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diff --git a/48385-8.txt b/48385-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e8e9ced..0000000 --- a/48385-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7973 +0,0 @@ - SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES - - - - -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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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: Sylvia Arden Decides -Author: Margaret Rebecca Piper -Release Date: February 28, 2015 [EBook #48385] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - -[Illustration: Sylvia Arden] - - - - - SYLVIA ARDEN - DECIDES - - - BY - - MARGARET REBECCA PIPER - - AUTHOR OF - SYLVIA'S EXPERIMENT: THE CHEERFUL BOOK, (Trade Mark) - - SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP: THE SECOND CHEERFUL - BOOK, ETC. (Trade Mark) - - - - FRONTISPIECE BY - HASKELL COFFIN - - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS NEW YORK - - - - - _Copyright, 1917_, - BY THE PAGE COMPANY - - _All rights reserved_ - - First Impression, September, 1917 - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - -I Of Futures and Other Important Matters -II Reasons and Wraiths -III Twenty-Two -IV The Ways of a Maid -V September Afternoon -VI Of Missions, and Omissions -VII October Developments -VIII Fire and Frost -IX The Moth and the Star -X The City -XI Margins -XII "Such Stuff as Dreams" -XIII Into Haven -XIV "And Having Eyes" -XV The City and Sylvia -XVI As Might Have Been Expected -XVII Barb Diagnoses -XVIII The Cause and the Career -XIX Oh, Suzanne! -XX Sylvia and Life -XXI A Chapter of Revelations -XXII Unto the Forest -XXIII Aftermath -XXIV High Tide -XXV Warp and Woof -XXVI The End and the Beginning - - - - - *SYLVIA ARDEN - DECIDES* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *OF FUTURES AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS* - - -"I know what the trouble with Sylvia is," announced Suzanne, elevating -herself on one elbow and leaning forward out of the hammock just enough -to select and appropriate a plump bonbon from the box on the wicker -stand near by. - -"Well," encouraged Sylvia, "what _is_ the trouble with me?" - -At the moment as she stood leaning against the massive white pillar with -a smile on her lips and in her dark eyes, the sunshine glinting warm, -red-gold lights in her bronze hair, it seemed as if it would be hard -indeed to find any trouble with her so completely was she a picture of -radiant, joyous, care-free youth. - -Suzanne demolished her bonbon, then proceeded to expatiate on her -original proposition. - -"The trouble with you," she averred oracularly from her cushions, "is -that you are addicted to the vice of contentment." - -"Well, why shouldn't she be?" demanded Barbara from the depths of the -huge arm-chair which nearly swallowed her diminutive figure. "I'd like -to know who has a better right? Hasn't Sylvia this minute got -everything anybody in the world could want? If I had been born to live -on a hill top, like Sylvia, I'd never leave it." - -Suzanne sat up, brandishing a reproachful forefinger at the speaker. - -"Barbie Day! I am shocked at you. What would your Aunt Josephine say? -Sylvia, she must be packed off at once. She mustn't be allowed to stay -even for the party. The flesh pots have gone to her head. Another day -at Arden Hall will ruin her for the Cause." And, with a prophetic shake -of her head, Suzanne helped herself to a "Turkish Delight" and relaxed -among her cushions, the leaf green color of which, contrasting with the -pale pink of her gown, made her look rather like a rose, set in its -calyx. Suzanne was extraordinarily pretty, much prettier, in fact, than -was at all necessary for a young person of distinct literary bent and a -pronounced--audibly pronounced--distaste for matrimony. Thus Nature, -willfully prodigal, lavishes her gifts. - -"Speak for yourself," retorted Barbara with unusual spirit. "If the -flesh pots are ruining me they shall continue on their course of -destruction without let or hindrance until Wednesday next. I was born -poor, I have lived poor and I shall probably die poor, but I am not -above participating in the unearned increment when I get a heavenly -chance like this blessed week and if anybody says 'Votes for Women' to -me in the next five days he or she is likely to be surprised. I am -going to turn Lotus Eater for just this once. Don't disturb me." And -by way of demonstration Barb tucked one small foot up under her, -burrowed even deeper in the heart of the big chair and closed her eyes -with a sigh of complete satisfaction. - -In the meanwhile Sylvia had absentmindedly plucked a scarlet spray from -the vine which was swaying in the September breeze just above her head -and her eyes were thoughtful. Unwittingly, the others had stirred -mental currents which lay always fairly near the surface with her, -suggested problems which had been asserting themselves of late rather -continuously. The generous-hearted little schoolgirl Sylvia who had -wanted to gather all the lonely people in the world into her Christmas -family, the puzzled Sylvia who even five years ago had been tormented by -the baffling question why she had so much and others so little was still -present in the Sylvia of almost two and twenty who considered herself -quite grown up and sophisticated and possessed a college diploma. - -"I don't know that I am so viciously contented as you seem to think, -Suzanne," she said, "and I haven't the slightest intention of staying on -my hill top, as you mean it, Barb. But I can't just come down off it -and go tilting at windmills at random. I've got to know what my job is, -and I don't at all, at present--can't even guess at it. All the rest of -you girls had your futures neatly outlined and sub-topiced. Nearly -every one in the class knew, when she graduated last June, just what she -wanted to do or had to do next. Every one was going to teach or travel, -or 'slum' or study, or come out or get married. But poor me!" Sylvia -shrugged humorously, though her eyes were still thoughtful. "I haven't -any startling gifts or urgent duties. I haven't the necessity of -earning bread and butter, nor any special cause to follow. It is really -hopeless to be so--" She groped for a word then settled on -"unattached." - -"There is more than one male who would be willing to remedy that defect, -I'm thinking," chuckled Suzanne wickedly. "How about the person who -disburses these delectable bonbons? Won't he do for a cause?" - -"I am afraid not, the person being only Jack." - -"Only Jack, whom the mammas all smile upon and the daughters don their -fetchingest gowns and their artfullest graces for--quite the most -eligible young man in the market. Sylvia, you are spoiled if Jack -Amidon isn't good enough for you!" - -"I didn't say he wasn't good enough for me." Sylvia came over to the -table to provide herself with one of Jack's bonbons before seating -herself on the India stool beside the hammock facing out over the lawn. -"Jack is a dear, but I've known him nearly all my life, seems to me, and -even to oblige you it would be hard to get up any romantic thrills over -him." - -"Too bad!" murmured Suzanne, regretfully. "He is so good looking. You -two would look lovely prancing down the aisle together à la Lohengrin." - -"Suzanne!" Barb opened her eyes to expostulate. "You are so dreadfully -flippant. I don't believe anything is sacred to you." - -Suzanne laughed. "Maybe not," she admitted. Then she sat up abruptly to -add, "I forgot my Future. I have that shrined and canonized and burn -incense to it every night. It is the only thing in the world or out of -it I take seriously. I-am-going-to-write-plays." She thumped a plump -green cushion vigorously, allotting a single thump to each staccato -syllable. "I may not succeed this year or next year or in five years, -but some day I shall arrive with both feet. You two shall come and sit -in my first-nighter box and it will be _some_ play!" She vaunted -slangily, imparting a last emphatic punch upon the acquiescent cushion -before she relinquished it. - -"We'll be there," promised Sylvia. "I only wish I had convictions like -that about my Future. Mine is just a nebular hypothesis at present. How -about you, Barbie? Are you as certain about your Cause as Suzanne is -about her Career?" - -Barb uncurled herself to testify. "Not a bit," she sighed. "You see, -my Cause is a sort of inherited mantle, and I am never sure whether it -fits or not, though I never have the slightest doubt as to the propriety -of my attempting to wear it even if I have to take tucks in it." -Barbara's eyes crinkled around the corners in a way they had when she -was very much in earnest. "You know it has been understood all along -that I was to be Aunt Jo's secretary and general right-hand man as soon -as I graduated. That was what she educated me for. Of course I believe -in suffrage and all that. When I hear Aunt Jo talk I just get thrills -all up and down my spinal column and feel as strong as Samson making -ready to topple over the pillars, as if I could do anything and -everything to give women a chance. But when I get away from Aunt Jo I -cool off disgracefully. That is what makes me think sometimes it isn't -the real fire I have but a sort of surface heat generated by Aunt Jo's -extraordinary personal magnetism and fearful and wonderful vocabulary. -It worries me dreadfully sometimes." - -Barb's small, brown, child-like face puckered in perplexity and her blue -eyes blinked as if they beheld too much light. - -"It needn't," commented Suzanne sagely. "I know you. By the time you -have been flinging out the banner six weeks you will be white hot for -the Cause, especially if you can somehow manage to martyrize yourself -into the bargain. You would have made a perfect early Christian. I can -see you smiling with glad Pollyannaism into the faces of the abashed -lions." - -"Oh, Suzanne!" - -Barbara had spent many minutes all told during the past four years of -her college life saying, "Oh, Suzanne!" in precisely that shocked, -protesting, helpless tone. The two were the best of friends, but in -code of conduct and mode of thought they were the meeting extremes. - -"Aren't you going to prescribe for me now you have diagnosed my case?" -Sylvia came to the rescue. - -"I did prescribe, but you wouldn't swallow Mr. Jack Amidon, sugar-coated -pill though he is. How about your tawny-maned, giant, ex-football-hero -M.D.? He isn't so good looking as Jack but--" - -"I think he is much nicer looking," Barb interposed surprisingly, then -blushed and subsided. - -"Oho!" laughed Suzanne. "Better keep your eye on our Barbie if you want -to keep Doctor Philip Lorrimer on your waiting list, Sylvia. Such -unprecedented enthusiasm! And she has beheld him but once at that. Oh, -the witchery of that Commencement moon! I inadvertently nearly promised -to marry Roger Minot myself in its specious glamour. I'll wager our -demure Barbie flirted with your six-foot medicine man when you rashly -left him on her hands on the outskirts of Paradise. 'Fess up, Barb. -Didn't you flirt a teeny weeny little flirt in the moonshine?" - -"No, I didn't," denied Barbara, flushed and indignant. "But I did like -Doctor Lorrimer. He talked sense, and I was awfully interested in his -work in the free clinic." - -"Sense! Shop! By moonlight! Ye gods!" mocked Suzanne. "Never mind, -Barbie. Your tactics were admirable. Listen to 'em. Keep on listening -to 'em. It's what the sex likes. It gets 'em every time." - -"But I don't want to get 'em," protested Barbara earnestly. - -Whereupon Suzanne giggled and tossed her victim a silver sheathed bonbon -by way of reconciliation. Then she returned to her charge upon Sylvia, -who had sat silent during the last sally, meditatively playing with the -spray of scarlet creeper in her lap. - -"Sorry, Sylvia, belovedest. But I can't seem to think of a single -suitable job for you except matrimony. You are eminently fitted for -that." - -Sylvia looked up with an expression half mirthful, half dissenting. - -"Thanks. But at this juncture I don't happen to want to get married one -bit more than you do, which to judge from your protestations and your -treatment of poor Roger isn't much." - -"Right you are. No such 'cribb'd, cabin'd and confined' business as -matrimony for this child. What was the advice old Bacon cites as to when -a man should marry? 'A young man not yet, an elder man, not at all.' -Read woman for man and you have my sentiments in a nutshell." - -"Oh, Suzanne!" Thus the refrain from the big chair. But Sylvia only -laughed, knowing what Barbara seemed never to be able to learn, that -Suzanne rarely meant more than a half or at best a quarter of what she -said and thoroughly delighted in being iconoclastic, especially if the -idols made considerable noise smashing, as she would have put it -herself. - -"Look at your neighbor, Mrs. Doctor Tom." Suzanne warmed her to her -subject. "She used to write for all the best magazines and travel and -live the broadest, freest, splendidest kind of life. How does she put in -her time now? Eternally making rompers for Marjory, trying to keep -Thomas Junior's face clean and his vocabulary expurgated, seeing that -the dinner is warm and the cook's temper cool when Doctor Tom is late to -meals, and so on and so on to the end of the chapter. Only there isn't -any end to the chapter. It goes on forever like Tennyson's stupid -brook. Bah! Excuse me!" And Suzanne's gesture betokened insuperable -scorn for the ways of the wifely. - -"But Mrs. Daly looks as if she enjoyed doing all those things, and I -think it is lovely to have babies." There was a little wistful note in -Barb's voice as she made the statement. - -"H-mp! Maybe so. But I say it is a shame for anybody who could write -the way she could to give it up. Don't you, Sylvia?" - -"O dear!" groaned Sylvia. "Yes and no. Why do I always have to see both -sides of things? Lois _is_ happy. At least I think she is. You can't -always tell about Lois, she is so cool and serene and deep. Anyway, the -babies are lovely. But I can't help agreeing with you a little, -Suzanne. It does seem a pity." - -"Of course it is a pity. And there is your Felicia. She is another -case in point. She gave up her work and a fortune to marry a man who -lived just long enough to leave her with a big heartache to carry round -inside her and two children to provide immediate bread and butter for. -You can say what you like. I say it was too much of a price." - -"O, but, Suzanne, Marianna and Donald are such dears!" pleaded Barb. - -"Of course they are dears. They are adorable. But you can't deny they -have kept her back. She is just beginning to be a real sculptor after -all these years. And now she is beginning appears this Kinnard person -to spoil it all." - -Sylvia looked up a trifle startled. - -"What do you mean, Suzanne? Mr. Kinnard isn't spoiling anything. He is -helping. Felicia hasn't a bit of faith in herself. She never would -have thought of entering into that mural relief competition if he hadn't -made her. And I know her designs are going to be splendid. Mr. Kinnard -says they are, and he knows." - -Suzanne shrugged. - -"I fear the Greeks bearing gifts. No man ever gave a woman something -for nothing since time began. You'll see." - -"What shall I see?" - -"You might have seen the way he looked at your Felicia yesterday -afternoon. You needn't stare. She is the loveliest thing imaginable; -and, anyway, widows always marry again. They can't seem to help it. It -is in the system." - -"Oh, he looks at every woman. How can he help it with eyes like that? -He is much more likely to be wooing Hope. He has been sketching her all -summer and she makes lovely shy dryad eyes at him while he works. I -don't see how he can resist her myself, she is so deliciously pretty." - -"'A violet by a mossy stone.' Mr. Kinnard isn't looking for violets. -You'll see, as I said before." - -And in spite of her denial, Sylvia couldn't help wondering if there were -any truth in Suzanne's implications. She had accepted Stephen Kinnard -quite simply as Felicia had explained him, an old friend and fellow -artist of Paris days. He had been in Greendale nearly all summer doing -some sketches of Southern gardens for a magazine, and it had seemed -perfectly natural to Sylvia that he should come often up the hill to see -Mrs. Emory. They were both artists and had much in common beside their -old friendship. That any factors deeper than those which appeared on -the surface might be keeping Stephen Kinnard in Felicia's proximity had -not until the moment occurred to Sylvia. For a moment it flashed across -her mind how sadly Arden Hall would fare without Felicia who with the -dear "wonder babies" had come to help Sylvia keep Christmas nearly six -years ago and had remained in the old house ever since to its young -owner's infinite content and well being. - -"I never thought of Felicia's marrying again," she said after a moment -of silence. - -"Well, Stephen Kinnard has thought of it, if you haven't," pronounced -Suzanne. "By the way, he said a rather nice thing about you yesterday. -He said you had a genius for happiness." - -Sylvia smiled a little as her gaze strayed past the white pillars, past -the giant magnolia-tree lifting its shining leaves to the sun, past the -pink and white glory of cosmos and the dial beyond, dedicating itself -discreetly to none but sunny hours; beyond still farther to the clear -turquoise space of sky visible behind it all. - -"Being happy isn't much of an art when you can't help being it," she -said, her gaze and her thoughts coming back from their momentary -journey. - -"Oh, but he didn't mean just your being happy," put in Barb in her -quick, serious way. "He meant your way of making other people happy. -It's true. I noticed it often in college. But it is truer than ever -here. Everybody in Arden Hall is happy. It is like Shakespeare's -forest. It makes you feel different--not just only happy but better, -being here." - -"That is the house. It has been like that ever since I had my Christmas -family here. Of course, it is realty mostly Felicia. She is the -mainspring of it all. But we like to pretend there is something magic -about the house itself. You don't know how I love every stick and brick -of it. I have never had half enough of it. I have been in school so -much, I've only snatched a few vacations on the wing, as it were, and -even that only in the last few years since I captured Felicia. Ugh! -Nobody knows how I hated those dreadful holidays in hotels after Aunt -Nell died and I came to America. And nobody knows how I love this." -Her expansive gesture made "this" include house and lawn and magnolia -and pink and white bloom and sun dial and all the rest, perhaps even the -turquoise stretch of sky. "I've never had my fill of homeness," she -concluded. - -"Funny!" mused Suzanne. "Now, I don't want to be at home at all. -Norton is such a stuffy, snippy, gossipy, little town, and I loathe -being officially the 'parson's daughter.' Sometimes it used to seem to -me I'd rather throw myself in the river than go to another prayer -meeting and hear Deacon Derby drone out minute instructions to the Lord -as to how he should manage his business. And being home isn't so sweet -and simple as it seems either. I adore my mother, but we don't see two -things alike in the wide world. She likes the chairs stiff and straight -against the walls, just in the same position year in, year out. I like -'em at casual experimental angles, different every day. That is typical -of our two viewpoints. She likes things eternally straight and the -same. I like 'em eternally on the bias and different. We can't either -of us help it. We are made that way. And we're both more or less -miserable, whether we give in or whether we don't. Mother and Dad are -regular darlings, both of them, but I don't mean to stay at home with -them a bit more than I can help. They don't need me. They are perfectly -used to doing without me and are really much happier sans Suzanne. I -just stir things up and they like to snuggle down in their nice -comfortable ruts. I've got to live in New York. I'd smother in Norton, -Pa." - -"Roger doesn't seem to be smothering in Norton," Sylvia reminded her. -"Jack stopped over to see him last week and he said Roger was stirring -things up with a vengeance since he has been sitting among the city -fathers." - -"Oh, Roger!" Suzanne shrugged Roger away as entirely negligible. -"Roger Minot would stir things up in a graveyard. He likes to live in a -small town. I don't. The biggest city in the world isn't one bit too -big for me. New York for mine. Better change your mind, Sylvia, and -come on, too. There will be plenty of room in my garret. More room than -anything else probably. Aunt Sarah's legacy has its limits, more's the -pity. But come on and share my crust." - -"Maybe I will, temporarily. I've promised Jeanette Latham to visit her -next winter and I'll include you and Barb in my rounds if invited." - -"Jeanette Latham? Mrs. Francis VanDycke Latham? _The_ Mrs. Latham who -figures in 'Vanity Fair' and the Sunday supplement? The only Jack's -sister? There will be some contrast between visiting her and visiting -me. She inhabits a Duplex on the Drive, doesn't she? One of the -utterly utter." - -"That depends. Mr. Latham is awfully rich and old family, if that is -what you mean, and Jeanette does like to be at the extreme of -everything, but underneath all her dazzle and glitter she is really as -simple and genuine as Jack is. I like her, and she is Jack's favorite -sister." - -"Which helps," murmured Suzanne. "See here, Sylvia, if you once get -into that high society labyrinth you'll never get out." - -"Oh, yes I shall--unless the Minotaur gets me. I just want a bit of -Jeanette's kind of life to see what it is really like. In fact, I want -to try all kinds." - -Sylvia smiled as she spoke, but she meant her last assertion for all -that. Hers was an eager, active, questing temperament. She was avid -for life in its entirety, with a healthy zest for experience whose sword -blades rather than poppy seeds appealed to her just now, as is natural -with youth. The college world from which she had been recently -emancipated, full and various and strenuous as it had often been, had -never fully satisfied her free, quick, young spirit. She had always the -memory of those early rich years in Paris with her aunt from which to -draw comparison. She had once complained to Felicia that college was -too much like the Lady of Shallott's tower whose occupants perceived -life in a polished mirror instead of in direct contact. She was already -frankly a little tired of "shadows," ready for the real thing, whatever -that was. - -"Maybe I am glad I don't have to do any one thing," she continued. "All -through school you are so pushed and guarded and guided and instructed -you don't have half a chance to be yourself. I'm thankful for a -breathing space to find out who I really am." - -"Why, Sylvia! How funny!" puzzled Barb. "Don't you know all about -yourself?" - -"No, do you?" - -Barbara shook her head with a faint sigh. - -"Maybe not. Or, if I do, I don't let myself look at the real Barb for -fear--" She broke off and Suzanne intervened. - -"Well, I know all there is to know about Suzanne Morrison. I have taken -considerable pains to get acquainted, in fact. It is great to know -precisely what you want and that you are going to get it sooner or -later." Thus the sublime arrogance of the young twenties. - -"I wish I did!" said Sylvia quickly. - -"Which?" - -"Both," parried Sylvia. - -But Barb, who was watching her, was aware of something in her friend's -face which she could not quite fathom. Was it possible there was -anything in the world Sylvia Arden wanted and could not have? It was a -startling thought to Barb, who was accustomed to considering Sylvia as -the Princess of all the Heart's Desires. - -Just then the Japanese gong from within sent out its silver-tongued -invitation. With the alacrity of the healthily hungry and heart-free -the three friends rose, the conclave ended, consigning to temporary -oblivion Causes, Careers and all Concomitant Problems. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *REASONS AND WRAITHS* - - -Mrs. Emory laid down her sewing on the porch table and rose to greet -Stephen Kinnard, a tall, lean man with a rather angular but interesting -face, with hair slightly graying on the temples, and remarkably -beautiful eyes, slate-gray shot with tiny topaz colored flecks, eyes -which as Sylvia said "looked" at women. They looked now, which was -scarcely strange considering how beautiful Felicia Emory was at -thirty-three. - -"Will you have tea?" inquired Felicia. - -"Thanks, no." He shook his head with a humorous gesture. "I've taken -tea at the Oriole Inn--almost forcible feeding, in fact. It seems they -are serving a new kind of sandwich to-day and Sylvia waylaid me and -insisted on trying it on the dog so to speak. She and Suzanne and -Barbara and Martha and Hope all stood by to watch the effect. I was -never so nervous in my life. May I smoke to calm my spirit?" - -Felicia nodded assent and sat down, resuming her sewing. - -"I am glad to see you still survive," she said, as he lit his cigarette -and dropped into a near-by chair. - -"Oh, yes, I still survive. It was really an excellent sandwich in its -way, though I should hate to have to pass an examination on its -contents. It was one of Sylvia's inventions it seems. Tell me, does -she have the whole Hill on her hands? First it's a garden party at -'Hester house,' Sylvia at the helm; then it is the Byrd sisters who have -to be petted or scolded or braced, or a patient of Doctor Tom's who -needs attention, or his babies that have to be story-told to, or -Marianna and Donald who have to have her assistance in a dramatic -performance of Lord Ullin's Daughter. I heard her shouting 'I'll -forgive your Highland Chief' yesterday while the kids eloped in the -hammock, amidst high billows, I judge from the way the boat was rocking. -To-day it is the Oriole Inn sandwich. She is a most remarkable young -person, this Sylvia of yours, with a most insatiable energy." - -"She is, indeed," agreed Felicia heartily. "The Hill can hardly get -along without Sylvia. We all mope and get selfish and lazy, what she -calls 'rutty' when she is away from it. I am so glad she is home for -keeps now. The Hill is never quite the same without her." - -"But she won't stay on it forever," warned Stephen Kinnard. "She is a -live wire--that young lady. She isn't going to be content to settle -down on even so lovely a hill as hers. Also she is more than likely to -get married." - -"I suppose so," sighed Felicia. - -"What a lugubrious tone to vouchsafe to the holy state!" he teased. - -"It isn't the holy state in itself. It is Sylvia. I hate to have her -get grown up and married and settled down. I'd like to keep things just -as they are for awhile. The dread of changes seems to grow on me as I -get old." - -Felicia smiled as she made the statement but there was genuine feeling -behind it. - -"Would you dread change for yourself?" - -"For myself? I don't know. I wasn't thinking especially about myself." - -"Do you ever?" - -"Not oftener than is agreeable. I am getting to be a very placid, -settled sort of person. That is the comfort of being in the thirties. -You don't expect so much of life. Now, ten years ago if I had been -thinking of submitting designs for a competition I should have been -frightfully excited. Now, I think I would almost rather not win, which -is fortunate considering how little chance there is of my doing so." - -"There is all the chance in the world," objected Stephen. "You need a -little of the virus of vanity instilled into you. Felicia, do you -remember back there in Paris when old Regnier used to insist you had -more talent than any man in his class?" - -Felicia tranquilly snipped off her thread and admitted that she -remembered. - -"And do you remember how he raved when you told him you were going to -marry Syd?" - -Felicia nodded. She remembered that, too; remembered also, though she -did not say so, how she had smiled at the old master's ravings, sure -that love would prove no hindrance to her art, sure that she and Sydney -would work and achieve fame together. She had not dreaded changes in -those days. She had welcomed them, taken risks blithely, unafraid. And -there had been risks. Her aunt had raved also, to more purpose than the -Master, and in a moment of rage had changed her will, cutting off from -inheritance the willful girl who chose to reject the French count her -judicious relative had selected for her and insisted on marrying instead -a penniless artist. The loss of her inheritance had seemed to Felicia -at the time a trifle light as air, quite as irrelevant indeed as the -Master's gloomy prediction as to the eternal incompatibility of art and -matrimony. All these things she had thrown into the scales with love in -the opposite balance and love had weighed immeasurably heaviest. - -There had followed a few years of idyllic happiness. Though with the -coming of the babies the art she loved had been temporarily suspended; -both she and her husband promised themselves eagerly that it was only a -suspension, that she would go back to it again as soon as Marianna and -Brother were just a little older. But before Marianna and Brother were -much older Felicia was left alone with a "big heartache to carry round -inside her and two children to provide immediate bread and butter for," -as Suzanne had put it. And so the old dreams had been thrust out of -sight, and the young woman whom the Master pronounced to have possessed -more talent than twenty talented young men, fell to earning a living for -herself and her little folk by painting place cards and Christmas -greetings and calendars and such like small ilk. All this drifted in -retrospect through Felicia Emory's mind as she bent over her sewing, and -something in the droop of her mouth touched Stephen as he perceived it. -Impulsively he threw away his cigarette and leaned forward letting his -hand touch hers. - -"Felicia, forgive me! I didn't mean to hurt you." - -"You didn't. It just came back to me for a moment how fearfully young -and happy and ignorant I was in those days. But with all the wisdom -I've garnered since, if I had it to do over again, I suppose I should -travel precisely the same road. Isn't it queer, Stephen? Don't you -feel that way about the past, too?" - -"No, my road was too devilish rough. I'd like it different." - -Felicia looked up, surprised both at his words and the unusual passion -in his voice. - -"Do you suppose I have ever forgotten I didn't get what I wanted? -Felicia, I loved you before Syd ever saw you." - -"I know. I'm sorry. I was always sorry. You know that, Stephen." - -"You needn't be. Loving you made a man of me, though it did make the -road rough. Things had come my way rather too easily up to that time. -Syd was the better man. I always owned that." - -"You were fine, Stephen. I've never forgotten how fine. And Sydney -cared more for you than for any one else in the world--barring us." She -smiled a little and her eyes strayed out to the magnolia tree beneath -whose generous shade Marianna and Donald were laboriously engaged in the -construction of a kite with much chatter and argument. - -"Felicia." - -"Yes?" - -"Are you so afraid of change you wouldn't risk beginning over -again--with me?" - -Felicia's sewing dropped in her lap and her blue eyes opened wide with -surprise and consternation as she looked up to meet his dark, eager -eyes. - -"Stephen!" - -"Well? Is it so impossible to conceive? Haven't you guessed I was going -to ask it sooner or later?" - -"No. Oh, Stephen, I wish you hadn't." - -"Why? I don't expect the same kind of love you gave Syd. You couldn't -give it, of course. That is past. But you are too young to have life -stop altogether for you--too young and too lovely. Other men will ask it -if I don't, and I--well, I want to get in ahead." He laughed boyishly, -but his eyes, which were grave enough, never left her face. "Is there -any reason you couldn't say yes?" he asked. - -"I am afraid there are many. One of them--rather two of them--are out -under the tree at present." - -His gaze followed her gesture. - -"Are they really a reason? I love the kiddies and they like me. Surely -it would be no injustice nor detriment to them. Why should it?" - -"Not to them--rather to you--to any man I married. They are a very -piece of me. They are me. If there ever came to be a decision between -them and--well, call the man you--I should decide for them. Is that -fair to you? Would you risk it?" - -"Willingly. Why should there be any decision or division? What do you -think I am? If I marry you I marry them too. I am crazy over children. -I've always wanted them." - -"Exactly," said Felicia quietly. "That would be part of the injustice -to you. I don't want children. Marianna and Donald are enough." - -"So they would be for me. Felicia, can't you understand, I want nothing -except what you want--what will make you happy? Is there any other -reason?" - -"Yes, she is coming up the Hill now." - -He turned quickly and saw Sylvia, with her friends on either side, just -going up the path which led to the door of the Byrd sisters preparatory -to an afternoon call. - -"What nonsense!" He turned back to Felicia to protest. "Sylvia would -be the last to stand in the way of your happiness." - -"Oh, I know that. But listen, Stephen. You accused me of not -understanding a moment ago. Now it is you who do not understand. Do you -know what Sylvia has been to me all these years? No, you couldn't -possibly know. No man could. Six years ago I was weary almost unto -death, and discouraged with a weight of hopelessness which was beginning -to make even the children seem a burden. That Christmas was the -blackest time of all the months since Sydney went. I tell you honestly -it didn't seem as if I could go on with it all. I was too near the -breaking point. And then straight out of the delightful good fairyland -where she lives came Sylvia begging me to be her Christmas sister and -bring the babies to round out her magic Christmas circle. I believe it -was Sylvia's smile and Sylvia's pleading eyes that began to heal the -hurt in me then and there. I have had lonely moments since, of course, -and some black ones, too, but they have never been so bad since that -Christmas. Do you wonder that next to my own children I care more for -Sylvia and her happiness than for anything else in the world?" - -Stephen shook his head soberly, trying his best to understand since she -desired it. - -"After the Christmas family scattered I came to be what Sylvia calls her -homekeeper and that I have been for over five years now. You can see a -little what it has meant to me to have a home like Arden Hall for the -children to grow up in instead of a cramped city apartment with no -outdoors except public parks to play in. It has made all the difference -in the world to them and to me, body, mind and soul. I couldn't have -been half a mother to them the way I was working and living. And all of -this we owe to Sylvia." - -"But you have rendered good measure. You have given her a home no less -than she has given you one. It has been a fair exchange." - -"I know. It has meant almost as much to Sylvia as it has to me. It has -given us both what we wanted most. I don't pretend it hasn't been give -and take. It has. But this one year is the one of all the six since -I've known Sylvia that she needs me most. I wouldn't fail her now for -anything." - -"And they say women have no sex loyalty," muttered Stephen Kinnard. -"See here, Felicia, do you realize you have as good as accepted me?" - -"Accepted you! I have been refusing you with reasons for fifteen -minutes." Felicia's serene voice was a bit ruffled and there was a -flush in her cheeks. - -"You've been giving reasons, I grant you, but not refusal. Look at me, -Felicia. If there weren't any Marianna and Donald and Sylvia in the -world wouldn't you say this minute, 'Stephen, I'll marry you just as -soon as you can get the license'? No quibble now. Honest." - -Felicia laughed softly and her flush deepened. - -"If there weren't any Marianna and Donald and Sylvia in the world I -should be so desperately lonesome I should tell the first man that asked -me I would marry him as soon as he could get the license, but seeing -that there are Marianna and Donald and Sylvia, not only in the world but -on this very Hill, I am not in the least lonesome and quite satisfied -with my mothering-sistering job, thank you." - -"Then it is really no?" - -The mirth died out of her eyes at the gravity of his tone. - -"Yes, Stephen. I am sorry, but it is really no. Aside from Sylvia and -the children there would always be Sydney. You are too fine to be a -second best, Stephen, dear. Do go and find somebody who is fresher and -younger and less--tired than I am." - -At her words there rose to both their minds a vision of Hope Williams' -dainty, wild rose beauty and wistful "dryad" eyes. Stephen had been -sketching her only that morning in the Oriole Inn garden and every line -of her exquisite, fragile, flower-like face and lithe, graceful young -body was in his head still. And Felicia had more than once surprised an -unforgettable expression in Hope's eyes when the artist had come -suddenly into the girl's presence. Hope was young, younger than Sylvia, -and Stephen Kinnard was forty. But he was of the eternally young type -of man, brimming over with that inexplicable, irresistible thing we call -charm, and his years abroad had stamped him with a picturesque, foreign -quality which was sure to appeal to the romantic fancy of youth. One -ardent gaze from those strange, gold-flecked eyes of his had no doubt -been enough to set many a maid dreaming ere this, and he had been kind -to Hope, perhaps more than kind for all Felicia knew. - -But already the vision of Hope had vanished from Stephen's mind. He saw -only the mature grace and loveliness of the woman who had long ago been -the one fixed star of his errant youth and to whom he now brought the -homage of ripened manhood. - -"I don't want anybody in the smallest particular different from -yourself, sweet Lady Love. Don't worry though," as he saw her troubled -eyes. "I am not going to pester you. I shall take myself off to-morrow -but I shall come back and some day I shall surprise you in a lonely hour -and you will say, 'Stephen, do hurry and get the license.'" - -Seeing his whimsical, reassuring smile, Felicia smiled back, half -relieved, and indeed not quite knowing how much of it all had been in -earnest; glad, at all events, to have him slip back so easily into the -familiar channels of friendliness. - -And just then the girls, having finished their call, came gayly -chattering up the walk, demanding of Stephen whether he had suffered any -ill effects from the experimental sandwich he had so manfully -encountered. And amidst the general confusion of talk and laughter -Stephen rose to take his departure, giving no hint of finality about his -leave taking, except a slightly lengthened clasp of Felicia's hand and a -steady gaze into her blue eyes. Consequently the girls, at least, were -considerably surprised the next day to receive three boxes of sweet peas -each with Stephen Kinnard's card, rose pink for Suzanne, shell pink for -Barb, delicate lavendar for Sylvia. Sylvia's box also contained a -charming little note thanking the girl for her summer's hospitality and -regretting that the writer was called out of town without opportunity -for formal farewells. For Felicia had come violets, but no word at all, -not even a card. - -"H-m-m," murmured the astute Suzanne, when the girls were alone, "Called -out of town, indeed! Needn't tell me. Your Felicia didn't have such a -becoming extra bloom yesterday for nothing. You are safe for the -present, Sylvia. She evidently dismissed him." - -Down the Hill, at the Oriole Inn, Hope and Martha Williams reigned in -the absence of the young proprietor who since her grandmother's death -had been traveling in Europe with the Armstrongs, her sister Constance -and her husband, Sylvia's erstwhile gardener. And to the Oriole Inn -also came flowers, dainty, half-open, pink rosebuds nestled in -maidenhair fern. Came also a brotherly affectionate note of thanks and -adieu from the artist. - -"The sketches are bound to be a success," he wrote, "for you are the -very spirit of Southern gardens, the veriest rose of them all." So he -had put it, poet fashion, and Hope, with fluttering pink and white in -her cheeks, ran off to enjoy her treasures in happy solitude, leaving -her sister Martha stolidly measuring lengths for the new dining-room -curtains. No one had ever sent roses to Martha in all her life. Nor -had any one ever written poet lines about her or to her. She was not -that kind, as she would herself have explained. But it was not that -that brought a wry twist to her lips and a worried look to her eyes as -she bent over her work. - -"Why couldn't he a been a little meaner to her?" she demanded of the -curtains. "'Twould have been a whole lot kinder than being kind." - -In which theory she unconsciously paraphrased the words of a person she -had never heard of, another perturbed guardian of another flower-like -maid, the Lily Maid of Astolat. Of Launcelots and Elaines there are a -plenty in this somewhat uneconomical world. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *TWENTY-TWO* - - -"Please, Felicia. Look at me. Am I all right?" - -Mrs. Emory turned from her mirror before which she had been adjusting a -last hairpin in her blond hair and smiled at the radiant vision which -hovered on her threshold. But before she had time to render verdict the -vision ceased to be stationary and became before her eyes a vivid, -ecstatic flash and whirl of white chiffon and silver. - -"Bless us, child!" laughed Felicia. "You are as bad as Marianna. How -can I tell anything about you when you are spinning like a Dervish? You -look as if you might float out the window any minute and join the moon -sprites." - -Sylvia laughed, too, and came to a halt, though one silver slipper -paused tip toe as if it scorned prosaic levels and held itself ready for -further airy revolutions. - -"And leave my birthday party! Not much! The moon sprites shan't get me -to-night. Honest, Felicia, I just can't keep still. I'm too alive." - -The chiffons and silver began to shimmer and quiver again in testimony -and Felicia smiled understandingly. But even as she smiled she felt a -sharp little pang--the pang of chastened maturity for exuberant youth. -A vagrant bit of verse flashed through her mind. - - "Pity that ever the jubilant springs should fail at their flow - And that youth so utterly knowing it not should one day know." - - -Yes, that was the pity. Here was Sylvia Arden, glad, and young, and -free, smiling into the future with fearless eyes, challenging -experience. Must she too, one day know? At any rate, the hour of too -much knowing was as yet afar off. At twenty-two Sylvia was still very -close to the jubilant springs. But even as she reached this comforting -conclusion Felicia saw the girl's eyes grow sober. - -"Felicia, sometimes I think it's a dreadful thing to grow up. Life is -so fearfully complex somehow. All sorts of questions jump out and 'Boo' -at you from behind every tree." - -"What kind of questions?" - -"Oh, all kinds!" Sylvia dropped down on the low window seat, like a -bird suddenly alighting, and clasped her hands around her knees in -reckless disregard of her billowing chiffons. "I'm a little afflicted -with socialism and that is a sad disease for a person who has as much -money as I have. But that isn't all. I am so at sea about so many -things, and there are so many strings pulling in all directions. -Suzanne thinks New York is the only place in the world to really live in -and she wants me to come and live with her and study or do something. -She doesn't think it matters much what, so long as I breathe New York, -and Barb is nearly as bad. They are both full of up-to-date notions and -they think I'm just going to slip behind if I stay here and maybe I -shall. I can see pretty easily how I could. Everybody here expects me -to do the regular coming out performance, teas and dinners and balls and -the rest, with maybe a little discreet charity work thrown in, and -possibly a paper on art or ethics for the literary club. You know what -Greendale is. The Gordons want me to go to Japan with them and Hilda -wants me to join her in Berlin, or did before the war. Goodness knows -where she is now. I haven't heard since July. And--well, there are -other things." - -Felicia quite understood that Jack Amidon might possibly be another -string pulling the girl. It was no secret from the Hill, and certainly -not from the wise-eyed "Big Sister," that that devoted, persistent and -"magerful" young man had every intention of storming Sylvia's hill top -and carrying off its princess if such a feat were humanly possible. - -"And you don't want to do any of these things?" - -Sylvia smiled dubiously. - -"Oh, yes, a little of me wants to do all those things. But the most of -me wants to stay right here at Arden Hall and do nothing particular. -I'd like a kind of year o' grace I think. I don't seem to have any -especial ambitions nor desires except to learn to live as broad and deep -and quick as I can." She shifted her position slightly and looked out -into the night where her beloved rose garden lay in magical moonlight -and shadow and a faint sigh escaped her, born of the very beauty, -poignant almost as pain, so quick was her response to it. Suddenly she -turned back and her eyes smiled at Felicia. - -"Life's funny, isn't it?" she said, springing up. "Felicia, what ever in -the world should I do without you?" She eyed a little sternly the bunch -of violets Felicia was wearing, a fresh bunch which had arrived that -day. "Felicia, Mr. Kinnard isn't--you aren't--?" - -Felicia laughed. - -"Your observations lack a certain finished coherence but I assure you I -am not, nor is he--at least, not seriously." - -"I'm so glad!" sighed Sylvia. "I know I'm a pig but I should simply -hate Stephen Kinnard if I thought he were going to carry you off, and I -should hate to hate him he is so exceedingly nice. I wish he could have -stayed for the party to-night. Oh me! We ought to be downstairs this -blessed minute. _Am_ I all right, Felicia? You never did tell me." -And Sylvia whirled around to the mirror for a last critical survey. -Felicia, whose eyes also sought the reflected figure in the glass, -thought she had never seen the girl lovelier than she was to-night in -all her shimmering bravery of white and silver. But there was always -something more than mere prettiness about Sylvia, something which seemed -to shine from within out. She was so exquisitely alive like the fire in -the heart of an opal or a jet of pure flame. - -"Aren't you coming, Syl?" Suzanne's voice called from the hall as she -knocked and entered