not walking the floor. Advertising. Father says he is - quite good, although only beginning. - </p> - <p> - "Tell me about it," he said. - </p> - <p> - So I told him that Adrian was a mill worker, and the villain makes him - lose his position, by means of forgery. And Adrian goes to jail, and comes - out, and no one will give him work. So he prepares to blow up a - millionaire's house, and his sweetheart is in it. He has been to the - millionaire for work and been refused and thrown out, saying, just before - the butler and three footmen push him through a window, in dramatic tones, - "The world owes me a living and I will have it." - </p> - <p> - "Socialism!" said Carter. "Hard stuff to handle for the two dollar seats. - The world owes him a living. Humph! Still, that's a good line to work on. - Look here, Bab, give me a little time on this, eh what? I may be able to - think of a trick or two. But mind, not a word to any one." - </p> - <p> - He started out, but he came back. - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said. "Where do we come in on this anyhow? Suppose I do - think of something—what then? How are we to know that your beloved - and his manager will thank us for butting in, or do what we suggest?" - </p> - <p> - Again I drew myself to my full height. - </p> - <p> - "I am a person of iron will when my mind is made up," I said. "You think - of something, Carter, and I'll see that it is done." - </p> - <p> - He gazed at me in a rapt manner. - </p> - <p> - "Dammed if I don't believe you," he said. - </p> - <p> - It is now late at night. Beresford has gone. The house is still. I take - the dear picture out from under my mattress and look at it. - </p> - <p> - Oh Adrien, my Thespian, my Love. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 21ST. I have a bad cold, Dear Diary, and feel rotten. But only my - physical condition is such. I am happy beyond words. This morning, while - mother and Sis were out I called up the theater and inquired the price of - a box. The man asked me to hold the line, and then came back and said it - would be ten dollars. I told him to reserve it for Miss Putnam—my - middle name. - </p> - <p> - I am both terrified and happy, dear Diary, as I lie here in bed with a hot - water bottle at my feet. I have helped the play by buying a box, and - tonight I shall sit in it alone, and he will perceive me there, and - consider that I must be at least twenty, or I would not be there at the - theater alone. Hannah has just come in and offered to lend me three - dollars. I refused haughtily, but at last rang for her and took two. I - might as well have a taxi tonight. - </p> - <p> - 1 A. M. The family was there! I might have known it. Never do I have any - luck. I am a broken thing, crushed to earth. But "Truth crushed to earth - will rise again."—Whittier? - </p> - <p> - I had my dinner in bed, on account of my cold, and was let severely alone - by the family. At seven I rose and with palpitating fingers dressed myself - in my best evening frock, which is a pale yellow. I put my hair up, and - was just finished, when mother knocked. It was terrible. - </p> - <p> - I had to duck back into bed and crush everything. But she only looked in - and said to try and behave for the next three hours, and went away. - </p> - <p> - At a quarter to eight I left the house in a clandestine manner by means of - the cellar and the area steps, and on the pavement drew a long breath. I - was free, and I had twelve dollars. - </p> - <p> - Act One went well, and no disturbance. Although Adrian started when he saw - me. The yellow looked very well. - </p> - <p> - I had expected to sit back, sheltered by the curtains, and only visible - from the stage. I have often read of this method. But there were no - curtains. I therefore sat, turning a stoney profile to the audience, and - ignoring it, as though it were not present, trusting to luck that no one I - knew was there. - </p> - <p> - He saw me. More than that, he hardly took his eyes from the box wherein I - sat. I am sure to that he had mentioned me to the company, for one and all - they stared at me until I think they will know me the next time they see - me. - </p> - <p> - I still think I would not have been recognized by the family had I not, in - a very quiet scene, commenced to sneeze. I did this several times, and a - lot of people looked annoyed, as though I sneezed because I liked to - sneeze. And I looked back at them defiantly, and in so doing, encountered - the gaze of my maternal parent. - </p> - <p> - Oh, Dear Diary, that I could have died at that moment, and thus, when - stretched out a pathetic figure, with tuber roses and other flowers, have - compelled their pity. But alas, no. I sneezed again! - </p> - <p> - Mother was wedged in, and I saw that my only hope was flight. I had not - had more than between three and four dollars worth of the evening, but I - glanced again and Sis was boring holes into me with her eyes. Only - Beresford knew nothing, and was trying to hold Sis's hand under her opera - cloak. Any fool could tell that. - </p> - <p> - But, as I was about to rise and stand poised, as one may say, for - departure, I caught Adrian's eyes, with a gleam in their deep depths. He - was, at the moment, toying with the bowl of roses. He took one out, and - while the leading lady was talking, he edged his way toward my box. There, - standing very close, apparently by accident, he dropped the rose into my - lap. - </p> - <p> - Oh Diary! Diary! - </p> - <p> - I picked it up, and holding it close to me, I flew. - </p> - <p> - I am now in bed and rather chilly. Mother banged at the door some time - ago, and at last went away, muttering. - </p> - <p> - I am afraid she is going to be pettish. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 22ND. Father came home this morning, and things are looking up. - Mother of course tackled him first thing, and when he came upstairs I - expected an awful time. But my father is a real person, so he only sat - down on the bed, and said: - </p> - <p> - "Well, chicken, so you're at it again!" - </p> - <p> - I had to smile, although my chin shook. - </p> - <p> - "You'd better turn me out and forget me," I said. "I was born for trouble. - My advice to the family is to get out from under. That's all." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, I don't know," he said. "It's pretty convenient to have a family to - drop on when the slump comes." He thumped himself on the chest. "A hundred - and eighty pounds," he observed, "just intended for little daughters to - fall back on when other things fail." - </p> - <p> - "Father," I inquired, putting my hand in his, because I had been bearing - my burdens alone, and my strength was failing: "do you believe in Love?" - </p> - <h3> - "DO I!" - </h3> - <p> - "But I mean, not the ordinary attachment between two married people. I - mean Love—the real thing." - </p> - <p> - "I see! Why, of course I do." - </p> - <p> - "Did you ever read Pope, father?" - </p> - <p> - "Pope? Why I—probably, chicken. Why?" - </p> - <p> - "Then you know what he says: 'Curse on all laws but those which Love has - made.'" - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said, suddenly laying a hand on my brow. "I believe you - are feverish." - </p> - <p> - "Not feverish, but in trouble," I explained. And so I told him the story, - not saying much of my deep passion for Adrian, but merely that I had - formed an attachment for him which would persist during life. Although I - had never yet exchanged a word with him. - </p> - <p> - Father listened and said it was indeed a sad story, and that he knew my - deep nature, and that I would be true to the end. But he refused to give - me any money, except enough to pay back Hannah and Carter Brooks, saying: - </p> - <p> - "Your mother does not wish you to go to the theater again, and who are we - to go against her wishes? And anyhow, maybe if you met this fellow and - talked to him, you would find him a disappointment. Many a pretty girl I - have seen in my time, who didn't pan out according to specifications when - I finally met her." - </p> - <p> - At this revelation of my beloved father's true self, I was almost stunned. - It is evident that I do not inherit my being true as steel from him. Nor - from my mother, who is like steel in hardness but not in being true to - anything but social position. - </p> - <p> - As I record this awful day, dear Dairy, there comes again into my mind the - thought that I DO NOT BELONG HERE. I am not like them. I do not even - resemble them in features. And, if I belonged to them, would they not - treat me with more consideration and less discipline? Who, in the family, - has my nose? - </p> - <p> - It is all well enough for Hannah to observe that I was a pretty baby with - fat cheeks. May not Hannah herself, for some hidden reason, have brought - me here, taking away the real I to perhaps languish unseen and "waste my - sweetness on the desert air"? But that way lies madness. Life must be made - the best of as it is, and not as it might be or indeed ought to be. - </p> - <p> - Father promised before he left that I was not to be scolded, as I felt far - from well, and was drinking water about every minute. - </p> - <p> - "I just want to lie here and think about things," I said, when he was - going. "I seem to have so many thoughts. And father——" - </p> - <p> - "Yes, chicken." - </p> - <p> - "If I need any help to carry out a plan I have, will you give it to me, or - will I have to go to total strangers?" - </p> - <p> - "Good gracious, Bab!" he exclaimed. "Come to me, of course." - </p> - <p> - "And you'll do what you're told?" - </p> - <p> - He looked out into the hall to see if mother was near. Then, dear Dairy, - he turned to me and said: - </p> - <p> - "I always have, Bab. I guess I'll run true to form." - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 23RD. Much better today. Out and around. Family (mother and Sis) - very dignified and nothing much to say. Evidently have promised father to - restrain themselves. Father rushed and not coming home to dinner. - </p> - <p> - Beresford on edge of proposing. Sis very jumpy. - </p> - <p> - LATER: Jane Raleigh is home for her cousin's wedding! Is coming over. We - shall take a walk, as I have much to tell her. - </p> - <p> - 6 P. M. What an afternoon! How shall I write it? This is a Milestone in my - Life. - </p> - <p> - I have met him at last. Nay, more. I have been in his dressing room, - conversing as though accustomed to such things all my life. I have - concealed under the mattress a real photograph of him, beneath which he - has written, "Yours always, Adrian Egleston." - </p> - <p> - I am writing in bed, as the room is chilly—or I am—and by - putting out my hand I can touch his pictured likeness. - </p> - <p> - Jane came around for me this afternoon, and mother consented to a walk. I - did not have a chance to take Sis's pink hat, as she keeps her door locked - now when not in her room. Which is ridiculous, because I am not her type, - and her things do not suit me very well anyhow. And I have never borrowed - anything but gloves and handkerchiefs, except Maddie's dress and the hat. - </p> - <p> - She had, however, not locked her bathroom, and finding a bunch of violets - in the washbowl I put them on. It does not hurt violets to wear them, and - anyhow I knew Carter Brooks had sent them and she ought to wear only - Beresford's flowers if she means to marry him. - </p> - <p> - Jane at once remarked that I looked changed. - </p> - <p> - "Naturally," I said, in a blase' manner. - </p> - <p> - "If I didn't know you, Bab," she observed, "I would say that you are - rouged." - </p> - <p> - I became very stiff and distant at that. For Jane, although my best - friend, had no right to be suspicious of me. - </p> - <p> - "How do I look changed?" I demanded. - </p> - <p> - "I don't know. You—Bab, I believe you are up to some mischief!" - </p> - <p> - "Mischief?" - </p> - <p> - "You don't need to pretend to me," she went on, looking into my very soul. - "I have eyes. You're not decked out this way for ME." - </p> - <p> - I had meant to tell her nothing, but spying just then a man ahead who - walked like Adrian, I was startled. I clutched her arm and closed my eyes. - </p> - <p> - "Bab!" she said. - </p> - <p> - The man turned, and I saw it was not he. I breathed again. But Jane was - watching me, and I spoke out of an overflowing heart. - </p> - <p> - "For a moment I thought—Jane, I have met THE ONE at last." - </p> - <p> - "Barbara!" she said, and stopped dead. "Is it any one I know?" - </p> - <p> - "He is an actor." - </p> - <p> - "Ye gods!" said Jane, in a tense voice. "What a tragedy!" - </p> - <p> - "Tragedy indeed," I was compelled to admit. "Jane, my heart is breaking. I - am not allowed to see him. It is all off, forever." - </p> - <p> - "Darling!" said Jane. "You are trembling all over. Hold on to me. Do they - disapprove?" - </p> - <p> - "I am never to see him