almost simultaneously, followed by Barbara. - - "'The feast is set, - The guests are met. - May'st hear the merry din.'" - -she chanted gayly, looking more impishly charming even than usual in her -beruffled corn yellow taffeta, which set off her sparkling brunette -beauty to perfection. "Do come down quick and get the hand shaking over -so we can begin to dance. It is a shame to waste a moment of that -heavenly music. And here's Barb just dying to get to cracking the hearts -of the Greendale swains. Look at her. Behold my handiwork. She even -let me apply the faintest soupçon of Nature's sweet reënforcer. Madame -Delphine's Parisian Bloom. Isn't she adorable? Barbie, my child, -revolve for the ladies." - -"Oh, Suzanne!" The roses in Barb's cheeks needed no further -reënforcement at the moment. "Do please rub it off. It's dreadful. -Does it show, Sylvia? She would do it." - -"Nothing shows except that you're the cunningest mite I ever laid eyes -on," approved Sylvia. "Felicia, do look at her. Doesn't she look -precisely like one of Marianna's dolls? In that darling white baby -dress and blue sash to match her eyes, would you ever suspect her of -being a Summa cum Laude and a frightfully new woman?" - -"You all look new enough when it comes to that," laughed Felicia. "You -haven't a notion how young you really are. Now, shoo, every one of you. -I'll follow as soon as I have rounded up Donald and Marianna." - -It was a rather heterogeneous assembly which met at the Hall that night, -as Sylvia's parties were apt to be. The guests ranged from "Grandpa -McIntosh," getting to be rather an old gentleman these days but still -hale and a little crusty as became a good Scotchman, down to little Mary -Lane, the youngest, shyest member of the "Hester house" family which -continued to hold its hospitable doors open to those who needed a home -"with some one to care" as Sylvia had stipulated from the beginning. - -Marianna, still fairy-like, in spite of her eleven-year-old dignity, -flitted happily among the guests feeling delightfully grown up and -important, but Donald, younger and shyer, boyishly conscious of his -hands and feet, slipped into unobtrusive corners save for the rare -moments when he could squeeze into an empty space beside his mother. - -Of course the Hill was all there, Miss Priscilla, and Miss Rosalie and -Julietta feasted their eyes delightedly on Sylvia, telling every one who -would listen what a very picture of her Aunt Eleanor Arden the child -was, rapturously reminiscent of other days and other parties when they, -too, like Arden Hall were younger than at present, and Doctor Tom and -Lois were there also, rallying each other on being such old fogies that -a party was an event and the new dances utterly beyond their ken. - -"Hester house" was present too in full force, including Mrs. Lorrimer -and all the family of girls who had the luck to be mothered by her -skillful hands and warm heart. All kinds of girls they were, big and -little, pretty and plain, stupid and clever, but all of the workaday -world and all otherwise homeless, united by one common bond, a warm -adoration for Sylvia through whom they felt themselves linked to the -world of their rosiest dreams. Sylvia would no more have omitted them -from her list of guests on this birthday celebration than she would have -omitted the Byrds or Doctor Tom. To be of the Hill was open sesame to -Sylvia's favor, and moreover these girls were every one of them her -personal friends and she wanted them here for their own sakes. - -Hope and Martha, too, had come up from the Oriole Inn, the former still -a little inarticulate and somber but happily having lost the old-young, -pinched look about the mouth and the bitterness about the eyes which had -been hers that night in Sylvia's garden when she had charged the owner -so sternly with possessing "Hundreds of roses when Hope hasn't even -one;" a charge which Sylvia had never since been able to forget for -long. It was to her a symbol of the mesh of inequality and injustice of -the world in which she herself was caught and struggled. For Sylvia -wanted to share her roses. She always had wanted to, as Martha had long -since learned. Hope was even sweeter and lovelier at twenty than she -had been at fifteen, still a little frail in appearance though perfectly -well. This summer there was an added grace about her, a sort of -suppressed joyousness, a glow which transformed her rather ethereal -charm into an even more appealing human guise. During the sunny summer -days past when Stephen Kinnard had been using her as the incarnation of -gardens, Hope herself had bloomed from a shy bud of a rose into a -half-blown flower, though perhaps only Martha's keen, devoted eyes saw -what had happened. - -Professor Lane and his wife, Sylvia's original "Christmas Mother," were -unfortunately unable to be present, though they sent warm greetings and -hearty congratulations from the Western university to which the -professor had recently been called. With them, too, was Elizabeth, also -of the original famous family, who had come of late to be almost like a -daughter in their childless home. - -Gus Nichols was here, however, a slim, dark youth, extremely quiet, -though not in the least awkward; unobtrusive, grave, giving the -impression somehow of banked fires behind those solemn dark eyes of his, -which followed Sylvia Arden wherever she passed. Though Gus was -thoroughly American in dress and manner and articulation, the trail of -his Italian ancestry was upon him. Even after all these years he looked -"different," an odd contrast to the grim conservative old man, Angus -McIntosh, whose adopted son and idol he was. Gus had been studying -abroad for several years, had indeed just returned to America, ready to -start his career on the concert stage. If this profession elected by -the boy were at all a bitter pill for the old Scotchman to swallow he -made no protest about it and had even furthered the lad's ambition. Mr. -McIntosh was not one to indulge in half-way measures and Sylvia had long -since driven home her point that if he was to transform Gus Nichols, -office boy, into Augustus Nichols, his adopted son, he had no right to -change the currents of the boy's being in the process. He quite -understood that if Gus "had to play the music that was in him," he _had_ -to. That was the end of it. Angus McIntosh was enough of a -predestinarian to perceive that. At any rate, Sylvia and her Christmas -family had inoculated the fast hardening old man with a certain infusion -of human tolerance and human understanding and he had all the reward for -his kindness that he desired and more in the boy's usually silent but -none the less deep gratitude and devotion. - -Other friends there were of Greendale and the near-by city, assembled to -do honor to the young mistress of Arden Hall who had at last come home -to take her place among them no longer a half-fledged school girl, but a -poised and very lovely young woman. - -"I suppose you will be marrying her off next," observed Mr. McIntosh -curtly, with bent brows, to Mrs. Emory who chanced to be standing near -by as Sylvia sped past in Jack Amidon's arms. - -"Not I," smiled Felicia. "I should be sorry to have her marry for a -year or so yet. One is young such a very short time in this world at -best. I should like to keep her just as she is for awhile if I could." - -"You'll have some trouble doing it unless you muzzle that young man, I'm -thinking." The speaker frowned thoughtfully at Jack Amidon's back. "I -suppose that is what most people would call a suitable match, eh?" he -wheeled on Felicia to ask. - -"I suppose so," admitted Felicia. - -"H-mp!" snorted her companion. "Most people are fools." - -Whether fools or not there were plenty of people to note with interest, -pleasure or alarm, according to their several viewpoints, when as the -music ceased Sylvia stepped through the French window into the balcony -beyond, followed by Jack Amidon. Perhaps more than one guest would have -echoed Suzanne's verdict that Sylvia was spoiled indeed if Jack Amidon -were not good enough for her; handsome, debonair, thoroughly charming as -he was. Health, wealth, good looks and good old family on both sides. -What more could be desired? Who but a canny old Scotchman would have -"H-mped" in the face of such a very obviously appropriate combination? -Yet Sylvia herself was still to be reckoned with; Sylvia who wore her -heart on her sleeve as little now as in the old St. Anne days, Sylvia, -who wanted to learn to live as broad and deep and quick as she could. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *THE WAYS OF A MAID* - - -"You look mighty sweet and cool and moonshiny!" - -Jack stooped to draw Sylvia's scarf about her bare shoulders with the -protecting chivalrous touch which was characteristic of him. His -ancestors had been cavaliers and none of them all knew better than he -the art of little, tender, intimate, endearing ways which women--even -new women--love. The ardently adoring expression in his eyes was also -characteristic. Jack Amidon's eyes were accustomed to looking adoring. -He could no more help making love to a pretty girl than he could have -been rude to an ugly one. It was constitutional. To do him justice, -however, this time the adoration came from rather deep. There had been -girls and girls in his life but never but one Sylvia. - -"Ah, but it's good to have you home for good and all." And he let his -hands rest for a moment on her shoulders as he spoke and permitted the -ardentness of his eyes to deepen. - -But Sylvia slipped away from his hands and his too eloquent gaze. She -turned to rest her hands on the railing and look down at the fountain -which flashed and gurgled pleasantly below in the moonlight. Perhaps -she knew that all the summer day playing had been leading up to this -night, that a serious question was likely to "Boo" at her at any minute -unless she could keep it at a safe distance, which as Jack's eyes just -now betrayed was not going to be so easy. - -"I am not sure I _am_ home--for good and all," she said, still with her -eyes on the fountain. "I have to find something to do. Just being -'out' isn't going to satisfy me. I have to be in something or rather. -I am looking for a Cause," she turned back to him with a smile to add. - -Jack dropped on the railing by her side and bent his handsome head until -it was very near the girl's. - -"Won't I do--for a Cause?" he asked, unconsciously echoing Suzanne. - -Sylvia smiled. - -"Scarcely. I am afraid you are more like an effect." - -"An effect!" - -"You are a fearful example of what I don't want to be and what I am -bound to be if I don't watch out." - -"What?" - -Sylvia paused for a word, then, "A derelict," she pronounced. - -Jack's head went up quickly, his self-complacency shattered for the -moment. Sylvia's word had stung. - -"Do I honestly remind you of anything so--dilapidated, not to say -rotten?" he asked. - -Sylvia caught the hurt sound in his voice and looked up, taking in at a -glance his wholesome, young vigor, his essential cleanness and fineness. -Excellent things these in themselves as the girl knew, though she asked -for more. - -"No," she admitted. "It wasn't a good figure after all. You are more -like a freshly rigged, beautifully appointed yacht, without a rudder or -a pilot, going nowhere--anywhere." - -Jack settled back on the railing with a shrug. - -"Same old Sylvia! You always did hit straight from the shoulder. What -do you want me to do? There is more money in the family now than is good -for us. What's the infernal use of my scrapping and scrambling for -more? I'm a nincompoop at the business anyway." - -"Then for goodness' sake find one you aren't a nincompoop at," retorted -Sylvia. - -"Easier said than done, young woman." - -"Oh, I know," relented his mentor. "I haven't any right to preach till -I find my own job." - -"You! Girls don't need a job. Their job is to look pretty and get -married." - -Sylvia frowned at that. - -"Heretic! That's not twentieth-century lingo. You are positively -mediæval. I shall set Barb on you." - -Jack smiled. - -"Barb knows it's true just as well as I do for all her theories. She -would marry the right man in a minute if he turned up and forget the -suffrage stuff. She's by all odds the most domestic of the three of -you." - -Sylvia looked thoughtful. She remembered Barb's opinion about the -"loveliness" of having babies and wondered. For all his inconsequence -Jack had a somewhat startling habit at times of getting beneath the -surface of things. She suspected he had hit upon a truth now but would -not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the fact. Therefore she -said nothing, and her silence gave her companion the opening he had been -waiting for. He had not brought Sylvia out in the moonlight to talk -"twentieth-century lingo." - -"You didn't wear my orchids," he observed irrelevantly, at least -irrelevantly to everything except his ardent eyes. From the beginning -his eyes had been talking a language older than that of feminism. - -"I didn't wear anybody's flowers. I had too many." - -"And I am not different from just anybody?" There was a caressing, -proprietary note in his voice. "Sylvia, sweetheart, you _know_ I am." - -Sylvia faced him and the issue then, aware that she could fend no -longer. - -"Of course you are different, Jack. I've known you so much longer than -the rest, but--I am afraid you are not different in the way you want me -to say it. Please, Jack, don't spoil what we have by asking too much." -Impulsively she put out her hand and let it rest on his. "Can't we keep -on being--just friends?" She pleaded after the immemorial fashion of -woman. - -"I'm afraid not. You see, I don't want to be just friends. I want a -whole lot more as it happens. I know I'm not much good, but I could be -with you at the helm. You could do anything with me. You always could. -Oh, Sylvia, wouldn't you try it? Couldn't you?" He stooped and lifted -her hand to his lips. "Sylvia, isn't there any hope?" he implored, all -his boy's heart in his eyes. - -Sylvia couldn't help being stirred deeply. When one is loved it is not -so hard to believe one loves in return and the call of youth and life is -strong. But for both their sakes she steadied herself knowing the time -was not ripe for yielding, if, indeed, it ever would be. This was one -of the things among others that she was at sea about. She was not yet -sure she knew herself, as she had told her friends. - -"I am afraid there isn't--much," she said gently, apropos of his word -_hope_. - -His hand clinched. - -"Sylvia, is there any one else?" - -She shook her head hastily, but her eyes fell beneath his penetrating -gaze. - -"It isn't--Sylvia, it isn't Phil?" - -Sylvia's head went up and there was a flash in her brown eyes, a deeper -flush on her cheeks. - -"It is nobody. Jack, you haven't any right to ask that," she rebuked -him hotly. - -"Sorry," he apologized. "Consider it unasked." "So it is old Phil," he -thought. - -"I don't want to marry anybody--not for a long, long time," Sylvia went -on swiftly. "Anyway, I couldn't marry anybody who was just a boy. I've -got to marry a _man_." In her confusion Sylvia hit hard again; harder -perhaps than she really meant. - -Jack rose and made one or two quick turns tip and down the balcony. -Then he came to a halt before Sylvia. - -"Maybe I deserve that," he said soberly. "No doubt I do. See here, -Sylvia, if I can show you I am a man, will it help any?" - -Sylvia hesitated. It would help a great deal and she knew it. And yet -could she promise anything while she was still so uncertain of herself? -Had she any right to hold out any hope? - -"Sweetheart, wouldn't there be any chance for me?" he pleaded. - -"I don't know," said Sylvia honestly. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm all in a -muddle myself. I do care a lot. How could I help it? You are always -so dear and nice to me, and you are so twisted up with so many of the -happiest times I've ever had I couldn't help caring. But it isn't -enough at present, and I am not at all sure it ever could be enough of -the right kind. We are awfully good playmates, but there is more ahead -for both of us than play. At least I hope there is. Anyway, I don't -want to belong to anybody but myself for awhile." - -"I'll wait. I'll work like the devil. I'll do anything if you'll only -say there is the slightest shadow of a chance." - -Sylvia couldn't help smiling at the boyishness of his protestations, -earnest as they were and touching in their unwonted humility. She shook -her head. - -"That is all there is--just a shadow of a chance. I'm sorry it isn't -more. Truly I am. And don't--please, don't--hope too much," she -begged. - -"I'll hope all there is," he retorted grimly. - -"Well, here you are! My word! Your partners are tearing their hair and -rushing round like mad dogs. Pretty way for a hostess to behave, -vanishing like the original Cheshire puss! Amidon, your life isn't -worth a nickle if you go in there." Thus challenged a blond young -medical student from the near-by University suddenly appearing in the -window, blithely unconscious that he had interrupted anything more than -a moonlight interlude. - -"Then I'll stay out," announced Jack coolly as Sylvia rose with -apologies and followed her captor. - -Left alone, Jack lit a cigarette and strode to and fro in the little -balcony thinking as hard as perhaps he had ever thought in his -twenty-six rather heedless happy-go-lucky years. If ever a man takes -square account of himself it is at the moment when he desires with all -his heart and soul to win a woman. As young men go, Jack Amidon was as -clean and fine as most, considerably more so than might have been -expected, in fact, considering his easy-going temperament and unlimited -income. But being merely negatively decent was not enough to offer -Sylvia Arden. Not even shrewd old Angus McIntosh knew that better than -Jack himself. - -"Man indeed!" he muttered in the course of his march. "I suppose if I -had studied like sin and turned into a saw bones like old Phil she would -have had some use for me." The thought of Phil Lorrimer sent his -thoughts on a different tangent. For with that uncanny perceptive power -which Sylvia herself granted him he knew far better than Sylvia knew -that if it had been Phil instead of himself who had been besieging the -Princess of the hill top that evening for the boon of her hand and heart -a different answer might have been forthcoming. Phil, at least, -fulfilled the initial requirement. He was a man, every inch of him. -Jack vouchsafed him that just as he had admitted the other lad deserved -Sylvia's favor even at his own expense back in the days of the Christmas -family. - -It was odd how history repeated itself. Just as in that old time, -Sylvia had set himself a task to "mend his fences" as she had -whimsically expressed it, so she was again bidding him gird on his armor -if he would win her respect without which her love was an impossibility. -As if it were yesterday Jack remembered that night among the snow-laden -pines, out under the stars, when Sylvia had gravely and simply without -any preaching, Sylvia fashion, turned him aside from paths already -beginning to be dangerous to safer, cleaner ways. Come to think of it, -it had always been Sylvia who had pointed him starward, Sylvia only who -believed in him enough to swear him into knighthood. Now that they were -no longer boy and girl it was the prize of her love which would send him -into the fray. Already he had experienced his accolade. - -"Poor old Lorry!" he thought. "Why didn't he cut his blooming -operations and come down here and speak for himself to-night? Thank the -Lord he didn't though or yours truly would be ditched and done for. I -never had a show with Lorry in the foreground. Well, here's to the -breach. Sylvia will never forgive me if I omit to dance with one of her -precious orphans." - -So it happened that a few moments later shy little Mary Lane watching -the dancers with longing eyes from a corner caught her breath with -astonishment and delight as Jack Amidon stood before her, his eyes -smiling encouragement and friendliness, his lips begging the boon of a -dance quite as earnestly as if she had been one of the belles of the -ball. So it happened also that Sylvia, being whirled past the two, -smiled happy gratitude at Jack over her partner's shoulder, and he knew -that his careless kindness to her little guest had scored him a high -mark in her favor. - -"Jack is such a dear," thought Sylvia. "He is a real knight. I wonder -if I am all wrong to try to turn him into a plain workaday person. He -is so thoroughly delightful as he is. When men get too much absorbed in -their work you can't count on them for the little things, and, after -all, the little things mean a whole lot." - -Possibly this sage conclusion had some vague connection with the fact -that a certain very much "absorbed in work" young doctor way off in a -distant city had permitted Sylvia's birthday to come and almost go with -no word or sign. If so certainly Sylvia would have been the last to -admit the connection even to herself. - -"Please, Miss Sylvia, there's some one downstairs in the hall asking for -you," whispered a maid in Sylvia's ears as her partner brought her to a -chair. "He didn't give any name." - -Sylvia excused herself and slipped away wondering as to the identity of -her late arriving guest. At the foot of the stairs was an -extraordinarily tall, blond young man, with the bluest and friendliest -of eyes and the biggest, most crushing hand grip in the world. - -"Why, Phil!" gasped Sylvia. "I had no idea you could come." This as -soon as she was able to regain her wits and the possession of her hands. - -"Nor I. As a matter of fact, I couldn't. I just did," grinned Phil -Lorrimer, cheerfully. "Here I am, B. and O. grime and all. May I come -to the party just as I am without one plea?" - -"You surely may. I'm so glad." And Sylvia's face corroborated her -words. - -"Here's a nosegay for you," and Phil's fingers fumbled with the string -on the box he had deposited in a convenient chair while he had used both -hands greeting Sylvia. In a moment a charming bouquet of cream yellow -roses, shell pink at the heart, was disclosed. - -"How lovely!" Sylvia buried her face in the nosegay. "I just have to -wear them. Oh, dear, I haven't a pin." - -"Here you are!" And the young doctor solemnly produced the needful -article. - -"Trust you!" laughed Sylvia. "There, aren't they perfect? Come on, -quick. Let's not waste the music." - -"Ditto my sentiments. Is this my dance?" - -"It's Doctor Tom's, but he won't care. Hurry." - -And in a moment the onlookers had something new to think of as Sylvia's -white and silverness flashed back into the ballroom with a tall figure -in plain traveling clothes by her side. - -"Another country heard from," grunted Angus McIntosh as he watched the -two swing into step. - -Perhaps in the whole room there was no one who had more cause for a -sudden reaction of feeling than Jack Amidon, whose quick eye took in -even at the length of the hall that Sylvia was at last wearing -somebody's flowers. But it was with apparent nonchalance and entire -good will that he came to offer Phil Lorrimer a cordial greeting a few -moments later, though even as he chatted with the other young man it did -not escape him that there was an added radiance to Sylvia's -"moonshininess," as if she had tasted some magic draught of youth and -joy during those few moments in which she had been out of the room. As -has been observed, Jack Amidon was a rather unexpectedly perspicuous -person at times. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON* - - -"Oh, me! Just think! By to-morrow afternoon at this time we'll all be -scattered to the four winds," sighed Barbara. "Don't you hate to have -things get different?" - -"Can't say I do. The differenter the better so far as I am concerned as -I have hitherto remarked," put in Suzanne. "I hate staying still, -physically, mentally, or morally. I'm ready for new pricks every -minute. I feel like saying to life every morning 'Come on. Do your -worst. I'm ready. Give me anything--everything--except stagnation.'" - -"You don't look as if you were going to stagnate just this minute," -laughed Sylvia, surveying her friend, who, indeed, from the tip of her -impatiently tapping shoe to the crown of her rebellious blue-black, wavy -hair, appeared sufficiently dynamic for any purpose. - -"I don't intend to. That is why I am transferring my spiritual and -bodily allegiance from Norton, Pa., to New York City. I'd rather live -on a crust in that blessed city of enchantment than fare on nectar and -ambrosia elsewhere. I wish you would change your mind and come along, -Sylvia. I know you are going to be discontented here or even contented, -which is worse. Arden Hall is a perfect dream of a place, and I've -loved every minute of this week with you, but it would swamp me with its -placidity if I settled down in it, and that's the truth." - -"Oh, Suzanne!" Thus Barb, always sensitive to the possibility that some -one's feelings might be going to be hurt. - -"Don't mind her, Barb. I know what she means precisely, and it is all -more or less true. Arden Hall is placid and remote. I have to find a -way to link it somehow with big moving things outside--below--or the -very thing Suzanne threatens me with will happen." - -"You'll find a way," prophesied Barb earnestly. - -"Of course she'll find it," seconded Suzanne. "If there is anybody on -this green earth capable of squeezing the traditional camel through the -needle's eye it is the young person I see before me. Isn't it time our -cavaliers arrived? I begin to pine for action already." - -"Jack said he would be here at four sharp. We are going to take you to -the most heavenly spot, right over the river with the whole Ridge for a -background. Some day when you are being compressed to a wafer in the -Subway in your precious old city you will remember it and be willing to -give your second-most-becoming hat for a magic carpet to take you back." - -"I shouldn't wonder," murmured Barb. "I believe Suzanne would rather -hear the roar of the El than the wind in the pines though. She is the -most urban person I ever knew." - -Suzanne laughed at this arraignment. - -"It isn't the music of the El, _per se_ that I delight in. That's -nearer like the thing it rhymes with. But it's a symbol. It means -hurrying human beings, the rush and stir of things. I love crowds." - -"And I detest them," groaned Barb. "I'm afraid of New York in spite of -all its wonderfulness. It is so big and hard and impersonal. If it -weren't for being with Aunt Jo I know it would scare me to bits to live -there." - -"You poor babe!" Sylvia smiled sympathetically at the speaker. "It is -unthinkable that a little shrinking infant like you should be dedicated -to a great screaming cause. You ought to live in a cozy cottage, in a -friendly little village, where everybody knows everybody and grow -pansies." - -"And babies," added Suzanne, an addition which brought a quick flush to -Barb's cheeks and made her put out her hand with a deprecating gesture. -"You'll never be able to stand the pace. Better wire your Aunt -Josephine you have decided to bury the mantle." - -"For mercy's sake, what do you two think I am? I guess I don't have to -be packed away in rose petals and pink cotton." There was a strain of -indignation in Barb's voice. "I don't belong in the sheltered woman -class, and I wouldn't stay in it if I did. How long do you suppose I'd -have any peace in my cozy cottage, in my friendly little village, -remembering all the other women who don't live in cozy friendly places -but have to work in horrid, noisy, sweaty factories or worse? What -pleasure would I get out of my pansies--and babies--so long as I knew -there was a child in the world who wasn't free to chase butterflies in -the sunshine? You two think I am just playing at this woman game. I'm -not. Sylvia can act Lady Bountiful from the top of her Hill and you can -write about woman, Suzanne, but I'm going to fight for her, so there!" - -"Bravo! I stand reproved and beg a thousand pardons. You're a trump, -Barbie. You are right, too. Sylvia and I are likely to play with this -thing called Feminism, but you'll fight for it to the last trench like -the wee bit heroine you are. Oh, there's Mr. Amidon's car. There is -Mr. Amidon and Dr. Lorrimer and--Sylvia, _who_ is the third man?" - -"If my eyes do not deceive me the third man is Roger Minot. Did you -know he was imminent?" - -"I did not. Moreover, I am extremely displeased with him for -appearing," frowned Suzanne. "I told him distinctly I didn't want to -see him again unless I sent for him." - -"Well, you will have to look the other way then," observed Sylvia. "He -is in plain sight." - -So indeed it proved, for three minutes later, Roger Minot, a tall young -man with hazel eyes and a firm chin, was shaking hands with the -assembled group and explaining with considerable explicitness that he -had happened to be in Baltimore on business and had also happened to -call up Jack Amidon by telephone, who, in turn, had happened to be -taking Sylvia and her guests on an excursion and had been kind enough to -include himself in the invitation. - -At all of which elaborate eloquence Suzanne had shrugged her displeasure -and pointedly turned her back on the young barrister and devoted herself -to the doctor. So much "happening" in the face of her expressed command -deserved punishment and Suzanne was a firm disciplinarian where her -lovers were concerned, especially the unfortunate Roger. - -"Sylvia, you will have to sit with me to show me the way," ordered Jack -in his usual "magerful" way, taking things into his own hands. "All -aboard, everybody? Sure Madame Felicia won't go?" He turned to Sylvia -to inquire. - -"No, she said not. Felicia is not exceedingly devoted to picnics, and I -suspect she has had more than enough of them this summer. Ready?" -Sylvia turned back to her guests to ask and in a moment they were off -down the hill. - -The rich, vivid-hued Maryland fields and meadows lay indeed, "fair as -the garden of the Lord" as the car sped out of Greendale beyond to the -open country, along the smooth, hard, white pike. The afternoon shadows -fell cool and long, and already there was a faint autumnal hint of -crispness in the air and a mellow, misty gold to the sunshine. The -mountains were outlined, palely blue, against the deeper azure of the -cloudless September skies. Here and there a buzzard sailed and dipped -above some wooded slope or a blue jay screamed and flashed out of an oak -thicket. - -Amidst the chatter of the rest Barbara fell silent and gave herself -blissfully to the serene beauty of the outdoor world so utterly remote -from that other world of din and traffic, of strenuous toil and keen -competition in which she was to merge her own existence on the morrow. -She was profoundly grateful for this last opportunity to feel the benign -presence of Nature in field and sky and mountain. Her quick eye took in -every patch of purple aster bloom, every scarlet glory of sumach and -warm bronze hue of oaks. Even the corn shocks spreading their brown -skirts as if indulging in some quaint minuet stamped themselves upon her -inner vision to be remembered long after. She did not wish to talk, -scarcely even to think. She desired only to feel--to let the -benediction of the jewel-tinted day possess her spirit. - -Suzanne, less susceptible to the mood of tranquillity, was bubbling over -with gayety, her attention centering chiefly on Phil Lorrimer sitting in -the seat opposite her. She chose to ignore Roger Minot's steady hazel -eyes. He need not think his coming made any difference to her. Whether -he came or went was a matter of supreme indifference. He might just as -well have stayed in his grim little, trim little, office in Norton, Pa., -as to have pursued a will-o'-the-wisp to Arden Hall so far as Suzanne -was concerned. Some women were made unhappy by men. Suzanne had a -cousin to whom this had befallen and had long since determined none -should have power to hurt her. She meant to guard well the citadel -which was Suzanne Morrison. If there were any casualties in the attempt -to scale the walls the responsibility would not be on her head. Let men -look to themselves. Suzanne had small compassion. Though she thoroughly -enjoyed the stimulus of the society of the other sex and dearly loved to -clash swords with them she wished nothing at their hands. She meant to -show the world that a woman could stand alone, strive and conquer alone, -fail if need be, alone, sufficient unto herself unto the end. There -should be no doll's house for her, no more confining limits than life -itself, wide as ether and deep as the sea, for her abiding place. - -On the driver's seat were Jack and Sylvia, the latter a little silent. -Though she had made no protest against her companion's rather -high-handed disposition of herself it had not wholly pleased Sylvia. -For one thing, she thought it assumed too much on the basis of that half -promise of last night. She did not desire that Phil or indeed any of -the party should infer that she and Jack must necessarily pair off like -a couple of Noah's ark animals; moreover she considered it extremely -thoughtless, not to say selfish, of Jack to leave Phil to the society of -a group of almost strangers when his time in Greendale was so limited; -for Phil was taking the midnight train back to New York having allowed -himself little more than twenty-four hours for a holiday. - -"Too bad everybody has to go away," Jack was saying. "May I come over -often and help cheer your lonely hours?" His voice was lowered and his -head bent toward Sylvia in an intimate fashion. - -"No." The negative was sufficiently decisive to make the driver send a -sharp glance at his companion. - -"Why not?" - -"Several why nots. One is because you said last night you were going to -work in earnest. You can't do that and keep flying out to Greendale -every other day the way you have been doing all summer. Besides, I -expect to be busy myself." - -"You! May I ask what you are going to do that is so almighty -important?" - -"You may ask but I am not likely to inform you if you take that tone." - -Jack whistled softly. - -"Gee! Am I in as bad as all that?" - -"As all what? Did I sound cross?" Sylvia smiled relentingly. "Well, -maybe I was. I hate the lordly male attitude you assume at times. Your -tone bristled with it just then." - -"Did it?" he chuckled. "Sorry. Honest, I didn't mean to patronize your -ladyship. So far from feeling lordly in your presence you usually make -me feel infernally infinitesimal, not to say atomic. I have a fearful -and wonderful respect for your serene high mightiness. I truly did want -to know what you were going to do." - -"I am going to get to work on my music for one thing. I've promised to -practice with Gus. Then I am going to learn to cook." - -"In the name of heaven why?" - -"Because I want to, chiefly. Also I think everybody--male and -female--ought to know how." - -Jack groaned. - -"Thence to dressmaking and millinery, I suppose?" - -"Hardly. I haven't the slightest interest in sewing, though I could do -it on a pinch I believe. I know I couldn't trim a hat--at least not one -I would wear. But cooking is different. I believe I could get up quite -a passion for it. Hilda used to. She claimed it was just as much an -art to create a perfect salad as to write a sonnet." - -"I'd vote for the salad personally. By the way, where is Hilda? Heard -lately?" - -"No, and I'm worried. One hears such horrid stories of what is -happening over there. I don't know whether she and the Armstrongs can't -get back or don't want to." - -"Most likely the latter. Johnny Armstrong is darned likely to do what -he wants. He is just the boy not to want to get back to safe and sane -America. He is much more apt to be down in a trench or up in a 'plane -by this time." - -"I know. He's a wonder--one of the finest men I know. Just to think he -was my gardener once! Wasn't it funny?" - -"He got mighty good pay for that piece of masquerading. Constance is a -shade too much on the grand duchess order for my taste but she suits him -down to the ground. Only wish Isabel had drawn a man like John instead -of the rotter she took a fancy to marry." For a moment Jack's serene -brow looked thundery. "Queer world!" he muttered. "Sometimes I think -we Amidons are doomed to go amuck one way or another. Jeanette's not -much better off. Guess we're all sort of rudderless as you say, -excepting Dad. He knows where he is going all right." - -"You had better get on to his ship then," suggested Sylvia a little -dryly. - -"I am going to. You needn't think I didn't mean what I said last night. -I did mean it, every word. If sticking to a job is going to mean -getting what I want, I'll stick tighter than a stamp." - -There was a ring of determination in his voice which startled Sylvia a -little, it sounded so alarmingly conclusive. - -"Jack! I didn't promise," she protested. - -"Oh, I know. I'm not such a cad as to throw it up at you if even the -sticking isn't enough. But if it's the one chance I'm too good a -gambler not to take it--or to kick if I fail in the end." And Jack's -lips came together with a firmness which avouched the sincerity of his -statement. - -Sylvia watching the landscape flit by looked thoughtful. It suddenly -occurred to her that her companion had spoken the literal truth. Jack -Amidon was first and last a good gambler, ready to play high stakes, to -win or lose like a gentleman, without vainglory or bitterness. If she -had said yes to his impassioned plea last night Sylvia could not help -wondering if a little of the ardor of his love might not have abated in -spite of himself. Wasn't it the chase itself he loved? If so, he was -only his father's own son. Jackson Amidon, Senior, went on quietly -bagging his millions, not because he cared a snap of his fingers for the -money but because the exhilaration of achieving it in the face of -obstacles was the breath of life to him. Like the biblical war horses he -metaphorically trumpeted "Ha Ha!" in the battle hour. With father and -son the game itself was the thing. The nature of the stake did not -matter so much. With one it was Power, with the other Love, as it -happened, but with both the zest lay, not in the end, but in the -pursuit. Of course Sylvia did not reason all this out clearly, but -vaguely she sensed the truth which the boy's words had revealed. Many -months later the revelation recurred to her and she wondered if Jack, -too, had understood himself as clearly as for a moment she had -understood him. She thought it possible with his keen power of -intuition, he had always understood. Perhaps he had. - -So through the deepening autumnal twilight sped Youth with its visions -and its questionings, Youth unproved, pressing forward toward some -unknown mark in challenging mood, knowing little of the eternal mystery -of Life and less of that even more baffling mystery, the mystery of -Self. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *OF MISSIONS, AND OMISSIONS* - - -"H-mm!" Suzanne meditatively surveyed the depleted feast. "Thermos -bottles! Silver spoons! Sophisticated salads! Is this your notion of -roughing it, Mr. Jack Amidon? Of all Sybaritical picnics!" - -"Same old bugs! Same old sticks in the lemonade!" retorted Jack, -leaning forward to extract a leaf from Sylvia's cup with the prong of a -salad fork. "The good old times aren't utterly gone." - -"Oh, but think of the bacon bats of yesteryear!" mourned Suzanne. "The -fingers I've burned! The clothes I've spoiled! The smudges wherewith -I've smudged my nose! I begin to feel fatally reminiscent. Give me -some more lemonade, I pine to drown my grief." - -"And I pine to see the sunset from Lover's Leap." And Sylvia sprang up -hastily, perceiving that the sun was already glinting flame and gold -through the trees. "Come on everybody or it will be too late." The -others rose to follow her lead. Phil fell into step beside Sylvia, -leaving Jack to Barbara's society, as Suzanne and Roger had at last -struck up a conversation, albeit a rather non-amicable one and strayed -off together. - -"Are you sure your name isn't Pease Blossom or Mustard Seed? I could -swear you were a fairy. Are you really a Militant? Would you resist -forcible feeding? Here, let me test you with a pickle." - -But Barb only laughed and accepted the pickle. - -"I'm nothing militant to-night. I'm at peace with the whole world." - -"Even the menacing male?" teased Jack. - -"The menacing male is a spoiled baby, biting off his own nose. Mr. -Amidon, it would serve you right if I delivered a suffrage lecture here -and now. I don't believe you know a thing about the movement," -severely. - -"Heaven forbid!" he ejaculated piously. - -"You will sing a different tune before many years. You'll have it -forcibly fed to you unless you take to it of your own accord as babies -take to their thumbs." - -"I believe I could bear to have even Suffrage rammed into me at your -hands, Mademoiselle Mustard Seed, especially if you would make pansy -eyes at me while you did it," he added audaciously. "What are you going -to do with those eyes of yours anyway? They are altogether too -expressive to be wasted on a Cause." - -Barb frowned. - -"You wouldn't wear a last year's hat. Why do you use last century -methods with women? They hate compliments." - -"Do they? I wonder." And his wonder was genuine. He honestly -reflected a moment. Sylvia did hate compliments he knew. But then he -never offered her any. He never even flirted with Sylvia, though she -was about the only pretty girl of his acquaintance of whom as much could -be said. He had been perfectly willing to play the game à deux with -this demurely charming, pansy-eyed, little suffragist however. But he -was evidently not going to be permitted to have his will. Were Barbara -Day and Sylvia and the sharp-tongued Suzanne really a new breed of -womankind? Were his own sisters and the dozens of other girls of their -kind with whom he had played and danced and flirted for the past five or -six years really an older type, soon to be as extinct as the Dodo? Only -for a moment, however, he wondered. Jack was not much given to serious -thinking. He took life and the feminine sex on the whole rather as he -found them. He was always genially ready to "play up" to both. He was -now. It was rather agreeable he thought to watch Barb's eyes shine and -the color surge in her cheeks, so he laid the match to the tow chiefly -from an artistic impulse to see the flame. - -"Tell me," he urged. "What is this thing you girls are up to? What is -it you are going to New York to do?" - -Barb shot him a shrewd rather indignant glance. Then she laughed. - -"You don't really care, but, just to punish you, I'm going to tell you. -You deserve it." - -And then she did tell him, a little reservedly at first, but soon losing -both her resentment and her shyness she forgot herself entirely and -warmed to her loved theme, betraying something of the dream of her Aunt -Josephine, of herself, of all women who think and feel and are forever -disenchanted with any Pisgah heights they themselves might have the luck -to attain, so long as the great weary horde of the "dispossessed" wait -without the gates, scarcely even knowing in the apathy of their misery -that there is a Promised Land. And her listener did not scoff even to -himself at the revelation he was vouchsafed. He had the grace to -recognize with suitable humility that he unworthy had been permitted a -brief glimpse into a holy of holies. And irreverence was not one of -Jack's failings, for all his habitual levity of mood. - -In the meanwhile, not far ahead, Roger and Suzanne were quarreling -hotly. At least Suzanne was quarreling. Roger never quarreled, which -was perhaps one of his most glaring defects in Suzanne's eyes. - -"I told you not to come and you came," was the burden of Suzanne's -complaint. - -"I didn't come to see you. I didn't even know you were in Greendale -until Jack told me. And when I knew, how could I resist a chance to see -you, especially as it will be months before I can see you again? Be -reasonable, Suzanne. Why are you so angry at me for coming?" - -Suzanne shot him an exasperated and somewhat malicious glance. -Unfortunately, Mr. Minot was a lawyer and not a clairvoyant and -therefore was totally without means of knowing that the chief reason for -Suzanne's anger was the fact that she had been so foolishly glad to see -him. For every quickened beat of her pulse in his near presence poor -Roger had to pay with a lash of her tongue. Angry, indeed, was Suzanne -at Roger Minot for disobeying her royal mandates, but angrier still was -she at Suzanne Morrison for being automatically glad of his nearness. -Scant wonder the young lawyer had a very bad quarter of an hour as he -mounted the pine-needled slope toward the sunset. - -Phil and Sylvia had less to say than either of the other couples, -strange to say, though it had seemed to both beforehand they would have -volumes. The hush of the forest and the hour seemed to have cast a spell -upon them, or was it an even more potent enchantment that held them fast -bound in silence? They had seen so little of each other during this -brief visit of Phil's. Last night had been too full and joyous and -excited for much conversation, even had Sylvia's responsibilities as -hostess left her much time for her latest arrived guest. Those few -moments on the stairs had been practically--indeed, the only ones--they -had enjoyed alone, and this morning Phil had given to his mother while -Sylvia and her guests slept away the hours up at the Hall. Both had -felt a little aggrieved and cheated at the way circumstances had -curtailed the pleasure of their being together for the first time since -the June Commencement at college. Yet now that the awaited moment had -come at last neither seemed to have anything particular to do with it. -It was strange, and both felt slightly embarrassed by the strangeness, -suddenly grown shy, after all their years of friendship. - -"Oh!" Sylvia uttered the exclamation as she stepped out upon the great -ledge of rock from which she could see the sun's gold rim just dipping -behind the crest of the topmost purple peak leaving a sea of tulip -colors in its wake. - -For a moment neither spoke again. A mood of complete serenity was upon -them that forbade speech, a sense of nearness, each to the other, and to -some high other Presence which might have been God or Nature or Love or -a mystic commingling of all three. Were the three, indeed, a new -Trinity, perfect and indivisible? There was a crackling among the -bushes behind, the sound of voices. The others were near. The -enchanted moment passed. Sylvia sighed, and, turning, met Phil's eyes -and her own drooped before what she saw there. No word was spoken, nor -needed, yet something unforgettable had been communicated. Sylvia's -heart was beating a little more quickly than