again. Never." - </p> - <p> - The bitterness of it all overcame me. My eyes suffused with tears. - </p> - <p> - But I told her, in broken accents, of my determination to stick to him, no - matter what. "I might never be Mrs. Adrian Egleston, but——" - </p> - <p> - "Adrian Egleston!" she cried, in amazement. "Why Barbara, you lucky - thing!" - </p> - <p> - So, finding her fuller of sympathy than usual, I violated my vow of - silence and told her all. - </p> - <p> - And, to prove the truth of what I said, I showed her the sachet over my - heart containing his rose. - </p> - <p> - "It's perfectly wonderful," Jane said, in an awed tone. "You beat anything - I've ever known for adventures! You are the type men like, for one thing. - But there is one thing I could not stand, in your place—having to - know that he is making love to the heroine every evening and twice on - Wednesdays and—Bab, this is Wednesday!" - </p> - <p> - I glanced at my wrist watch. It was but two o'clock. Instantly, dear - Dairy, I became conscious of a dual going on within me, between love and - duty. Should I do as instructed and see him no more, thus crushing my - inclination under the iron heel of resolution? Or should I cast my parents - to the winds, and go? - </p> - <p> - Which? - </p> - <p> - At last I decided to leave it to Jane. I observed: "I'm forbidden to try - to see him. But I daresay, if you bought some theater tickets and did not - say what the play was, and we went and it happened to be his, it would not - be my fault, would it?" - </p> - <p> - I cannot recall her reply, or much more, except that I waited in a - pharmacy, and Jane went out, and came back and took me by the arm. - </p> - <p> - "We're going to the matinee, Bab," she said. "I'll not tell you which one, - because it's to be a surprise." She squeezed my arm. "First row," she - whispered. - </p> - <p> - I shall draw a veil over my feelings. Jane bought some chocolates to take - along, but I could eat none. I was thirsty, but not hungry. And my cold - was pretty bad, to. - </p> - <p> - So we went in, and the curtain went up. When Adrian saw me, in the front - row, he smiled although in the midst of a serious speech about the world - owing him a living. And Jane was terribly excited. - </p> - <p> - "Isn't he the handsomest thing!" she said. "And oh, Bab, I can see that he - adores you. He is acting for you. All the rest of the people mean nothing - to him. He sees but you." - </p> - <p> - Well, I had not told her that we had not yet met, and she said I could do - nothing less than send him a note. - </p> - <p> - "You ought to tell him that you are true, in spite of everything," she - said. - </p> - <p> - If I had not deceived Jane things would be better. But she was set on my - sending the note. So at last I wrote one on my visiting card, holding it - so she could not read it. Jane is my best friend and I am devoted to her, - but she has no scruples about reading what is not meant for her. I said: - </p> - <p> - "Dear Mr. Egleston: I think the play is perfectly wonderful. And you are - perfectly splendid in it. It is perfectly terrible that it is going to - stop. - </p> - <p> - "(Signed) The girl of the rose." - </p> - <p> - I know that this seems bold. But I did not feel bold, dear Dairy. It was - such a letter as any one might read, and contained nothing compromising. - Still, I daresay I should not have written it. But "out of the fulness of - the heart the mouth speaketh." - </p> - <p> - I was shaking so much that I could not give it to the usher. But Jane did. - However, I had sealed it up in an envelope. - </p> - <p> - Now comes the real surprise, dear Dairy. For the usher came down and said - Mr. Egleston hoped I would go back and see him after the act was over. I - think a pallor must have come over me, and Jane said: - </p> - <p> - "Bab! Do you dare?" - </p> - <p> - I said yes, I dared, but that I would like a glass of water. I seemed to - be thirsty all the time. So she got it, and I recovered my savoir fair, - and stopped shaking. - </p> - <p> - I suppose Jane expected to go along, but I refrained from asking her. She - then said: - </p> - <p> - "Try to remember everything he says, Bab. I am just crazy about it." - </p> - <p> - Ah, dear Dairy, how can I write how I felt when being led to him. The - entire scene is engraved on my soul. I, with my very heart in my eyes, in - spite of my efforts to seem cool and collected. He, in front of his - mirror, drawing in the lines of starvation around his mouth for the next - scene, while on his poor feet a valet put the raged shoes of Act II! - </p> - <p> - He rose when I entered, and took me by the hand. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" he said. "At last!" - </p> - <p> - He did not seem to mind the valet, whom he treated like a chair or table. - And he held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. - </p> - <p> - Ah, dear Dairy, Men may come and Men may go in my life, but never again - will I know such ecstasy as at that moment. - </p> - <p> - "Sit down," he said. "Little Lady of the rose—but it's violets - today, isn't it? And so you like the play?" - </p> - <p> - I was by that time somewhat calmer, but glad to sit down, owing to my - knees feeling queer. - </p> - <p> - "I think it is magnificent," I said. - </p> - <p> - "I wish there were more like you," he observed. "Just a moment, I have to - make a change here. No need to go out. There's a screen for that very - purpose." - </p> - <p> - He went behind the screen, and the man handed him a raged shirt over the - top of it, while I sat in a chair and dreamed. What I reflected, would the - School say if it but knew! I felt no remorse. I was there, and beyond the - screen, changing into the garments of penury, was the only member of the - other sex I had ever felt I could truly care for. - </p> - <p> - Dear Dairy, I am tired and my head aches. I cannot write it all. He was - perfectly respectful, and only his eyes showed his true feelings. The - woman who is the adventuress in the play came to the door, but he motioned - her away with a wave of the hand. And at last it was over, and he was - asking me to come again soon, and if I would care to have one of his - pictures. - </p> - <p> - I am very sleepy tonight, but I cannot close this record of a - w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l d-a-y—— - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 24TH. Cold worse. - </p> - <p> - Not hearing from Carter Brooks I telephoned him just now. He is sore about - Beresford and said he would not come to the house. So I have asked him to - meet me in the park, and said that there were only two more days, this - being Thursday. - </p> - <p> - LATER: I have seen Carter, and he has a fine plan. If only father will do - it. - </p> - <p> - He says the theme is that the world owes Adrian a living, and that the way - to do is to put that strongly before the people. - </p> - <p> - "Suppose," he said, "that this fellow would go to some big factory, and - demand work. Not ask for it. Demand it. He could pretend to be starving - and say: 'The world owes me a living, and I intend to have it.'" - </p> - <p> - "But suppose they were sorry for him and gave it to him?" I observed. - </p> - <p> - "Tut, child," he said. "That would have to be all fixed up first. It ought - to be arranged that he not only be refused, but what's more, that he'll be - thrown out. He'll have to cut up a lot, d'you see, so they'll throw him - out. And we'll have Reporters there, so the story can get around. You get - it, don't you? Your friend, in order to prove that the idea of the play is - right, goes out for a job, and proves that he cannot demand labor and get - it." He stopped and spoke with excitement: "Is he a real sport? Would he - stand being arrested? Because that would cinch it." - </p> - <p> - But here I drew a line. I would not subject him to such humiliation. I - would not have him arrested. And at last Carter gave in. - </p> - <p> - "But you get the idea," he said. "There'll be the deuce of a row, and it's - good for a half column on the first page of the evening papers. Result, a - jam that night at the performance, and a new lease of life for the Play. - Egleston comes on, bruised and battered, and perhaps with a limp. The - Labor Unions take up the matter—it's a knock out. I'd charge a - thousand dollars for that idea if I were selling it." - </p> - <p> - "Bruised!" I exclaimed. "Really bruised or painted on?" - </p> - <p> - He glared at me impatiently. - </p> - <p> - "Now see here, Bab," he said. "I'm doing this for you. You've got to play - up. And if your young man won't stand a bang in the eye, for instance, to - earn his bread and butter, he's not worth saving." - </p> - <p> - "Who are you going to get to—to throw him out?" I asked, in a - faltering tone. - </p> - <p> - He stopped and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "I like that!" he said. "It's not my play that's failing, is it? Go and - tell him the scheme, and then let his manager work it out. And tell him - who I am, and that I have a lot of ideas, but this is the only one I'm - giving away." - </p> - <p> - We had arrived at the house by that time and I invited him to come in. But - he only glanced bitterly at the windows and observed that they had taken - in the mat with 'Welcome' on it, as far as he was concerned. And went - away. - </p> - <p> - Although we have never had a mat with 'Welcome' on it. - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, I wonder if father would do it? He is gentle and kindhearted, - and it would be painful to him. But to who else can I turn in my - extremity? - </p> - <p> - I have but one hope. My father is like me. He can be coaxed and if kindly - treated will do anything. But if approached in the wrong way, or asked to - do something against his principals, he becomes a roaring lion. - </p> - <p> - He would never be bully-ed into giving a man work, even so touching a - personality as Adrian's. - </p> - <p> - LATER: I meant to ask father tonight, but he has just heard of Beresford - and is in a terrible temper. He says Sis can't marry him, because he is - sure there are plenty of things he could be doing in England, if not - actually fighting. - </p> - <p> - "He could probably run a bus, and release some one who can fight," he - shouted. "Or he could at least do an honest day's work with his hands. - Don't let me see him, that's all." - </p> - <p> - "Do I understand that you forbid him the house?" Leila asked, in a cold - fury. - </p> - <p> - "Just keep him out of my sight," father snapped. "I suppose I can't keep - him from swilling tea while I am away doing my part to help the Allies." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, rot!" said Sis, in a scornful manner. "While you help your bank - account, you mean. I don't object to that, father, but for heaven's sake - don't put it on altruistic grounds." - </p> - <p> - She went upstairs then and banged her door, and mother merely set her lips - and said nothing. But when Beresford called, later, Tanney had to tell him - the family was out. - </p> - <p> - Were it not for our affections, and the necessity for getting married, so - there would be an increase in the population, how happy we could all be! - </p> - <p> - LATER: I have seen father. - </p> - <p> - It was a painful evening, with Sis shut away in her room, and father - cutting the ends off cigars in a viscious manner. Mother was NON EST, and - had I not had my memories, it would have been a sickning time. - </p> - <p> - I sat very still and waited until father softened, which he usually does, - like ice cream, all at once and all over. I sat perfectly still in a large - chair, and except for an occasional sneeze, was quiet. - </p> - <p> - Only once did my parent address me in an hour, when he said: - </p> - <p> - "What the devil's making you sneeze so?" - </p> - <p> - "My nose, I think, sir," I said meekly. - </p> - <p> - "Humph!" he said. "It's rather a small nose to be making such a racket." - </p> - <p> - I was cut to the heart, Dear Diary. One of my dearest dreams has always - been a delicate nose, slightly arched and long enough to be truly - aristocratic. Not really acqualine but on the verge. I HATE my little nose—hate - it—hate it—HATE IT. - </p> - <p> - "Father" I said, rising and on the point of tears. "How can you! To taunt - me with what is not my own fault, but partly hereditary and partly - carelessness. For if you had pinched it in infancy it would have been a - good nose, and not a pug. And——" - </p> - <p> - "Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "Why, Bab, I never meant to insult your - nose. As a matter of fact, it's a good nose. It's exactly the sort of nose - you ought to have. Why, what in the world would YOU do with a Roman nose?" - </p> - <p> - I have not been feeling very well, dear Diary, and so I suddenly began to - weep. - </p> - <p> - "Why, chicken!" said my father. And made me sit down on his knee. "Don't - tell me that my bit of sunshine is behind a cloud!" - </p> - <p> - "Behind a nose," I said, feebly. - </p> - <p> - So he said he liked my nose, even although somewhat swollen, and he kissed - it, and told me I was a little fool, and at last I saw he was about ready - to be tackled. So I observed: - </p> - <p> - "Father, will you do me a favor?" - </p> - <p> - "Sure," he said. "How much do you need? Business is pretty good now, and - I've about landed the new order for shells for the English War Department. - I—suppose we make it fifty! Although, we'd better keep it a secret - between the two of us." - </p> - <p> - I drew myself up, although tempted. But what was fifty dollars to doing - something for Adrian? A mere bagatelle. - </p> - <p> - "Father," I said, "do you know Miss Everett, my English teacher?" - </p> - <p> - He remembered the name. - </p> - <p> - "Would you be willing to do her a great favor?" I demanded intensely. - </p> - <p> - "What sort of a favor?" - </p> - <p> - "Her cousin has written a play. She is very fond of her cousin, and - anxious to have him succeed. And it is a lovely play." - </p> - <p> - He held me off and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "So THAT is what you were doing in that box alone!" he exclaimed. "You - incomprehensible child! Why didn't you tell your mother?" - </p> - <p> - "Mother does not always understand," I said, in a low voice. "I thought, - by buying a box, I would do my part to help Miss Everett's cousin's play - succeed. And as a result I was dragged home, and shamefully treated in the - most mortifying manner. But I am accustomed to brutality." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, come now," he said. "I wouldn't go as far as that, chicken. Well, I - won't finance the play, but short of that I'll do what I can." - </p> - <p> - However he was not so agreeable when I told him Carter Brooks' plan. He - delivered a firm no. - </p> - <p> - "Although," he said, "somebody ought to do it, and show the fallacy of the - play. In the first place, the world doesn't owe the fellow a living, - unless he will hustle around and make it. In the second place an employer - has a right to turn away a man he doesn't want. No one can force a - business to employ Labor." - </p> - <p> - "Well," I said, "as long as Labor talks and makes a lot of noise, and - Capitol is too dignified to say anything, most people are going to side - with Labor." - </p> - <p> - He gazed at me. - </p> - <p> - "Right!" he said. "You've put your finger on it, in true feminine - fashion." - </p> - <p> - "Then why won't you throw out this man when he comes to you for work? He - intends to force you to employ him." - </p> - <p> - "Oh, he does, does he?" said father, in a fierce voice. "Well, let him - come. I can stand up for my principals, too. I'll throw him out, all - right." - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, the battle is over and I have won. I am very happy. How true - it is that strategy will do more than violence! - </p> - <p> - We have arranged it all. Adrian is to go to the mill, dressed like a - decayed gentleman, and father will refuse to give him work. I have said - nothing about violence, leaving that to arrange itself. - </p> - <p> - I must see Adrian and his manager. Carter has promised to tell some - reporters that there may be a story at the mill on Saturday morning. I am - to excited to sleep. - </p> - <p> - Feel horrid. Forbidden to go out this morning. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 25TH. Beresford was here to lunch and he and mother and Sis had a - long talk. He says he has kept it a secret because he did not want his - business known. But he is here to place a shell order for the English War - Department. - </p> - <p> - "Well," Leila said, "I can hardly wait to tell father and see him curl - up." - </p> - <p> - "No, no," said Beresford, hastily. "Really you must allow me. I must - inform him myself. I am sure you can see why. This is a thing for men to - settle. Besides, it is a delicate matter. Mr. Archibald is trying to get - the order, and our New York office, if I am willing, is ready to place it - with him." - </p> - <p> - "Well!" said Leila, in a thunderstruck tone. "If you British don't beat - anything for keeping your own Counsel!" - </p> - <p> - I could see that he had her hand under the table. It was sickening. - </p> - <p> - Jane came to see me after lunch. The wedding was that night, and I had to - sit through silver vegetable dishes, and after-dinner coffee sets and - plates and a grand piano and a set of gold vases and a cabushion sapphire - and the bridesmaid's clothes and the wedding supper and heaven knows what. - But at last she said: - </p> - <p> - "You dear thing—how weary and wan you look!" - </p> - <p> - I closed my eyes. - </p> - <p> - "But you don't intend to give him up, do you?" - </p> - <p> - "Look at me!" I said, in imperious tones. "Do I look like one who would - give him up, because of family objections?" - </p> - <p> - "How brave you are!" she observed. "Bab, I am green with envy. When I - think of the way he looked at you, and the tones of his voice when he made - love to that—that creature, I am positively SHAKEN." - </p> - <p> - We sat in somber silence. Then she said: - </p> - <p> - "I daresay he detests the heroine, doesn't he?" - </p> - <p> - "He tolerates her," I said, with a shrug. - </p> - <p> - More silence. I rang for Hannah to bring some ice water. We were in my - boudoir. - </p> - <p> - "I saw him yesterday," said Jane, when Hannah had gone. - </p> - <p> - "Jane!" - </p> - <p> - "In the park. He was with the woman that plays the Adventuress. Ugly old - thing." - </p> - <p> - I drew a long breath of relief. For I knew that the adventuress was at - least thirty and perhaps more. Besides being both wicked and cruel, and - not at all feminine. - </p> - <p> - Hannah brought the ice-water and then came in the most maddening way and - put her hand on my forehead. - </p> - <p> - "I've done nothing but bring you ice-water for two days," she said. "Your - head's hot. I think you need a mustard foot bath and to go to bed." - </p> - <p> - "Hannah," Jane said, in her loftiest fashion, "Miss Barbara is worried, - not ill. And please close the door when you go out." - </p> - <p> - Which was her way of telling Hannah to go. Hannah glared at her. - </p> - <p> - "If you take my advice, Miss Jane," she said. "You'll keep away from Miss - Barbara." - </p> - <p> - And she went out, slamming the door. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" gasped Jane. "Such impertinence. Old servant or not, she ought to - have her mouth slapped." - </p> - <p> - Well, I told Jane the plan and she was perfectly crazy about it. I had a - headache, but she helped me into my street things, and got Sis's rose hat - for me while Sis was at the telephone. Then we went out. - </p> - <p> - First we telephoned Carter Brooks, and he said tomorrow morning would do, - and he'd give a couple of reporters the word to hang around father's - office at the mill. He said to have Adrian there at ten o'clock. - </p> - <p> - "Are you sure your father will do it?" he asked. "We don't want a fliver, - you know." - </p> - <p> - "He's making a principal of it," I said. "When he makes a principal of a - thing, he does it." - </p> - <p> - "Good for father!" Carter said. "Tell him not to be to gentle. And tell - your actor-friend to make a lot of fuss. The more the better. I'll see the - policeman at the mill, and he'll probably take him up. But we'll get him - out for the matinee. And watch the evening papers." - </p> - <p> - It was then that a terrible thought struck me. What if Adrian considered - it beneath his profession to advertize, even if indirectly? What if he - preferred the failure of Miss Everett's cousin's play to a bruise on the - eye? What, in short, if he refused? - </p> - <p> - Dear Dairy, I was stupified. I knew not which way to turn. For men are not - like women, who are dependable and anxious to get along, and will - sacrifice anything for success. No, men are likely to turn on the ones - they love best, if the smallest things do not suit them, such as cold - soup, or sleeves too long from the shirt-maker, or plans made which they - have not been consulted about beforehand. - </p> - <p> - "Darling!" said Jane, as I turned away, "you look STRICKEN!" - </p> - <p> - "My head aches," I said, with a weary gesture toward my forehead. It did - ache, for that matter. It is aching now, dear Dairy. - </p> - <p> - However, I had begun my task and must go through with it. Abandoning Jane - at a corner, in spite of her calling me cruel and even sneaking, I went to - Adrian's hotel, which I had learned of during my seance in his room while - he was changing his garments behind a screen, as it was marked on a - dressing case. - </p> - <p> - It was then five o'clock. - </p> - <p> - How nervous I felt as I sent up my name to his chamber. Oh, Dear Diary, to - think that it was but five hours ago that I sat and waited, while people - who guessed not the inner trepidation of my heart past and repast, and - glanced at me and at Leila's pink hat above. - </p> - <p> - At last he came. My heart beat thunderously, as he approached, striding - along in that familiar walk, swinging his strong and tender arms. And I! I - beheld him coming and could think of not a word to say. - </p> - <p> - "Well!" he said, pausing in front of me. "I knew I was going to be lucky - today. Friday is my best day." - </p> - <p> - "I was born on Friday," I said. I could think of nothing else. - </p> - <p> - "Didn't I say it was my lucky day? But you mustn't sit here. What do you - say to a cup of tea in the restaurant?" - </p> - <p> - How grown up and like a debutante I felt, Dear Diary, going to have tea as - if I had it every day at school, with a handsome actor across! Although - somewhat uneasy also, owing to the possibility of the family coming in. - But it did not and I had a truly happy hour, not at all spoiled by looking - out the window and seeing Jane going by, with her eyes popping out, and - walking very slowly so I would invite her to come in. - </p> - <h3> - WHICH I DID NOT. - </h3> - <p> - Dear Diary, HE WILL DO IT. At first he did not understand, and looked - astounded. But when I told him of Carter being in the advertizing - business, and father owning a large mill, and that there would be - reporters and so on, he became thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - "It's really incredibly clever," he said. "And if it's pulled off right it - ought to be a stampede. But I'd like to see Mr. Brooks. We can't have it - fail, you know." He leaned over the table. "It's straight goods, is it, - Miss er—Barbara? There's nothing phoney about it?" - </p> - <p> - "Phoney!" I said, drawing back. "Certainly not." - </p> - <p> - He kept on leaning over the table. - </p> - <p> - "I wonder," he said, "what makes you so interested in the play?" - </p> - <p> - Oh, Diary, Diary! - </p> - <p> - And just then I looked up, and the adventuress was staring in the door at - me with the meanest look on her face. - </p> - <p> - I draw a veil over the remainder of our happy hour. Suffice it to say that - he considers me exactly the type he finds most attractive, and that he - does not consider my nose too short. We had a long dispute about this. He - thinks I am wrong and says I am not an aquiline type. He says I am - romantic and of a loving disposition. Also somewhat reckless, and he gave - me good advice about doing what my family consider for my good, at least - until I come out. - </p> - <p> - But our talk was all too short, for a fat man with three rings on came in, - and sat down with us, and ordered a whiskey and soda. My blood turned - cold, for fear some one I knew would come in and see me sitting there in a - drinking party. - </p> - <p> - And my blood was right to turn cold. For, just as he had told the manager - about the arrangement I had made, and the manager said "Bully" and raised - his glass to drink to me I looked across and there was mother's aunt, old - Susan Paget, sitting near, with the most awful face I ever saw! - </p> - <p> - I collapsed in my chair. - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, I only remember saying, "Well, remember, ten o'clock. And - dress up like a gentleman in hard luck," and his saying: "Well, I hope I'm - a gentleman, and the hard luck's no joke," and then I went away. - </p> - <p> - And now, Dear Diary, I am in bed, and every time the telephone rings I - have a chill. And in between times I drink ice-water and sneeze. How - terrible a thing is love. - </p> - <p> - LATER: I can hardly write. Switzerland is a settled thing. Father is not - home tonight and I cannot appeal to him. Susan Paget said I was drinking - too, and mother is having the vibrator used on her spine. If I felt better - I would run away. - </p> - <p> - JANUARY 26TH. How can I write what has happened? It is so terrible. - </p> - <p> - Beresford