usual and there was dew and -star shine in her eyes as she smiled at Jack and Barbara, a shine which -was lost on neither of the two new arrivals, though later it suited both -to pretend they had never seen it. For the moment Barbara's only -feeling was a quick compunction lest they had interrupted something -which they had no right to share. As for her companion, sharp fear and -half resentful jealousy went through him like keen-bladed knives. Had -he lost just at the moment when he seemed to have gained something -almost tangible? And then Suzanne and Roger reached the rock also, -arriving rather dilatorily by another path, having arrived also -apparently at a state of something faintly resembling truce, for Suzanne -was wearing a spray of vivid scarlet berries which Roger had risked -thorns and a possible broken neck to acquire. The risk had been worth -it, it seemed, for Roger was looking happier than at any moment since -Suzanne had first snubbed him several hours ago on Sylvia's piazza. - -Barb, standing apart, watching the whole pageant from the outside, felt -oddly cold and lonely all of a sudden. There seemed to be so much love -in the world somehow and yet so little left over, as it were. And -Sylvia and Suzanne--did they know? Did they even begin to know how -precious love was? How one needed it in this great lonely world? She -walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the river whose rapid -current whirled fiercely, down below her. She remembered Sylvia's story -of how the rock was named. There are so many Lover's Leaps in the world -and their stories are all somewhat the same story. An Indian girl and -her lover had been forbidden to marry because they belonged to hostile -tribes and here they had gladly taken the consecrated leap together, -hand in hand, into space and eternity, one in death as they could never -have been in life. - -What a strange thing love was! So Barb meditated. Was it something to -be avoided as Suzanne insisted because it demanded too high toll? The -others had seated themselves on the rock to watch the shifting panorama -of color in the western skies, but Barb wandered off by herself, still -pondering about that strange thing love. And the others scarcely -noticed her going, which was in its way a symbol. - -Suddenly a single sharp cry broke the silence of the dusk and then -ceased. They all sprang to their feet in alarm, but it was Phil -Lorrimer's quick eye that first discovered what had happened. Below -them, and somewhat at the right of the outcropping ledge on which they -stood, hung Barbara, clinging to a slender sapling whose trunk bent, it -seemed almost to snapping beneath her slight weight. Sylvia saw, too, -almost at the same instant. - -"There she is!" Her finger pointed. "Oh, Phil!" - -But Phil had not waited for his embassy. He was already speeding down -the steep bank on his way to the scene of the accident. - -"Hold on," he called cheerfully. "I'm coming. Can I reach you from -above?" - -"No." Barb's voice sounded faraway but steady as Phil's own. "Don't -try. It's all crumbly." - -"Hang tight then. I'll be there in a minute." - -In what appeared to be an endless stretch of time to everybody, but -which was in reality an astonishingly brief interval, Phil's tall form -appeared on the river bank precisely beneath the tiny figure suspended -as it seemed in midair, but still clinging pluckily to the stout ash -sapling which held her weight gallantly. The distance between Phil and -the girl was perhaps ten feet, though it looked much more in the gulfing -darkness to them both. - -"All right. Let go. I'll catch you." - -A shudder shook Barb's whole body. That slim, tough little ash-tree -seemed all that kept her from the greedy swirl of the black river. Her -hands were grooved and cut with clinging and her arms ached until it -seemed as if she could not bear the pain, but for all that she felt as -if the one thing she could not do was to release her hold and slip into -the darkness. But there below loomed Phil Lorrimer's comforting size -and strength and Barb's courage grew as she looked down into his -uplifted face. - -"Come on, Barbie, I'm right here." He had never called her anything but -Miss Day before, not even Barbara. Barbie was Sylvia's name, as it had -once been her mother's in the dear long ago. Somehow it seemed right and -natural and sweet that Phil should use it now. Suddenly she became the -trusting, obedient little girl Barbie again and without a quiver of -dread and with a heart at peace and full of faith she let go her hold on -the ash and went down, down, down into space--a surprisingly long -journey it seemed, though she felt perfectly comfortable taking it. She -had even time to notice that a star had come out and was smiling at her -friendlily out of the dusk over a sycamore-tree. She knew somehow or -rather that Phil would not fail her. Most people felt that about Phil -Lorrimer. More than one of his patients had been willing and unafraid -to go down the dark valley if he would stand by and help them on the -way. - -Certainly he did not fail Barbara. Though the shock of the impact of -even her "fairy" figure made him sway and stagger a little, he caught -her as deftly as he had been wont in his college days to catch a -dazzling outfielder. In a second he had deposited her gently on the -soft moss on the river bank. Whereupon Barb gave a quick breath of a -sob then laughed a little rippling gurgle of a laugh, though there were -tears in her eyes. - -"D-don't mi-nd me," she begged. "I'm just being g-glad I let go." - -"All safe!" Phil's big voice boomed out of the darkness to the relief -of the anxious waiters above on the cliff. "All right, little lady? -Seeing as you wouldn't walk down, suppose we say you shan't walk up." -And Barb was swept like a sudden victim to a bird of prey into his arms. - -"Oh, don't," she begged. "Please put me down. I can walk perfectly -well. I'm dreadfully heavy." - -"So are thistledown and dewdrops," he laughed. "Please forget you are a -feminist for once and succumb to the eternal masculine superiority of -brawn and muscle." - -And in spite of herself, Barb felt oddly content to let herself lie -passive in his arms, so much so that she closed her eyes and said never -a word. At the top of the ascent, which had been short though somewhat -steep, Phil put down his burden, and the rest crowded around the two, -full of excitement, anxiety and questions. But Phil exercised his -doctor's prerogatives and ordered them to let Barb alone and make a -speedy start for home. These orders were meekly obeyed, though they -managed little by little to get the information of how the accident had -occurred. It had been simple enough. The rock on which Barb had been -standing had been "crumbly" as she had said, and before she had had time -to realize what had happened she had slipped with the shelving stone and -soil and had only by the greatest of good fortune managed to snatch at -the ash in her descent and thus save herself from the disastrous fall -into the turbulent rock-filled bed of the river. It had been obviously -a sufficiently narrow escape to make them all rather silent and sober as -they packed up the remains of the feast and made their way to the road -just beyond the glade where the car waited. - -"Want to have a try at the wheel, old man?" asked Jack, laying an -affectionate hand on Phil's shoulder when they were ready to start. -"She's a bird." - -"Why, yes." Phil's frank face lit up with pleasure. "Sure you don't -mind, Jackie Horner?" - -"Not a bit. Glad to have a rest," acquiesced Jack cheerfully. "Pile -in, Sylvia. Phil's waiting." - -Sylvia's eyes flashed quick inquiry at Jack as he helped her into the -seat beside the driver. He met her gaze imperturbably but she was not -deceived by his noncommittal expression. Well she knew that the owner -of the "bird" suffered the tortures of the damned when any hand beside -his own was on the wheel. Well she knew also that he was deliberately -giving Phil a chance to do more than run his car. It was so precisely -like Jack, impulsively selfish one minute, impulsively generous the -next. Through the white star-lit wonder of the night the car sped, while -its occupants sat almost silent, wrapped in an incommunicable garment of -dreams. Later, after they had taken leave of the girls, Jack and Roger -went with Phil to the station at Baltimore. But Roger stayed in the car -while Jack went to the train with Phil. Just as the train pulled in -Jack stirred himself to say what was on his mind. - -"Phil! Forgive the impertinence, old man, but I've got to know. If she -has decided for you, I'll clear out. You're the better man--always -were." - -Phil Lorrimer drew a long breath and set his lips rather as he used to -set them before a tackle in the field. - -"You needn't clear out, so far as I am concerned. I haven't asked -Sylvia to marry me. How can I? I've only just finished paying my -college debts and she is worth something like a million. Is thy servant -a fool?" he added a little bitterly. - -"Yes," said Jack Amidon. "The biggest kind of fool. Do you suppose the -money matters a hang to her?" - -"Well, it matters to me," curtly. "Train's under way. 'By." And with -a hasty but warm pressure of the hand which went out to meet his, Phil -boarded the moving train, leaving Jack staring after. - -"Confound the fellow!" he muttered. "Hanged if I know whether to be mad -or glad he's such an idiot. How did he dare not ask Sylvia when her -eyes looked like that? Gee! Perhaps he didn't see." - -But Phil Lorrimer had seen, and all that night he stared sleeplessly out -at the stars and the twinkling lights of villages and cities, love and -pride battling within him. Once or twice he made up his mind feverishly -to telegraph Sylvia the first thing in the morning. Then he would -decide it would be better to write her a letter, tell her exactly how it -all was and ask if she cared enough to wait for him until he had -something worth while to offer her. And all the time he knew he would -do nothing of the kind. He would fight on grimly by himself, and if in -the meantime somebody else--Jack or another--slipped in ahead, well, -that would mean she was not for him, if he knew Sylvia. And so on and -so on and so on. But never in all his reasonings did it occur to him -that the money was as nothing between him and Sylvia Arden, neither of -advantage or disadvantage, simply a zero. Jack Amidon knew it and had -generously endeavored to tell his rival. Sylvia knew it and her eyes -had also tried to tell him that night in the sunset. But poor Phil, -blind as the clearest sighted man sometimes becomes when a woman is -involved, saw Sylvia's money as a huge, hateful, insurmountable, -mountain peak behind which stood Sylvia herself, only to be reached by -accumulating another pile of gold from which he could make the leap to -her. - -And in all that long wakeful night he never once thought of little -Barbara Day. He was too used to saving people, one way or another, to -think much about this latest exploit in the salvation line; and, -besides, his mind was full of other things. - -But Barbara dreamed of Phil and heard his deep voice calling out of the -darkness, "Come on, Barbie. I'm right here." And all through her -dreams the star over the sycamore-tree kept smiling at her friendlily -but its smile was oddly mixed up with Phil Lorrimer's. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *OCTOBER DEVELOPMENTS* - - -A deeper bronze to the oaks and a more vivid scarlet to the sumach. A -sharper tang to the air, mornings. Hilltops veiled in amethyst and -golden haze on the meadows, afternoons. At sundown, ghost-like wraiths -of mists rising up from the river valley. Now and then a clanging wedge -of wild geese speeding southward through the night. October! - -It must be admitted that in spite of Sylvia's "vicious contentedness" -she did feel the Hall a little too peaceful and quiet after her friends -had gone, and she settled back into the very life she had chosen for -herself. The summer had been brimful of guests and gayeties, with -people coming and going all the time and always some new delightful -project or enthralling interest afoot, a true Forest of Arden atmosphere -of sunshine and happiness and blithe irresponsibility. - -Even the sharp and sudden thunder crash, heard from overseas in that -fateful early August, the din of great nations rushing to arms, came -only vaguely to Sylvia's happy Hill as to most of America. Slow to -waken, the country had not at once sensed the significance of what was -happening. Humane and peaceful itself, it had not taken in the hideous -reality of a desolated and ravaged Belgium, the inspiriting vision of a -risen and consecrated France beating the enemy back from Paris, of the -fearful and relentless grip of the great dog of war upon the stricken -nations. To Sylvia, as to others, it all seemed impossible, incredible, -not to be apprehended in terms of actuality. These things just couldn't -be, that was all. There must be some mistake somewhere. But there was -no mistake. People kept coming in on every steamer with harrowing tales -of well-substantiated horror. The things they had seen made the heart -sick and the blood run cold. It was war indeed. However horrible, -these things were possible, had happened. - -Perhaps the first vital realization came to Sylvia as it came to nearly -every one in this country through individual testimony of friends. Even -in September, rumor reached her that John Armstrong's money had helped -to establish and support a field hospital "somewhere in France," that -his wife and her sister Hilda were regular Red Cross nurses. And in -October had come a letter from Hilda herself, describing simply but with -the fearful graphicness of the bare truth, the horrors, the miracles, -the splendid thrills, the supreme satisfaction of the work she and -Constance had undertaken. John was driving a relief Ambulance near the -battle line. Bertram was at the front somewhere. Bertram, it appeared, -was the young Englishman to whom the writer had very recently become -engaged after a romantically brief acquaintance. Of course it was -horrible, Hilda admitted, having him there, but then she wouldn't want -him not to want to be there. - -All this Sylvia read with absorbed interest and straightway dispatched a -generous check to John Armstrong. But giving money being altogether -insufficient to express her abounding sympathy she also learned to knit, -to Jack's huge delectation and much raillery, and resolutely set herself -to making sponges and rather eccentric looking hose, though this -process, too, scarcely satisfied her when she thought of what her friend -was doing over in France. In fact, it satisfied her so little that she -very speedily abandoned it entirely wherein she was rather like a good -many other American women. "A thousand shall fall at thy right hand but -it shall not come nigh thee" seemed to be America's motto in those days. - -Perhaps the thing which came nearest, that autumn, to offering Sylvia an -outlet for her restless energy was her music. She was an excellent -accompanist and she and Gus Nichols spent much time together previous to -his departure for the concert tour which was to begin early in November. -And while Sylvia was intent on her own dreams and quandaries, weaving -much she scarcely understood herself into the music, she had not the -slightest perception that these hours she gave the young violinist meant -anything more to him than to herself, an agreeable mutual expression in -a loved art. "Music is Love in search of a word" and if the boy's violin -struggled more than once to tell her what his lips would never have -ventured on, Sylvia, with her mind on other things, did not hear. - -Long enthusiastic letters came frequently from Suzanne, ensconced, -according to schedule, in a dingy studio in the Square where one is not -encumbered with needless luxuries like steam heat and bath tubs and -electricity, where one steeps in "Atmosphere," and pays far more than he -can afford for the privilege of living very uncomfortably but -artistically. Her letters reeked of Bohemia, of "Polly's" and "Bruno's -Garret," of the delicious glamour and picturesqueness of the inimitable -Village, of the thrill and stimulus of the whole marvelous city of which -the Village was a unique part. - -Barb, too, wrote often, though with less abandon of rejoicement in her -new way of life. It was all "interesting." Aunt Jo was "wonderful." -The Metropolitan was "magnificent." People were "kind." But there was -a faint panic-stricken note beneath it all, at first, which made Sylvia -wonder if poor Barbara were a little submerged by the very seething -whirlpool which was such supreme delight to Suzanne. It was as if both -were on a "Merry-Go-Round," and Suzanne kept clapping her hands and -crying "Faster! Faster!" while Barb's timid "pansy" eyes begged in -silence for a safer, less mad rate of revolution. - -Aside from her aunt, of whom Barb could never say enough, the person -most frequently mentioned in her letters was Philip Lorrimer. "Dr. -Lorrimer is so good to me." "Dr. Lorrimer took me to a roof garden last -night." "Phil and I rode over on the ferry to Staten Island to cool off -last evening." "Phil just came in and sends greetings. He is going to -take me to a Socialist meeting soon." "Aunt Jo likes Phil so much," and -so forth. - -And though Sylvia made no comment on this new development it gave her -cause for reflection. Sylvia was more than ever "at sea" these days. -That sunset moment on Lover's Leap had been an illuminating moment for -her and she guessed it had been one for Phil also. Though she told -herself later she must have been mistaken, she knew in her heart she had -not been so. The look in Phil's eyes as they had met hers that moment -was unmistakable, more eloquent than volumes of speech. She had felt the -same thing vibrating in his voice when later he had bidden her "Good -night" and "Good-by" and stepped into Jack's car, something which met a -quick leap of response in herself. Sylvia was very woman and she knew -what had happened, though she did not know whether the thing was going -to be permanent or not. - -All that next day and the next and for a week beyond she watched the -mails, pretending to herself, feminine wise, that she was doing nothing -of the sort. And, finally, when on the tenth day a brotherly, brief, -impersonal, not to say casual, note came from New York in Phil's big -sprawling hand, she felt as if a shower of icy water had been hurled at -her. Not that she wanted Phil to ask her to marry him, not that she was -at all sure she would have said yes if he had asked her. She was by no -means certain it would not be Jack to whom she would surrender when the -time came for surrender. At least so she told herself to save her pride. -Certainly she was far from ready to marry any man that Fall, sincerely -desirous as she was to belong to herself awhile as she had told Jack. -Nevertheless Phil's very discretion angered and hurt her. Every now and -then she was tortured by an agonizing fear that in the strange -exhilaration of that moment in the forest she might have betrayed to him -more than she had been in any degree willing to admit to herself. -Consequently, Philip Lorrimer, M.D., got very few and very brief letters -from Arden Hall those golden autumn days. - -Neither is it strange that out of favor with his "Faraway Princess" Phil -turned to sympathetic little Barbara in his few idle hours. Not that he -took Barb into his confidence. Indeed there were no confidences to -make. To no one in the world would he have admitted that Sylvia's -apparent indifference hurt. Sylvia had the right to ignore him if she -chose. The Queen could do no wrong. Nor was there anything to say -about the rumors which reached him frequently that Sylvia and Jack were -often together, and that an engagement was obviously to be expected if -not already secretly in existence. That, too, he had counted on as a -possibility when he had told Jack there was no reason for him to "clear -out." Phil Lorrimer was man enough to want the lady of his heart to be -free in her choice. Had he been in Jack's position he would have entered -the race and run, neck and neck, beside his rival and abided the end -whatever it was. But he was handicapped, or so he believed, by his -poverty, so he set his teeth and stood out of the way leaving Jack a -clear road. If Jack could win--well, it meant Sylvia cared, that was -all. Phil's philosophy was a very simple one. - -In the meantime there was work. And Phil was the kind to be able to -assuage nearly every mortal ill in work. In the strenuous demands of -the day-time hours at the hospital he had little chance to brood over -any personal woes and when night came on he took what consolation he -could, man fashion, from another woman's obvious pleasure in his -society, never once suspecting he was playing with edged tools any more -than Barb herself did. Of the physiological action of the heart Phil -Lorrimer knew a great deal but of the more subtle manifestations of that -organ he knew astonishingly little. - -Only Miss Josephine Murray kept her keen eyes wide open. "Babes in the -wood!" she thought sometimes. "Heavens! What a fearful thing it is to -be young!" And then seeing the soft flush on Barb's cheeks when she -came in from an excursion with the young doctor, and the starry shine in -her eyes, Miss Murray would add grimly to herself, "Fearful but divine! -It's a million years since I had the gift of looking like that." - -And sometimes she would ask her niece questions about young Dr. -Lorrimer, and Barb would chatter on innocently about him, how he was an -old, old friend of Sylvia's, so old, they were almost like brother and -sister, though she and Suzanne used sometimes to think maybe Sylvia -would marry him some time, but now everybody said it would be Jack -Amidon. And once Barb had told the story of how she had slipped over -the edge of the cliff and hung to the little ash-tree until Phil had -called to her to let go and she had obeyed and gone down, down into -space, not one tiny bit afraid for she had felt just as sure as sure -that Phil Lorrimer would catch her just as he promised. - -"He's the kind of person you just have to have faith in. You know he -wouldn't fail you, no matter what happened," she had finished. And Aunt -Jo had "H-med" meditatively and risen to switch on the electric light -and sit down to her letters. But Barb had lingered before the gas log, -watching its scintillating colors and lights and dreaming little vague -pleasant dreams. Perhaps the Barb who didn't dare let herself look at -the real Barb took a shy peep that night. - -As for Jack Amidon, he was extraordinarily on his good behavior that -autumn. His father was grimly pleased to find him prompt and assiduous -at his office desk, a rather unexpected departure from his career of the -past two years when he had fulfilled the obligations of his nominal post -chiefly by absent treatment. Possibly the sudden change of heart on the -part of his rather erratic son reminded the old man of a similar abrupt -right-about-face some six years ago when the same delinquent had -announced himself blandly as being "on the water wagon" after a rather -strenuous course of wild oat sowing. Perhaps, too, Jackson Amidon -shrewdly suspected that now as then the impetus to the reform could be -traced to a vigorous-willed, clear-eyed young lady who tolerated no -weaklings among her retinue. - -"The boy's taken a new turn," he thought. "He'll come out all right in -the end. He's sound as a nut inside for all his vagaries. And if that -little girl on the Hill can make him come to, it will be one of the best -jobs she ever landed." And he added also to himself that if the day -ever came when he should welcome Sylvia Arden as his third daughter -there would be little left to wish for in the time he had left. And -then his eyes had grown sober, for his own daughters, those of his own -flesh and blood, had never been of much comfort to him, dearly as he -loved them. Over in Europe, Isabel was already threatening stormily to -get a divorce from the titled rascal she had insisted on marrying in -spite of her father's judgment and protestations. And there was -Jeanette, beautiful, willful Jeanette, whose frocks were the last cry -from Paris and whose cars and horses and houses and entertainments were -all the most daring and expensive America could produce! He, himself, -had given her all the money her little hands could hold or spend and -Francis Latham had gone on with the prodigious task but neither one of -them had been able to give her happiness. That was all too evident. -Perhaps if there had been children it would have been different. And at -this point in his reflections the old man always broke off with a sigh, -for he knew that the moment when Jack should bring Sylvia home for a -bride could only yield precedence in satisfaction to that other -hoped-for moment when he should see his grandson, Jackson Amidon, the -third. Then, indeed, the curtain might go down when it pleased. - -These dreams of Jackson Amidon's did not look so all improbable that -October. Jack was distinctly "on the job" as he would have expressed -it, doing his level best to make a man of himself, since that was what -Sylvia demanded, and sunning himself happily in her favor during their -mutual leisure hours. Very good comrades the two were. Youth turns to -youth as a morning glory to the sun and the Goddess of Propinquity is a -lady of much influence. Certainly it was not strange that people -prophesied that an engagement would soon be announced. Possibly it was -not strange either, that Jack and Sylvia themselves believed such a -dénouement entirely probable in course of time. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *FIRE AND FROST* - - -"Lois, aren't you ever going to write any more?" Sylvia on the rug -before the fire with wee Marjory in her arms looked up over that young -person's bobbing silver curls to ask the question. - -Lois Daly sitting by the window to catch the last bit of daylight, ran -her hand into a small stocking to investigate the number of casualties -before she answered. - -"Maybe. When the kiddies are grown up." - -"But don't you mind not doing it now? Don't you want to do it -dreadfully sometimes?" - -"Not especially. In fact I don't believe I could write now if I tried. -I've lost the knack as well as the impulse. You have no idea how much -such things are a matter of mere habit." Lois' voice had an even flow -suggesting cool, shady, translucent waters. Sometimes her friend's -serenity irritated Sylvia. It did now. - -"Well, I think that is all wrong," she announced decidedly. "You -oughtn't to have let it go." - -"Just how could I have helped it? You may recall I have been moderately -busy these last few years. I haven't had much time to entertain -literary angels." - -"Oh, I know," acknowledged Sylvia penitently, curling one of Marjory's -ringlets around her finger as she spoke. "You couldn't, of course, with -the house and the babies and the little mother's death and everything. -But couldn't you begin again now?" - -"Why should I? Tom doesn't need an author in his household. He needs a -housekeeper and a nurse and a seamstress and a wife." There was a -faintly satirical twist to Lois' lips as she made the statement. "Of -the four he needs the wife least, of course. He is too busy to enjoy my -society. This hospital project is the last straw." - -Sylvia looked thoughtful. Somehow there did seem to be something wrong -somewhere. Doctor Tom too occupied to see anything of his beautiful, -brilliant wife; she, in turn, too much immersed in household and -maternal cares either to cultivate her own particular gift or pay much -attention to the things her husband was so vitally interested in! These -two had started out so well. They were both so fine, so thoroughly -devoted at heart to each other. What was the trouble? Was marriage -always a compromise like this? Sylvia did not like to think so. -Somewhere there must have been something which could have been done -differently. Woman-like she was a bit inclined to blame the other woman. -If only Lois had cared a little more for the things Doctor Tom cared -for, the things which to Sylvia seemed so splendid, his profession, his -tireless service to the community, his dreams for its progress and -betterment! Lois rolled up the stockings she had just finished mending -and rose. - -"Do you mind staying a few minutes with Marjory, Sylvia? It is cook's -night out and I have to see about supper." - -Sylvia assented willingly and Lois departed. Even as the door closed -behind her, Sylvia heard Doctor Tom's step in the hall and his cheerful -voice as he greeted his wife. - -"Got in earlier than I expected. Come on back and enjoy the twilight -with me," she heard him inviting. - -Lois' answer was inaudible but in a moment Doctor Tom entered the -living-room alone. - -"Hello, here's my best daughter and my star neighbor! Come on, Cherub, -and let your old Dad toss you up to the moon." - -Marjory leaped with a happy little crow out of Sylvia's arms and Sylvia -rose to the higher level of a chair while she smiled at the baby's -gurgling delight as her father tossed her "up to the moon." Presently -the doctor seated himself before the fire with his small daughter still -in his arms. As he settled back with a tired sigh Sylvia saw with -sudden quick compunction that Doctor Tom looked old--too old for his -years. Some of his characteristic buoyancy had gone out of him. - -"How is the Curry baby?" she asked. - -He shook his head sadly. - -"Died early this morning," he said. - -"Oh!" Sylvia's exclamation was pitiful. "Can I do anything?" - -"Go down and see the mother. She is like a stone. Can't even cry. -Maybe the baby's better off. The father is drunk half the time and -there isn't any too much to eat. But if I could have had Jimmy in a -decent hospital I could have saved him. Everything was against him down -there, poor little chap!" And Tom Daly's big hand closed over little -Marjory's dimpled one as if somehow to keep her safe from the grim enemy -that had pursued Jimmy Curry, an enemy who had altogether too many -allies down in the unsanitary tenement district where the baby had -wearily breathed his little life in and out again in one short year. -Then the doctor's fist came down with a resounding thump on the arm of -the chair. "I tell you, Sylvia, we have got to get that hospital and -get it quick. We're wasting human life too fast at this rate." - -"Will money help? You know I'm ready to give to the hospital any -time--any amount you want." - -Doctor Tom smiled his old wide-mouthed friendly grin. - -"Naturally you are, Miss Christmas. I can always count on you every -time. You would give your last red cent if anybody needed it. Thank -Heaven you don't come into the bulk of your property till you are -twenty-five. You would have made ducks and drakes of it before this if -you had it all. I shall tell Gordon to keep his eye on the purse strings -until you get a husband to do it for you. You have such dissipating -tendencies. Don't wrinkle your nose like that. You shall give when the -time is ripe. What I want just now is to wring some money out of the -hides of some of these tough old Greendale sinners who keep their -religion with their prayer books in the family pew and their brotherly -love reduced systematically to lowest terms. The apology for a hospital -we have is a disgrace and they know it or they will before I get through -with 'em. There isn't even a children's ward. Little Allie Wendell died -last week to the tune of Jake Casey's blasphemous D. T. music. Bah! -It's rotten." - -"Tom, I do wish you wouldn't shout so. I could hear you clear out in -the kitchen." Thus Lois' silver cool voice from the doorway, -contrasting oddly with her husband's vehement ejaculatoriness which -still filled the little room. "Supper is ready. You'll stay, won't -you, Sylvia? I will be with you as soon as I can get Marjory into -Tessy's hands and see if Junior brushed his teeth. He is so bad these -days. I can't trust him at all." - -Sylvia had been about to refuse but Doctor Tom cut her short. - -"Of course you will stay. You haven't been here for a dog's age. -Besides, I want to talk to you about the hospital and ask what you think -about--" - -"Don't start to talk shop now," ordered Lois from the doorway, with -small Marjory's head bobbing sleepily over her shoulder. "The omelet -will go down." - -"It sure will," promised the doctor. "I feel as if almost anything -would go down in me this minute." - -"That is the trouble with Tom," smiled Lois to Sylvia. "He doesn't know -the difference between a sublimated soufflé and plain hash. It is all -food to him. It is very discouraging." - -Doctor Tom shook his head as the door closed upon his wife and daughter. - -"If only she wouldn't fuss," he groaned. "Sylvia, I feel like a beast -when I think what a lot this life we are leading takes out of her. If -only she would take it a bit easier. She's such a confounded -perfectionist every blessed thing she does has to be just right. That's -why it uses up so much of her." - -It was certainly a "just right" meal to which they sat down a few -moments later. Everything was cold which should have been cold, -everything hot which should have been hot. The table linen was fine and -dazzling white, the silver and glass resplendently bright and clean. -The bowl of yellow chrysanthemums made a perfect centerpiece, under the -pleasantly shaded glow of the suspended lamp. Lois herself was exquisite -in a soft clinging gray gown which she had taken the time to slip into -while she had been upstairs with the children. Not a fold was awry, not -a hair out of place. Serene and low-voiced and deft-motioned, she -served perfect tea in quaint gold-banded cups from a green-dragoned -teapot. - -But somehow Sylvia was critical in her judgment to-night. The very -perfectness of it all jarred upon her. She couldn't help wondering if -Lois were after all the consummate artist her husband acclaimed her. -Life was made for happiness and was Lois Daly happy or was she making -her big-hearted, splendid-souled husband happy? Had she even noticed -the tired look in his eyes to-night, the droop to his shoulders? In her -conscientious supervision of Junior's teeth and Marjory's bedtime did -she think or care at all about the Tommy Currys and Allie Wendells of -the world who mattered so gravely to her husband? The two loved each -other devotedly, Sylvia knew, yet she could not help seeing how far -apart they were after five years of wedded life. It gave one food for -thought. - -After supper Lois excused herself to do some household auditing. - -"You and Tom are going to talk hospital anyway," she added to Sylvia, -"and there is no use of my listening while it is all just an air-castle. -If I had that on my mind on top of the price of potatoes and bacon I -don't know what would happen." - -"Stay and rest and we'll call hospital taboo," promised Doctor Tom. -"Never mind the old accounts to-night." - -But Lois shook her head, protesting if he ran his business the way he -wanted her to run hers they would soon end in the poorhouse. - -"Not that you run your business any too well, Tommy dear," she had -added. "You are a scandalously poor bill collector. Aren't the -Williamsons ever going to pay?" - -"Steve Williamson's down with pneumonia. I can't press them now." - -"Pneumonia on top of twins! They _are_ unfortunate." And Lois left the -room. - -Sylvia dropped her eyes quickly. Intuitively she knew she didn't want -to look at Doctor Tom just then. He made no comment upon his wife's -parting speech but settled down in the big armchair with a tired grunt. - -"Mind if I smoke?" - -"Of course not." - -"All right, here goes." He took one or two long comforting puffs at his -pipe. "Let's side-track the hospital for the present. Might as well -since it's only an air-castle, as Lois says. I'm a bit frazzled -to-night. Can't seem to get the Curry baby off my chest. Suppose you -play something instead. Nothing too classic--just agreeable and -anæsthetic." - -Sylvia went to the piano and sat down. Her fingers drifted into a -nocturne. Save for the soft music and the crackling of the logs on the -hearth there was no sound in the room. Tom Daly sat staring into the -leaping flames and smoked stolidly. It would have made an appropriate -picture for a woman's magazine cover. The gracious, comfortable room, -the tired man, basking in home peace and contentment after the labor and -stress of the day; the young girl at the piano, with healing and -sympathy, wordless but no less apparent in her finger tips. Only in a -woman's magazine the musician would no doubt have been the man's wife. -Life is sometimes oddly different from magazine covers. - -It was nearly an hour before Lois returned to the living-room. She -paused a moment on the threshold. - -"Oh, so you aren't building hospitals after all? Forgive me for being -such a bad hostess, Sylvia. Was that Brahms?" - -Sylvia shook her head with a smile. - -"I don't know what it was," she admitted. "Something I heard in my -dreams maybe. Did I put you to sleep Doctor Tom?" - -"No, just soothed the savage in me. I feel fairly pacific at the -moment. Don't stop." - -"Ah, but I must. Felicia will think I am lost." She rose as she spoke -and Doctor Tom rose too. "Don't come," she protested. "It is too absurd -when it's only such a step." - -"It's a step I intend to take," he grinned. "If you must go, I'm at -your service." - -"I wish you wouldn't," objected Sylvia, but she let him wrap her long -moss green cloak about her and in a moment they were out in the keen -November air under the stars. Neither said anything until they were at -the steps of the Hall. Then suddenly Doctor Tom spoke. - -"Sylvia, how did you know I had the blue devils to-night?" he demanded. - -"Did you?" parried Sylvia. There was something different about Doctor -Tom to-night; a queer, tense something in his voice she wasn't used to. - -"You know I did. You played to 'em--charmed 'em, as I said." - -"I'm glad," said Sylvia. "Glad I charmed them, I mean. You need a -rest, Doctor Tom. You are going a pace that would kill any man who -wasn't as strong as an ox." - -He laughed a little grimly. - -"Well, Miss Nestor, any more sage advice to offer your grandfather? -Just how am I going to shunt the world I happen to have on my shoulders -at present?" - -"Just drop it off. You could if you had to. Why don't you and Lois go -on a vacation? Felicia and I will look after the babies." - -"Thanks, Miss Christmas. That is like you and mighty kind, but do you -see Lois letting anybody--the angel Gabriel himself--look after the -babies for her?" - -"She might," dubiously. - -"And again she mightn't. But, aside from Lois, I have too many life and -death jobs on hand at present to quit. A doctor's no business to get -nerves. He ought to leave that to his patients. Anyway, it isn't the -work that is getting me just now, it is the damnable futility of it all. -The Curry baby is a symbol. I'm pouring water in a sieve, Sylvia, and -that's the devil's truth." - -"It isn't. You aren't," denied Sylvia quickly. "You are doing miracles -every day of your life and everybody knows it. Doctor Tom, I never -heard you talk like that before. Don't. It makes me feel as if -everything were tottering on its foundations." - -"Sometimes I think they are with that infernal senseless war going on -over there after all our peace prating. Sylvia, what's it all for? -Where are we going? What's the use?" - -"Everything's the use. Maybe we can't see behind all the agony and -blundering but there must be something there even if we can't see it. -Why, Doctor Tom, there must be." Sylvia's eyes were earnest, her face -uplifted to the stars lit with the fine fires of youth's faith. Tom -Daly shook himself like one coming out of a trance. He was suddenly -ashamed that he, the strong man, had been outdistanced in courage by the -slim girl before him. - -"Right you are," he said heartily. "There _must_ be. It's the only way -to look at it. Thank you, Sylvia. I won't bleat again. If only--" -But what was to have followed that sharp wrung "if only" Sylvia never -knew for suddenly Tom Daly crushed both her hands in a vicelike grip and -then turned and fled with a gruff "good night" down the path. - -In his own yard close by he met his wife placidly draping a blanket over -a rhododendron bush. - -"I thought there might be a frost to-night," she observed, and her tone -had all the clear crispness of frost in it as she spoke. Tom Daly was -only human. It was scarcely strange that he could not help contrasting -his wife's voice with that other eager, vibrant, younger, warmer voice -he had just heard, passionately asserting faith in that something behind -all the miseries and misunderstandings of things without which life were -indeed scarcely to be endured. - -There was a world war on. Little Jimmy Curry lay dead unnecessarily. -Tom Daly's nerves and courage and endurance were strained all but to the -breaking point. And his wife Lois thought there might be a frost. But -long after Tom Daly had fallen into the heavy sleep of complete physical -exhaustion Lois lay wide-eyed and sleepless, staring into the darkness. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *THE MOTH AND THE STAR* - - -The audience settled itself into place, rattling its programs, prepared -idly to be either amused or bored as the opportunity presented itself, -mildly curious as to the personality and talent of the young violinist -"heard for the first time in this country." - -"They say he used to be old man McIntosh's office boy. He certainly -struck it soft. Old man's worth near a million they say and this darned -Dago'll get it all I suppose. Some folks just naturally nab the luck." -Thus a young reporter to his neighbor. - -"I don't know about that. I can't imagine old McIntosh standing for -this fiddling business. He's a husky old Puritan." - -"Well, he did stand for it to the tune of quite a pretty price, I -understand. The chap's had four years of Berlin and Dresden and the -rest of it. Some mixture! Italian birth, American start, Scotch -bringing up, German polish. Whew! Wonder what he's like with all that -in him. Talk about your melting pots!" - -"There's old McIntosh in the box now. No, the left. Ugly old snoozer, -ain't he? But brains. Gee! He's shrewd as they make 'em. Hello! Who's -the dame? Pretty easy to look at it, ain't she?" - -"That's Miss Arden--lives on a high mucky muck hill out in Greendale. -She's something to old McIntosh. Niece maybe. I forget." - -"No, she isn't. Old man used to be bookkeeper for her father's firm. I -remember. My dad knew 'em. Arden and Daly--big cotton concern. Arden -died young. Daly lost his money in some railroad slump and croaked too. -Son's a doctor--making the wires hum out in Greendale about a hospital -or something. So that's Miss Arden. Engaged to young Amidon, isn't -she?" - -"I reckon. Shut up. There he comes. Gee! He's nothing but a kid." - -It must be admitted that Gus, appearing on the program as Gustavus -Niccolini, did look very much indeed like a "kid" as he came across the -stage and made a shy, stiff little bow to the audience. Angus McIntosh -fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat irritably. "Fool to let -him try," he thought. "How do I know whether he can play or not? What -if he can't?" A cold perspiration stood out on the old man's forehead. -What if the boy made a failure of the thing? What if the audience -smiled, hissed? Audiences did behave like that sometimes. Why hadn't -he told the boy, short-off, long ago, he shouldn't try it? Thus he -worked himself into a perfect passion of apprehension. But in the midst -of his perturbation Sylvia's hand rested on his knee and Sylvia's eyes -smiled reassurance. - -"It's all right, Daddy McIntosh," she whispered. "Just you wait till -they hear him." - -In a moment they did hear him and the great hall was hushed to -respectful silence. The audience had the grace to recognize a master -touch when they heard it. Angus McIntosh was justified. The boy whom -he had plucked out of a den of squalor and vice was an artist, and the -grim old man who had had a hand in the creation had been something of an -artist at the job himself. As for Sylvia, who was behind it all, she -hardly breathed until the music ceased. She listened rapt while the -voice of the violin sang and soared, now rapturous, now tender, now -triumphant, now dying away like the note of a wild bird in the night. -She had known before that Gus could play, but this--why this was a thing -born of Heaven to which she listened reverently. Finally the last note -came and quivered into silence. There was an instant's hush then the -applause thundered. The boy lifted his head quietly, but with a certain -grave pride, and his eyes sought the box where Angus McIntosh and Sylvia -sat. Then suddenly his face was lit with a light which was not a smile -but an enveloping radiance which seemed to say, "This is yours. I give -it to you. I am glad it is worth giving." Then he bowed to the -audience and the applause redoubled. - -Angus McIntosh never knew much about the rest of that program. He knew -it went on and the applause went on, that the boy went through the -varied and difficult performance with ease and serenity and simplicity, -but what he was playing the old man never knew. It might have been -"Yankee Doodle" or the "Cam'el's are Coming" for all he heard. He only -knew the thing was beautiful. All the remnants of still lingering -prejudices floated off into some dim cavern where such limbo is stored -or annihilated. There was a place in the world it seemed for sheer -beauty. Maybe it had a spiritual essence all its own. Anyway, this -music of the boy's seemed oddly connected in his mind with the psalms -and other fine old religious poetry with which his mother had filled his -mind long ago. He was humbly glad that he had had a share in letting -loose this thing upon the world. He remembered always that it was -Sylvia who had really opened the door. -Beauty--Kindness--Happiness--Love--all these things had been slipping -almost beyond his grasp that December nearly six years ago when Sylvia -and her Christmas family had brought them back. It was Sylvia who had -given the boy to him, Sylvia, who had given his music to the world by -making himself who had been blind see. - -The concert was over and Herr Bernsdorf, Gus' old music teacher, had -rushed up to the box and was pumping Mr. McIntosh's hand up and down -violently with inarticulate croonings and mutterings of delight and -congratulation. "Haf I not told you that the boy was a genius? Haf I -not said it hundertmal? I knew. I, who was his master, I knew. They -haf done well by him over there, they haf done well. But somebody else, -she haf done more? Is it you, mein Fraulein?" He turned his flashing -little black eyes on Sylvia as he asked the question. - -"I! Oh, no. I have done