went at ten o'clock to ask for Leila, and did not send in his - card for fear father would refuse to see him. And father thought, from his - saying that he had come to ask for something, and so on, that it was - Adrian, and threw him out. He ordered him out first, and Beresford refused - to go, and they had words, and then there was a fight. The reporters got - it, and it is in all the papers. Hannah has just brought one in. It is - headed "Manufacturer assaults Peer." Leila is in bed, and the doctor is - with her. - </p> - <p> - LATER: Adrian has disappeared. The manager has just called up, and with - shaking knees I went to the telephone. Adrian went to the mill a little - after ten, and has not been seen since. - </p> - <p> - It is in vain I protest that he has not eloped with me. It is almost time - now for the matinee and no Adrian. What shall I do? - </p> - <p> - SATURDAY, 11 P.M. Dear Diary, I have the measles. I am all broken out, and - look horrible. But what is a sickness of the body compared to the agony of - my mind? Oh, Dear Diary, to think of what has happened since last I saw - your stainless pages! - </p> - <p> - What is a sickness to a broken heart? And to a heart broken while trying - to help another who did not deserve to be helped. But if he deceived me, - he has paid for it, and did until he was rescued at ten o'clock tonight. - </p> - <p> - I have been given a sleeping medicine, and until it takes affect I shall - write out the tragedy of this day, omitting nothing. The trained nurse is - asleep on a cot, and her cap is hanging on the foot of the bed. - </p> - <p> - I have tried it on, Dear Diary, and it is very becoming. If they insist on - Switzerland I think I shall run away and be a trained nurse. It is easy - work, although sleeping on a cot is not always comfortable. But at least a - trained nurse leads her own life and is not bullied by her family. And - more, she does good constantly. - </p> - <p> - I feel tonight that I should like to do good, and help the sick, and - perhaps go to the front. I know a lot of college men in the American - Ambulance. - </p> - <p> - I shall never go on the stage, Dear Diary. I know now its deceitfulness - and vicissitudes. My heart has bled until it can bleed no more, as a - result of a theatrical Adonis. I am through with the theater forever. - </p> - <p> - I shall begin at the beginning. I left off where Adrian had disappeared. - </p> - <p> - Although feeling very strange, and looking a queer red color in my mirror, - I rose and dressed myself. I felt that something had slipped, and I must - find Adrian. (It is strange with what coldness I write that once beloved - name.) - </p> - <p> - While dressing I perceived that my chest and arms were covered with small - red dots, but I had no time to think of myself. I slipped downstairs and - outside the drawing room I heard mother conversing in a loud and angry - tone with a visitor. I glanced in, and ye gods! - </p> - <p> - It was the adventuress. - </p> - <p> - Drawing somewhat back, I listened. Oh, Diary, what a revelation! - </p> - <p> - "But I MUST see her," she was saying. "Time is flying. In a half hour the - performance begins, and—he cannot be found." - </p> - <p> - "I can't understand," mother said, in a stiff manner. "What can my - daughter Barbara know about him?" - </p> - <p> - The adventuress sniffed. "Humph!" she said. "She knows, alright. And I'd - like to see her in a hurry, if she is in the house." - </p> - <p> - "Certainly she is in the house," said mother. - </p> - <p> - "ARE YOU SURE OF THAT? Because I have every reason to believe she has run - away with him. She has been hanging around him all week, and only - yesterday afternoon I found them together. She had some sort of a scheme, - he said afterwards, and he wrinkled a coat under his mattress last night. - He said it was to look as if he had slept in it. I know nothing further of - your daughter's scheme. But I know he went out to meet her. He has not - been seen since. His manager has hunted for to hours." - </p> - <p> - "Just a moment," said mother, in a frigid tone. "Am I to understand that - this—this Mr. Egleston is——" - </p> - <p> - "He is my Husband." - </p> - <p> - Ah, Dear Diary, that I might then and there have passed away. But I did - not. I stood there, with my heart crushed, until I felt strong enough to - escape. Then I fled, like a guilty soul. It was ghastly. - </p> - <p> - On the doorstep I met Jane. She gazed at me strangely when she saw my - face, and then clutched me by the arm. - </p> - <p> - "Bab!" she cried. "What on the earth is the matter with your complexion?" - </p> - <p> - But I was desperate. - </p> - <p> - "Let me go!" I said. "Only lend me two dollars for a taxi and let me go. - Something horrible has happened." - </p> - <p> - She gave me ninety cents, which was all she had, and I rushed down the - street, followed by her piercing gaze. - </p> - <p> - Although realizing that my life, at least the part of it pertaining to - sentiment, was over, I knew that, single or married, I must find him. I - could not bare to think that I, in my desire to help, had ruined Miss - Everett's cousin's play. Luckily I got a taxi at the corner, and I ordered - it to drive to the mill. I sank back, bathed in hot perspiration, and on - consulting my bracelet watch found I had but twenty five minutes until the - curtain went up. - </p> - <p> - I must find him, but where and how! I confess for a moment that I doubted - my own father, who can be very fierce on occasion. What if, maddened by - his mistake about Beresford, he had, on being approached by Adrian, been - driven to violence? What if, in my endeavor to help one who was unworthy, - I had led my poor paternal parent into crime? - </p> - <p> - Hell is paved with good intentions. SAMUEL JOHNSTON. - </p> - <p> - On driving madly into the mill yard, I suddenly remembered that it was - Saturday and a half holiday. The mill was going, but the offices were - closed. Father, then, was immured in the safety of his club, and could not - be reached except by pay telephone. And the taxi was now ninety cents. - </p> - <p> - I got out, and paid the man. I felt very dizzy and queer, and was very - thirsty, so I went to the hydrant in the yard and got a drink of water. I - did not as yet suspect measles, but laid it all to my agony of mind. - </p> - <p> - Having thus refreshed myself, I looked about, and saw the yard policeman, - a new one who did not know me, as I am away at school most of the time, - and the family is not expected to visit the mill, because of dirt and - possible accidents. - </p> - <p> - I approached him, however, and he stood still and stared at me. - </p> - <p> - "Officer" I said, in my most dignified tones. "I am looking for a—for - a gentleman who came here this morning to look for work." - </p> - <p> - "There was about two hundred lined up here this morning, Miss," he said. - "Which one would it be, now?" - </p> - <p> - How my heart sank! - </p> - <p> - "About what time would he be coming?" he said. "Things have been kind of - mixed-up around here today, owing to a little trouble this morning. But - perhaps I'll remember him." - </p> - <p> - But, although Adrian is of an unusual type, I felt that I could not - describe him, besides having a terrible headache. So I asked if he would - lend me carfare, which he did with a strange look. - </p> - <p> - "You're not feeling sick, Miss, are you?" he said. But I could not stay to - converse, as it was then time for the curtain to go up, and still no - Adrian. - </p> - <p> - I had but one refuge in mind, Carter Brooks, and to him I fled on the - wings of misery in the street car. I burst into his advertizing office - like a fury. - </p> - <p> - "Where is he?" I demanded. "Where have you and your plotting hidden him?" - </p> - <p> - "Who? Beresford?" he asked in a placid manner. "He is at his hotel, I - believe, putting beefsteak on a bad eye. Believe me, Bab——" - </p> - <p> - "Beresford!" I cried, in scorn and wretchedness. "What is he to me? Or his - eye either? I refer to Mr. Egleston. It is time for the curtain to go up - now, and unless he has by this time returned, there can be no - performance." - </p> - <p> - "Look here," Carter said suddenly, "you look awfully queer, Bab. Your face——" - </p> - <p> - I stamped my foot. - </p> - <p> - "What does my face matter?" I demanded. "I no longer care for him, but I - have ruined Miss Everett's cousin's play unless he turns up. Am I to be - sent to Switzerland with that on my soul?" - </p> - <p> - "Switzerland!" he said slowly. "Why, Bab, they're not going to do that, - are they? I—I don't want you so far away." - </p> - <p> - Dear Dairy, I am unsuspicious by nature, believing all mankind to be my - friends until proven otherwise. But there was a gloating look in Carter - Brooks' eyes as they turned on me. - </p> - <p> - "Carter!" I said, "you know where he is and you will not tell me. You WISH - to ruin him." - </p> - <p> - I was about to put my hand on his arm, but he drew away. - </p> - <p> - "Look here," he said. "I'll tell you something, but please keep back. - Because you look like smallpox to me. I was at the mill this morning. I do - not know anything about your actor-friend. He's probably only been run - over or something. But I saw Beresford going in, and I—well, I - suggested that he'd better walk in on your father or he wouldn't get in. - It worked, Bab. HOW IT DID WORK! He went in and said he had come to ask - your father for something, and your father blew up by saying that he knew - about it, but that the world only owed a living to the man who would - hustle for it, and that he would not be forced to take any one he did not - want. - </p> - <p> - "And in two minutes Beresford hit him, and got a response. It was a - million dollars worth." - </p> - <p> - So he babbled on. But what were his words to me? - </p> - <p> - Dear Diary, I gave no thought to the smallpox he had mentioned, although - fatal to the complexion. Or to the fight at the mill. I heard only - Adrian's possible tragic fate. Suddenly I collapsed, and asked for a drink - of water, feeling horrible, very wobbly and unable to keep my knees from - bending. - </p> - <p> - And the next thing I remember is father taking me home, and Adrian's fate - still a deep mystery, and remaining such, while I had a warm sponge to - bring out the rest of the rash, followed by a sleep—it being measles - and not smallpox. - </p> - <p> - Oh, Dear Diary, what a story I learned when having wakened and feeling - better, my father came tonight and talked to me from the doorway, not - being allowed in. - </p> - <p> - Adrian had gone to the mill, and father, having thrown Beresford out and - asserted his principals, had not thrown him out, BUT HAD GIVEN HIM A JOB - IN THE MILL. And the Policeman had given him no chance to escape, which he - attempted. He was dragged to the shell plant and there locked in, because - of spies. The plant is under military guard. - </p> - <p> - And there he had been compelled to drag a wheelbarrow back and forth - containing charcoal for a small furnace, for hours! - </p> - <p> - Even when Carter found him he could not be released, as father was in - hiding from reporters, and would not go to the telephone or see callers. - </p> - <p> - He labored until 10 p.m., while the theater remained dark, and people got - their money back. - </p> - <p> - I have ruined him. I have also ruined Miss Everett's cousin. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - The nurse is still asleep. I think I will enter a hospital. My career is - ended, my life is blasted. - </p> - <p> - I reach under the mattress and draw out the picture of him who today I - have ruined, compelling him to do manual labor for hours, although - unaccustomed to it. He is a great actor, and I believe has a future. But - my love for him is dead. Dear Diary, he deceived me, and that is one thing - I cannot forgive. - </p> - <p> - So now I sit here among my pillows, while the nurse sleeps, and I reflect - about many things. But one speech rings in my ears over and over. - </p> - <p> - Carter Brooks, on learning about Switzerland, said it in a strange manner, - looking at me with inscrutable eyes. - </p> - <p> - "Switzerland! Why, Bab—I don't want you to go so far away." - </p> - <h3> - WHAT DID HE MEAN BY IT? - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Dear Dairy, you will have to be burned, I daresay. Perhaps it is as well. - I have p o r e d out my H-e-a-r-t—— - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bab: A Sub-Deb, by Mary Roberts Rinehart - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAB: A SUB-DEB *** - -***** This file should be named 366-h.htm or 366-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/366/ - -Produced by Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteers - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - 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. - - - -</pre> - </body> -</html> |