nothing," disclaimed Sylvia. - -"No? Maybe it is another, in Berlin or Dresden or elsewhere. I know -not. I only know the boy haf learned to play like that from luf. Luf -haf taught him. Only luf learns to play like that. Ach! Do I not -know?" - -And then Gus himself stepped into the box, having gently but firmly -slipped away from the crowd which would have waylaid him. - -"Did you like it, Daddy McIntosh?" he asked playfully, and the old man -coughed and sputtered and could not speak. But Gus was satisfied. Even -as he grasped his sponsor's hand the boy's eyes went beyond to Sylvia, -who had purposely stepped back. Though his lips said nothing, his eyes -asked her too, "Did you like it, Sylvia?" and said again what they had -proclaimed from the stage. "It is yours. I give it to you." - -And a little shiver went over Sylvia as she read the boy's eyes, and -suddenly she felt very sad and humble and a little ashamed because she -had been so blind. She knew he was asking nothing, probably never would -ask anything, but she also knew he was giving something very precious, -something for which she had nothing to give in exchange. Mr. McIntosh, -absorbed in his emotions, did not understand, but the old music teacher -did. - -"I haf said it," he thought triumphantly. "I haf had right. It was -luf--luf and no other who have learned the boy to play like that. I haf -heard it from his fingers and now I haf seen it in his eyes. And by and -by he will play efen better, for luf will also learn him pain, and pain -he is the great master. He it is who learn the masters themselves. Haf -I not seen it?" - -Only for a moment Gus had let his eyes betray him, so brief an interval -indeed that Sylvia thought afterward she must have imagined it so -naturally did she and the young man find themselves chatting over the -details of the concert. - -But later, after she was home in Greendale and curled comfortably in -bed, that eloquent look from those dark eyes came back and would not let -her sleep. - -"Oh, dear," she thought. "Who would ever have thought it of Gus, of all -people? I thought he was just wrapped up in his music. Why won't they -stay friends? It is so discouraging and uncomfortable. There is no end -to the trouble it makes when they begin to want to be lovers. Jack is -likely to come any minute and tell me what a good boy he is and demand -the plums out of the Christmas pie. I don't want to marry any of them. -I don't. I don't. So there." - -But even as she snuggled down among the pillows she heard a wee distinct -little voice inside her somewhere say something quite different. - -"Oh, yes, you do," it said. "You want to marry Phil, by and by, way off -in the future, a thousand years from now. Only he doesn't want to marry -you, and that is what makes you so restless and discontented and horrid. -That's why you've been flirting with Jack and--yes, Gus, too, in a -demure, artistic sort of way, not thinking it would do any harm to -anybody. And even Doctor Tom looked funny at you the other night. -And--but then it is all Phil's fault--so you needn't worry." - -And then Sylvia put her hands over her ears, for she didn't want to hear -any more of that kind of talk. - -"You are quite mistaken," she retorted to the disagreeable little voice. -"I haven't been flirting with anybody. Jack and Gus are both good -friends and I can't help being nice to them. And Doctor Tom is safe and -married, so he doesn't count. But, anyway, I'll be careful after this -and I don't want to marry anybody--not anybody." - -And down in the near-by city the young violinist who had scored such a -success that the papers were already writing up flattering notices about -him sat in his room, furiously scribbling poetry, at least that is what -he would probably have called it, poetry whose theme was mostly borrowed -from another young lover, and had in it a lot about the "desire of the -moth for the star" or some such rubbish. Gus was very young yet if he -was a master violinist and Love was beginning to teach him other things -than how to make his violin sing. But the poetry was not so good as his -music and presently he pushed aside his scribblings in disgust and went -and stood by the window looking out into the night. - -It had been raining and the pavements glistened in the light reflected -from the arc-lamps. And suddenly the twinkling lights called up to the -boy the memory of a Christmas eve when he had followed Angus McIntosh -into a brilliantly lighted room with a wonderful Christmas tree in the -center, such a Christmas tree as he had never dreamed of in his wildest -dreams. And then he forgot the tree and remembered Sylvia smiling -kindly at him, saying, "Christmas Family, here are Mr. McIntosh and Gus -Nichols. Isn't it nice they could get here to-night?" - -He knew now that the desire of the moth for the star had been born then -and there, only it wasn't even a desire, it was just a worship. - -And in the Oriole Inn, at the foot of Sylvia's Hill, Hope Williams lay -asleep with Stephen Kinnard's four weeks' old letter under her pillow, -and a smile on her lips, for she was dreaming she was back in the garden -with Stephen sketching her among the wistaria vines. But Stephen -Kinnard was having a very amusing and profitable time sketching a wild, -little beauty of a half breed on an Arizona desert these days and had -all but forgotten such a person as Hope existed. But never once in all -his wanderings did he forget to mail a weekly letter to Felicia Emory, -who had rejected him "with reasons." - -So things go in this piquant world of ours. And there is much truth -hidden for the wise in the depths of the "Grecian Urn." - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *THE CITY* - - -By November Barbara had become so accustomed to the city that she no -longer jumped at its noises or shrank physically from its crowds. She -learned to ignore the thunder of the El and to regard the Subway as a -necessary evil, the traffic policeman a very present help in time of -trouble. She even learned to zigzag deftly, alone and unprotected, in -and out among the automobiles, and to calculate on the chance that a -Fifth Avenue Bus driver would probably prefer not to run her down, other -things being equal. - -But she never quite made friends with the big, strange city--the -Step-Mother city--as some one has called it. Always it seemed to hold -her at a distance, perfectly amicable and perfectly impersonal. It -seemed to say to her "What are you to me? There are hundreds---yes, -thousands, like you in my gigantic household. Can I be expected to care -for you each as individuals? Watch the motes dancing in the sunshine. -As the motes to you so you to me. Go look at the sands shining on the -beach at Coney. As the grains to you so you to me. Let your eyes -follow the ripples of my big river. As the ripples to you so you and -all the rest of the human eddies which make up my great tide to me." - -Yet there were moments when Barb felt as if she had almost surprised the -city's secret, caught it unaware, as it were, and half ashamed, slipping -into its holy of holies. Once coming over on the ferry from Jersey City -she had scanned the great towers and buildings, set with twinkling -lights as with many jewels, and beheld the huge bridges, across which an -endless stream of traffic passed and repassed, like human life itself in -its unending succession. And then she had seemed to see for a moment -what the city really meant. Sordid, material, menacing, heartless as it -was in many of its aspects did it not after all cherish a big vision? -Were not those very towers and bridges the symbol of its restless -aspiration? - -Suddenly above it all had risen a pale lackadaisical looking moon, -slipping quietly from behind a smoke bank to look down at the seething -tumultuous life of the great city. To Barb the moon had seemed almost -to smile, a world-weary, somewhat cynical smile as one who should say -"Go on. Keep it up. Burrow and build, crush and create, scream and -scuffle. What will it matter a million years hence? You will have -learned by then to be cold and calm like me." - -But the bridges and towers had mocked the moon and defied it. "We are -wood and stone and steel," they said. "We may crumble and fall but what -we stand for will neither crumble nor fall. For we are the symbol of -man, aspirant, conquering--a spirit which shall not grow cold or calm -while there is anything in life to which to aspire, anything left to -conquer. We are nothing. That we grant you, Moon. But the spirit of -man is everything, yes, even God himself, God passioning, agonizing, -ultimately victorious." - -So the vision came to little Barb, and after that she was not afraid of -the city. She had the clew as to what it was all about. It whirred and -rumbled and rushed and screeched like its own busses but it had a method -in its madness. Like the busses, it had a destination. It was going -somewhere whether it knew it or not. - -As for Barb's own little life, caught in the whirl of the city's, it was -full and breathless and on the whole incredibly agreeable. She typed -her Aunt's eloquent pro-suffrage pamphlets and articles and listened -with rapt eyes and eager ears to her Aunt's glowing speeches and all the -while in her busy brain the meaning of this, too, was gradually dawning. -At first it had been like a confused, jumbled picture puzzle, but little -by little she was able to put the pieces together into their proper -places. She was beginning to see that though one talked a great deal -about the woman question and listened to a great deal about the woman -question, there was really, after all, no woman question, just the human -question--the human questions. - -How could every man and woman and child in America--in the world--be -assured enough to eat and to wear, enough and not too much? How could -each have leisure to play, also just enough, neither too much, nor too -little? How was each to find his own work, neither too much nor too -little, but the right work, the work he could do with all his heart, not -for the payment, though that must be adequate, but for the zest of the -doing itself, that special, personal service which every human being -should be God endowed and man fitted to perform? Above all, how could -every man, woman and child be sure of happiness? Since she had come to -the city happiness had come to seem a very fundamental thing, perhaps -because she herself was so happy, partly also because she was so sorry -for the rest who were not happy. And so few of them seemed to be happy. -They looked complacent, or smug, or well-fed, or blatantly successful, -some of them, but almost none looked happy, and most of them, it seemed -to Barb, looked downright miserable, haunted and hunted, which was very -sad. - -Barb herself was happy, as has been said. In her ignorance and -innocence she supposed her happiness had its roots in the fact that she -was young and healthy and busy and useful and interested in her work. -She had no idea that her happiness was at all bound up in the other fact -that few days passed that she did not either see or talk over the -telephone with a certain rather grave but very friendly young doctor -from the near-by clinic, who was also interested in getting at the -secret of the city, especially in trying to pluck out the heart of its -physical miseries, fighting the seemingly futile battle with filth and -disease and ignorance and vice and their sad consequences, attacking the -Augean stables of the city with the energy of a Hercules, though there -was no magic stream to turn to his aid except the magic stream of youth -and courage and determination and faith, which was, after all, a fairly -efficient substitute. - -And if sometimes when there was a silence between the two young people -and Barb's heart was almost overbrimming with a wistful, half-conscious -joy in things as they were, she did not know that the grim set to Phil's -mouth and the tired look in his eyes was due to the fact that his -Faraway Princess was looking particularly far off just then and that he -was all but oblivious of the presence of the contented little -Beggar-Maid quite within hailing distance. So much for Fools' Paradises -where Youth lives from preference and for Nature going quietly about her -business in the background! - -The city had its way with Suzanne, too, and though she loved it better -than Barb, it treated her less genially. Suzanne worked hard and -hopefully. The click of her typewriter resounded faithfully by night and -day. But, somehow, her plays and stories did not sell. The arrival of -the mails with the persistently returning long envelopes was a daily -agony. She got to know all the hateful platitudinous variations of the -printed slip "Does not necessarily imply lack of merit," "Not exactly -suited to the needs of the magazine," and so on. How she detested the -smug, smooth, complacency of those printed formulæ! How she hugged to -her heart the occasional kindly, personal notes of the compassionate -editors who salved the pain of rejection by a brief word or two of -encouragement or advice. But, alas, these favors were as few as they -were precious! - -The plays fared no better. The managers smiled unctuously upon her -prettiness when Suzanne bearded them in their dens. Some of them even -patted her on the shoulder and told her her work was "promising," and -advised her by all means to keep at it. But there was always some -thoroughly excellent reason why they could not take the particular play -or sketch she had to offer and she had eventually to retreat from the -dens, one after the other, sore, indignant, but more doggedly determined -than ever to storm the citadel. - -In the meanwhile Aunt Sarah's little legacy dwindled until it became a -mere shadow of itself. It had never been very portly at the best of -times, and living in the Village is deceptively expensive. By the first -of December Suzanne moved, taking with her her "Factory re-built," which -skipped a few letters for variety's sake now and then, but was, on the -whole, very dependable. Certainly it could be depended upon to turn out -manuscript which would return with automatic precision after the -briefest allotment of days. Suzanne informed Barb about this time over -the telephone that it was incomparably more picturesque to be living -over a fruit vender's shop in the Alley than it was to inhabit a mere -studio. It gave you loads of "copy." Miss Murray looked meditative -when her niece reported this new viewpoint on Suzanne's part and -suggested that that young lady be invited to take supper with them at an -early date, to which Barbara joyfully acquiesced. She felt that she had -seen too little of Suzanne of late. Suzanne accepted and Barb looked at -her very critically and accused her of working herself to death and -getting great dark circles under her eyes. - -But Suzanne only shrugged and asserted that work agreed with her and -sent up her plate for more salad, apologizing for her appetite on the -score of having been so busy at lunch time she had forgotten to eat any. - -"Oh, you genii!" laughed Barb reproachfully, but Miss Josephine Murray -vouchsafed her guest a keen scrutiny which Suzanne perceiving, -straightway rattled off a lot of voluble enthusiasm about the delights -of the "Dutch Oven" and other Bohemian eating-places. - -Later, Phil Lorrimer dropped in and took the girls to a show. He, too, -looked rather hard at Suzanne later when they were having innocuous -sandwiches and beer at a little German restaurant. Phil and Barb -escorted Suzanne home to her alley but she would not let them come in, -protesting that it was too late and she didn't want to ruin her -reputation with Giovanni and Pepita downstairs, who were very proper -people. - -On the Bus Phil turned to Barb to ask a rather odd question. - -"Roger Minot been in town lately?" - -"I don't think so. Suzanne wouldn't let him see her if he did come. -Why?" - -"I just wondered. Suzanne is looking a little peaked, don't you think?" - -"Dreadful," sighed Barb. "Suzanne is such a fiend for work. She owned -up to forgetting to eat any luncheon to-day she was so interested in -what she was doing. I'm afraid she forgets rather often." - -"Shouldn't wonder," agreed Phil. He had seen more than one young man -and young woman, too, for that matter, who had developed that convenient -kind of memory about food in the city when pockets were empty. He -shrewdly suspected that Suzanne was "up against it" in his own parlance. -He had made a fair diagnosis of her case in the garish lights of the -German restaurant. "Overwork, underfeeding, devilish desperation. -Something sure to snap soon." Thus he summed the matter up mentally, -for he had not thought it necessary to alarm Barb about her friend's -situation, since she was so obviously unsuspecting. He knew Suzanne -would brook no help nor pity. "Proud as Lucifer, of course," he -thought. But he made up his mind to keep his eye on Suzanne, as he put -it. - -To that end he made his way to the Village a few evenings later, found -from Giovanni that Suzanne was out and discovered her, for himself -shortly, sitting in a bench on the Square, looking pinched and blue -about the lips. Phil Lorrimer was a very direct person and usually went -straight for any goal he had in sight. He finally succeeded in wringing -the truth out of Suzanne. She had not sold a story since she came to -New York or "landed" a play. Her money was all but gone and she had -been living on one meal a day for a week past. - -"And the worst of it is, I'm a rotten failure. That's what I can't -stand." And Suzanne had clenched her fist in her shabby little glove -and set her white teeth together sharply. "I won't give up. I tell you -I won't. I won't go home and I won't ask 'em for a cent. I won't let -'em say, 'I told you so.' I won't. I won't. Phil Lorrimer, if you -dare to hint one word of what I've told you to-night to Rog--er--to my -people, I'll borrow a stiletto of Giovanni and ram it clean through you. -What did you ever make me tell you for, anyway? You hadn't any business -to. I hate you!" And with an ejaculation somewhere between a snarl and -a sob, Suzanne had turned and fled away from him into the night. - -But it had not taken Phil's long legs many seconds to be up with her -again. - -"See here, Suzanne," he urged. "Don't take it like that. My knowing -doesn't count. Doctors and priests are dumb as the grave. I won't -peach, but do let me help you over the bad spot. I haven't much myself, -as you know, but I'd be glad to ease you along a bit if you'll let me, -man to man." - -Suzanne smiled an April smile at him. - -"Man to man, you are a darling, Phil Lorrimer. I'd let you help me if -I'd let any one but I won't. My pride's all I have left, and I'm going -to hang on to that like grim death. Don't you worry. I know what I can -do and I'm going to do it." - -"What?" Phil was somewhat dubious about the sudden flush on Suzanne's -cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. - -She shook her head, mischief written in every line of her thin, pretty, -piquant face. - - "'Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, - Till you applaud the deed,'" - -she quoted gayly. "It is much better you shouldn't know. I'm not even -going to tell Barb. She will only be informed that I am out of town -with friends. My esteemed parents and dear Roger will hear the same. -Your job is to sit tight and know nothing. You won't be responsible. -Your skirts--I mean your coat-tails---will be entirely clear." - -"Suzanne, I've half a mind to telegraph your father this minute--or -Roger. Maybe it would be better to summon Roger." He eyed her sternly. - -Suzanne giggled wickedly. - -"You will do nothing of the sort, dear Dumb as the Grave. I have your -sacred oath not to peach." - -"Let me off, Suzanne," he begged. "Honest, I'm worried about you. You -look wild." - -But Suzanne only laughed again, and assured him she was saner than the -statue of Liberty. - -"Let you off nothing, dear sir," she added for good measure. "But -please don't fret. I assure you I am not going to do a thing either -desperate or immoral. I'm going on a lark, that is all. You can't down -Suzanne. Like Ivory Soap--it floats. Here we are at my alley. My fruit -stand's just beyond. Shake hands like a good boy and wish me luck. -Don't frown like that. It spoils your leonine beauty. Good night--and -good-by." And, before he could speak, Suzanne had darted into her own -doorway leaving Phil staring rather ruefully after her. - -"Now what in time or eternity is she up to?" he pondered. "She isn't -the kind to play the fool to any great extent. Got too much head and -too little heart. I may as well let her gang her own gait. She's bound -to anyway. Poor old Roger! She is certainly leading him a trail. -Wouldn't he curse me for letting her make a getaway like this if he -knew? Out of town with friends!" he muttered as he descended into the -depths of the subway. "I'd like to see the friends. And if I were Rod -Minot, I would too, or know the reason why." - -Thus satisfactorily can one young man sum up the whole duty of another -in a recreant courtship though remaining as helpless and inefficient as -a new-born infant in the management of his own. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *MARGINS* - - -"Hello, Jack! I had no idea you were home." Sylvia, rosy and blown -from a spin behind Doctor Tom's frolicsome black mare, entered the -living-room at Arden Hall, bringing with her a whiff of fresh outdoor -air. She threw down her muff and held out a welcoming hand to her guest -who had been waiting her return. - -"Bad penny, you know." Jack captured both hands instead of the one -vouchsafed as he spoke. "Can't leave business very long, you see." His -eyes twinkled mischievously as he looked down at Sylvia, making -shameless bid for her favor. Sylvia laughed, but she withdrew her hands -and shook her head at him. - -"You are a dreadful fraud, Jack. You don't really care such a lot about -the business all at once. You know you don't." - -"Not a tinker's dam," he shrugged. "Whatever that may be." - -"Then why--" began Sylvia and stopped. - -"There is only one why, young lady, and you know it." - -Sylvia frowned and jabbing out her hatpins a little irritably, tossed -her black velvet toque on the table. She had already removed her coat -and furs and stood, trim and tailored, in her simple blue serge dress; a -simplicity which was exceedingly becoming and likewise extremely -expensive as Jack's approving gaze, sweeping the lithe young curves of -her figure, knew very well. - -"I wish you wouldn't, Jack." - -"Wouldn't what?" blandly. - -"Wouldn't work--just because I want you to. It is so horribly like a -bribe." - -"It is a bribe." - -"Then I don't like it. I told you I didn't promise anything." - -"And I told you I didn't expect anything. You can't blame a fellow for -putting all the eggs he can find into his basket." - -"Put all the eggs you like into the basket, only don't blame me if they -get smashed. Sometimes, Jack, I think you don't really want to marry me -at all--you just want the fun of pursuing me." - -"Maybe so," agreed Jack so amicably that Sylvia lifted her eyebrows at -him. "I was brought up never to contradict a lady." - -Sylvia laughed at that and sat down, running her hand over her hair, to -brush back its turbulent ripple, a gesture Jack loved because it was so -interwoven with his mental pictures of her. - -"Let's not discuss ourselves," she added. "Tell me the news. Did you -see Barb and Suzanne?" - -"I saw Barb. Suzanne has fled the coop." - -"What?" - -"The report is she is out of town, traveling with friends. Barb looks -worried and Phil looks wise but neither has much to say." - -"Does Phil know where she is?" - -"He says not, but he knows something, or I miss my guess. Not that the -old oyster would open up his shell a fraction of an inch even to oblige -yours truly. I pried like a good one but to no purpose. Talk about -your professional secrecy! Phil's got it down to the finish. The old -chap is different somehow, older and solemn as a fish. Horrible example -of what work will do to a fellow!" he grinned. - -Sylvia stooped to pick up the tongs and stir the fire, which was -smoldering a little sulkily on the hearth. Out of the tail of his eye -Jack watched her. - -"He and Barb seem to be remarkably good pals," he continued. "The Aunt -orders him about like a member of the family. Don't wonder he obeys. -That woman is a general. I wouldn't be surprised if she took the vote -away from the men and gave it to the women any day, if she took the -notion. Lucky she and Napoleon didn't hitch their wagons to the same -star in the same generation. The star would have dragged Aunt Josephine -and ditched the emperor, that's certain." - -"Do stop talking nonsense, Jack, and tell me more about Suzanne." - -Sylvia's voice had a faint edge of sharpness to it as if a little of the -grim December wind outside had gotten into it. - -"I don't know any more. I've told you all that is generally published. -Even Norton, Pa., gropes in middle darkness. She didn't even write to -Roger it seems. He is in bad. Had the temerity to propose to her again -just after she had emerged with a bundle of manuscripts from a manager's -office, which wasn't a tactful moment, I gather. She consigned him to -the devil or some feminine equivalent thereof, apparently. Pa and Ma -knows she's traveling. Had cards from Buffalo and Cleveland, I -understand. Pa's excited and Ma's took to her bed. Looks as if they -feared the worst." - -"Jack!" - -"Sorry. I was only joking, of course. Trust Suzanne to take care of -herself. She is all right. Roger is having a fit or two though, and no -wonder." - -"Serves him right. Why didn't he go and marry her and not let her go -off on a tangent like that?" - -"Why, indeed?" murmured Jack. "It is so hanged easy to marry a girl -when she won't have you! Give me the good old cave days. You could -knock your bride down with a club if she objected. Then, when she came -to, she would get up and grin at her noble master and string some red -berries round her neck, or stick a ring in her nose, to enhance her -charms, and everything would be entirely agreeable." - -"Jack, you are perfectly horrid to-day. I wish you had stayed in New -York. How is Jeanette?" Sylvia changed the subject severely. - -"Going the pace, as usual. Good Lord, Sylvia, what do you suppose a -woman wants to live the kind of life she's elected for? I like a good -time myself. It's a family trait. But she goes as if all the devils of -Hell were loose and after her. Maybe they are, after a fashion. See -here, Sylvia, aren't you going up to see her soon?" - -"After Christmas. Why?" - -"Nothing especial. I thought a dose of you might be good for her, that -is all." - -And that was all the explanation that Sylvia extracted on that subject, -though she guessed that there was more than Jack admitted behind his -rather enigmatic remarks. Jack was incredibly clear-sighted about some -things, and it was evident he saw cause to worry about his sister -Jeanette, even to the extent of hurrying Sylvia to New York where he -himself could not follow unless he turned back the page of the virtuous -new leaf of his devotion to business. There was a puzzle behind it -somewhere, Sylvia knew. She also knew she was going to be left to -discover the exact nature of the puzzle for herself. - -So December went its way. Suzanne continued mysteriously "traveling -with friends." Barb and Phil kept hard at work in the city and managed -to see a good deal of each other in their off hours. Sylvia and Phil -had almost ceased to write to each other, though there was no open break -in their friendship. It was rather that a wall, intangible but -unsurmountable, had risen between them, as perhaps it had, for pride is -a mightier barrier than a mountain peak sometimes. Gus went his quiet, -successful way on his concert tour, refusing politely but conclusively -to be made a lion of, keeping rather to himself in his leisure hours, -living on his unspoken dreams and managing to get a great deal of pure -happiness out of his star worship. To Sylvia's delight, and almost to -Felicia's consternation, the latter's designs for a mural relief, which -Stephen Kinnard had fairly bullied her into submitting in a competition, -had been accepted and she was hard at work on the actual modeling these -brief winter days, though she found time, Felicia fashion, to be an -excellent "Home-keeper" and Mother along with the other task. - -Early in November Lois Daly had rather astonishingly announced her -intention of "doing some writing" as she put it rather vaguely. Lois -was always reticent, especially about her literary work, and even her -husband asked no questions, realizing it suited her better to be let -alone to work out her purpose for herself. She was far too -conscientious about her other duties to neglect any of them and it was -consequently the long evenings when the children were in bed and the -household affairs quiescent that she found most profitable for her new -work. This arrangement was admirable in all but two respects. It made -Lois' working day an almost impossibly long one and left her a little -too weary for restful sleep when she did finally creep into bed. It -also curtailed almost to a minimum the moments which she had to spare -for her husband's society, which had been all too few even before the -advent of this new era. Doctor Tom made no protest as to this. He was -always over-sensitive to the sacrifice of her work which Lois had made -for him and his, but he did beg her at times not to "bother" so much -about the house and the children and himself. - -But Lois always shook her head at his pleas and explained quietly that -he and the house and the children were her real job and she could not -neglect them for the other. And if Tom Daly found it in his heart to -wonder sometimes if his wife's "real job" did not include a little -closer companionship with himself he never voiced his wondering. He was -no "martyr," as he had once long ago protested to Sylvia. - -But human relations are never static and while Lois shut herself in her -den and wrote feverishly, night after night, her husband, being only -human, easily drifted into the habit of finding elsewhere than at his -own home the companionship and sympathy which even the strongest and -most independent of men half-consciously crave. Arden Hall and Sylvia -were close at hand and it was almost inevitable that he should find his -way to the two rather often. Sylvia was intensely interested in all his -schemes for the hospital and other altruistic visions which made up a -very large part of his wide, busy career. Often they talked eagerly for -hours, either with or without Felicia's presence. Oftener still Tom -Daly would sit and smoke in contented silence while Sylvia played soft -music or read aloud out of some magazine stories which let his mind rest -instead of wrestle. - -It was all the most natural, even inevitable development. The two were -old friends. Tom Daly was thirty-eight and happily married. Sylvia -Arden was twenty-two questing for experience innocently enough. There -was no one to question or warn, or indeed, anything to question or warn -against. Yet there sat Nature spinning away at her web all the time and -Tom Daly and Sylvia were near to being caught in the mesh, without even -knowing there was any mesh. And the danger for Tom Daly as it happened -was considerably greater than for Sylvia just because he was a man. Man -is the so-called reasoning sex, but, as has been more than once noted, -sex is the one subject upon which he will not reason. And so things -slipped easily and pleasantly along up to Christmas time. - -It was Jack Amidon who involuntarily opened Sylvia's eyes by uttering an -unusually sharp protest that she went nowhere any more, either with him -or any one else, but just sat in the chimney corner and played Joan to -Tom Daly's Darby. "And soon there'll be the deuce to pay whether you -know it or not," he had added darkly. - -Of course Sylvia had flared out in quick anger at his implications. - -"What do you mean, Jack Amidon, by saying such horrid things?" she had -stormed. "It is perfectly ridiculous. Doctor Tom is years and years -older than I am. He is just like a brother." - -Jack had seen the brother dodge worked before and said so somewhat -caustically, whereupon Sylvia lost what little temper she had left, and -having delivered a volley of violent wrath upon her guest's imprudent -head, shot out of the room, leaving him to enjoy the hospitality of the -Hall in solitude or beat a retreat as pleased him best. - -Meanwhile, upstairs in her own room, Sylvia threw herself on the bed, -and, first of all, woman fashion, relieved her feelings by indulging in -a good old-fashioned "weep," her anger dissipating with her tears. -Presently she sat up and began to take stock of the situation and -herself, and found to her consternation that things as they actually -were, were about as safe as a child with a box of matches in a haymow. - -She was a perfectly clear-eyed and sophisticated young woman and when -her attention was called, however brutally, to the fact that you cannot -see a man, night after night, week after week, as she had been seeing -Tom Daly, without there being at least the possibility of the "deuce to -pay," as Jack had bluntly expressed it, she was willing to acknowledge -the fact to herself at least. She carefully analyzed her own mental -processes for the past few weeks and discovered to her surprise and some -chagrin that she had been ruthlessly cutting out engagements in which -Tom Daly did not figure, and eagerly making those in which he did -figure, that she had deliberately plunged into everything that -interested him, Red Cross work, the new hospital, the needs of some of -his poorer patients; everything, in short, that he cared about heartily. -She even had to admit to herself that she had been a little complacent -and self righteous in her genuine interest and sympathy with these -things because she resented Lois Daly's apathy in the matter and felt -profoundly sorry for Doctor Tom. She discovered that it is not prudent -in the world as it is lived to be too sorry for another woman's husband. -That way danger lies, and a signboard to that effect is in order. -Beyond this, however, Sylvia knew she had little for which to blame -herself. She was not a deliberate coquette. She had acted in all -simplicity and naturalness, but there had been a risk to the experiment -for all that and she was a bit ashamed of her hitherto state of -blindness. - -Being a very honest young person, Sylvia sat down, as soon as she had -threshed the whole matter out to the satisfaction of her clear, fair -mind, and wrote a very artistically penitent note to Jack, retracting -some of the unwarrantable things she had said in her wrath and admitting -rather hazily that there was a faint possibility that he might have been -in the right about certain matters, implying that she was magnanimously -willing even to ignore his objectionable rightness if he so desired. - -And her note crossed one from Jack, begging her to forgive his "darned -impertinence" and adding that he had behaved like a jackass and a dog in -the manger and Heaven knows how many other kinds of animals, but if she -would be good enough to overlook his misdemeanors he would be eternally -grateful. - -And the next evening Sylvia appeared under Jack's escort at the -Honeycutt ball, wearing a marvelous new gown and looking extraordinarily -pretty after her temporary estrangement from Vanity Fair. And from that -time on during all the mad gayeties of Christmas week Jack was -constantly in attendance, obviously the favored knight. Life is mostly -made up of reactions. The pendulum having swung so far to the left, -swings back an equal distance to the right. Sylvia was the kinder to -Jack because of her deflection away from him in an entirely opposite -direction. And he, with the wisdom born of considerable experience of -the feminine sex in general, and Sylvia Arden in particular, made no -comment though he perfectly understood what had happened, but sunned -himself agreeably in his lady's rather uncertain grace and bided his -time. - -And the night of the Honeycutt ball for the first time in several weeks -Tom Daly sat and smoked before his own fireside and not once did he -think of the new hospital. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *"SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS"* - - -"Phil? That you, my boy? Come up and take dinner with us to-night, -won't you? I have a proposition to make to you." - -Thus the smooth voice of Justin Huntley over the telephone. Justin -Huntley was a famous nerve specialist, a classmate and lifelong friend -of Phil Lorrimer's father, who had kept a friendly eye on the young man -ever since he had come to the city. - -Phil accepted the invitation, and later, as he left the Subway and -strolled down Seventy-second Street toward the river, he speculated -vaguely as to what the proposition might be likely to be. Doctor -Huntley was quite capable of initiating any kind of a suggestion, from -proposing a marriage to an heiress to the use of a new serum. -Consequently Phil had little to go upon in his speculations. - -It was an agreeable dinner. Dinner at the Huntleys' always was -agreeable, moving by pleasant stages to a perfect end, gastronomically -speaking. There were no other guests to-night and presently, Mrs. -Huntley, a frail tired looking little lady who always seemed to be -deprecating the weight of her silks and the brilliancy of her jewels, -rose and left the two men together. - -"Any curiosity about the proposition I baited my hook with to get you -here to-night?" Dr. Huntley surveyed his guest a little quizzically as -he launched the question. - -"I didn't need any bait," said Phil. "But I admit the curiosity." - -The older man leaned forward and deliberately lit his cigarette from a -candle that stood close at hand. - -"You don't smoke?" he remarked irrelevantly. - -"No," admitted Phil. "At least, not often. Bad for the operating -table." - -"Bad! It's the devil. You have a deal of sense, young man. How would -you like to be my partner?" The question was put as casually as if he -were offering a fellow traveler, caught in the rain, a share of his -umbrella, but his shrewd eyes took full account of the face of the young -man. Phil flushed and his mouth opened slightly. It was a proposition -to make any ambitious young man drop his jaw. Justin Huntley had one of -the largest and most remunerative practices in the city. It was a -dazzling prospect to open suddenly before the eyes of a small-salaried -worker in a free clinic. It meant success, money--Sylvia, something to -offer her, at last. - -"Well?" - -"It is a wonderful chance," said Phil steadily, "but I should like to -think it over, if you don't mind." - -"Eh?" It was Dr. Huntley's jaw that dropped this time. He had scarcely -expected a young man in Phil Lorrimer's position to need to think over -an offer such as he had just made. Most young men would have jumped at -it quickly as a trout leaps at a shining fly lest the fascinating thing -disappear from view before it could be apprehended. "What did you say?" - -"I said I should have to think it over," repeated Phil. "Your kind of -practice isn't the kind I am interested in, to speak frankly." - -"Interested! Good Lord! Who expects to be interested in anything -nowadays? A lot of damn women with nothing on earth the matter with -them except fool notions, and having nothing on earth or in Heaven to -occupy themselves with, dyspeptics, neurasthenics, hypochondriacs, dope -fiends, gentlemen drunkards and worse! That is my kind of practice, -boy. Pah! Interesting! Of course, they aren't interesting. They are -fools. But they pay. Lord, how they pay! They wouldn't be sick if they -didn't have so much money. You would open your eyes if you saw my -books. But I've had 'most enough of 'em. I want somebody to take the -brunt of their damn foolnesses off of me. That is what I want a partner -for. Some day I'll be telling 'em what I really think of 'em and it -wouldn't do--it wouldn't do. I've got to have an understudy. You've a -close mouth and a good head and you'd like the money. Don't tell me you -wouldn't like it," querulously. "Everybody wants money these days. The -whole world's after it." - -"Oh, I want it all right," said Phil Lorrimer honestly. "I happen to -want it like the devil just at present. But I am not sure I want -it--that bad. That is what I have to think over." - -He took a hasty swallow of water from the glass beside his plate, then -rose and made a few quick, nervous turns, up and down the room. Finally -he came to a halt opposite his host. - -"I don't know whether I can make you understand, Dr. Huntley, but it is -like this," he said. "I have a drop or so of missionary blood in me. -My father is in China now. My mother would be, if she could stand the -climate. My sister is teaching in a missionary school in Turkey. I -chose the kind of work I am doing here in New York partly because it -interested me, but I believe it was a little bit too because of the -missionary strain. Anyway, it seems to me a worth-while job. But this -thing you are offering me-- Pardon me if I sound rude. I don't mean to -disparage your work. It is fine--some of it, but well, the truth of it -is, it doesn't look to me to measure up to what we are doing in the -clinic and what some other doctors and surgeons are doing in other -places. The finest man I know--doing the finest work I know--is in -Greendale, a little place just outside Baltimore. He has always been a -sort of standard for me--he and my father. If I went in with you, it -would be not because my heart was in it, but because the money was in -it, and wanted the money worse than I wanted to hang onto my dreams. -That is about the whole story." - -Justin Huntley smoked in silence during this, for Phil, rather long -speech. Phil was not much given to eloquence. - -"Well," he said. "Even so. Put it as baldly as that, if you like. It -is up to you. A man can't afford to sentimentalize much in this day and -generation. Let me remind you, the money is not to be despised. It -buys a good deal." - -Phil's eyes were lowered. Well he knew, or thought he knew, what it -could buy for him. Not Sylvia, of course, Sylvia could not be bought, -but the right to go in and try to win her against Jack, against the -world, yes, against even his own ideals. The last thought crowded in, an -unbidden guest. Suddenly he loathed his father's friend, loathed his -smug success, his cynical sureness that he himself could be bought. For -it was buying, and Phil knew it. If he took this offer, he sold out, to -the highest bidder, his own high ideals. Was it worth it? Was even -Sylvia worth it? Had he the right to win her that way? Could he do it? - -"Don't give your final answer to-night." Justin Huntley's bland voice -interrupted the boy's reflections. "There is no hurry. Take a week. -Two--three--if you like." - -Phil pulled himself together. - -"Thank you. I will, if you don't object--a few days, anyway. Please -don't think I am ungrateful, or don't appreciate the compliment you have -paid me--or rather the kindness, for, of course, I know I'm not -experienced enough to be much of a partner at present. I--" - -But Huntley waved the words aside. - -"It's not kindness--nothing but selfishness. I happen to want you. -Come on in if you will. Anyway think it over. The madame is alone. -Shall we go to her?" - -Phil fancied there was an odd, wistful inquiry in Mrs. Huntley's pale -eyes as she turned to meet the men as they entered the room. It was -almost as if she were making some kind of plea. Whether she wanted him -to accept or refuse her husband's offer was not at all clear to Phil. -He made his adieus as early as he politely could on the score of a -previous engagement and passed out into the night trying to adjust as -best he could the confused bundle of thoughts and emotions he carried. - -"Wonder if old Mephisto had any qualms," muttered Justin Huntley as the -door had closed upon the tall young doctor. - -"Did you speak, dear?" inquired his wife. "I didn't understand." - -"No, I didn't say anything--worth repeating." - -"How like Philip is to his father, isn't he?" - -"Very like," somewhat dryly. "Did you say there was a girl?" - -"A girl?" Mrs. Huntley always dealt in mild interrogatives as if to -disclaim the responsibility of assertion. "Oh, yes. His mother told us -he was devoted to Sylvia Arden--wasn't it? That lovely young girl we -met once--in Baltimore, I think? She is a great heiress, isn't she?" - -"H-mm. Maybe he will be back, after all," remarked her husband -irrelevantly. - -Phil's restlessness gave him no peace, and though the engagement had -been fiction he decided to run around and see Barb a few moments before -he turned in for the night. He had gotten in the habit of using Barb as -an anæsthetic of late, though he had no idea he was doing it. To-night -he found her alone, curled up like a sleepy kitten before the fire. She -rose with a happy little exclamation of surprise as Phil came in. - -For once the flood gates of his reserve were down for Phil. In five -minutes he had poured out the whole story of his evening's experience, -omitting nothing except the mention of Sylvia. In fact, he, hardly -thought it necessary to mention Sylvia. She so fully possessed his own -mind he had no conception that Barbara did not fully understand how -inextricably Sylvia was woven in with the whole matter. - -"But Phil," wondered Barb, "it isn't the kind of work you like, is it? -I can't imagine you dealing with that kind of patients exclusively." -Barb's eyes blinked and crinkled, Barb-like, as she made the statement. - -"Nor I. I should be all too likely to tell 'em to go plum to thunder." -He grinned a little as he made the admission. - -"Then why? Phil, it can't be the money that appeals to you?" Barb's -voice was startled, incredulous. - -Phil had been on his feet, marching to and fro in the little room, as -was his custom when excited. But suddenly he dropped into a chair before -the hearth. - -"Listen, Barbie. Listen hard," he said. "Suppose a chap wanted to -marry a girl and he didn't have any money, at least not as much as he -thought he ought to have, not to look like a fool and a knave, asking -for her, and then suppose that, right out of a clear sky, the chap saw a -chance to make a big income, perfectly respectably, if not, well, we'll -say exhilaratingly, wouldn't he just naturally grab at the chance?" - -Phil was not looking at Barb. He was staring into the gas log with all -his might, but in any case it didn't matter much. Wherever he looked -Phil saw only Sylvia that night. Barb's cheeks were pink and her breath -came a little more quickly than usual. She couldn't help wondering if -Phil could hear the "Blop! Blop! Blop!" her heart was making. It -seemed as if he must hear, it was such a queer, loud sound, but he did -not appear to notice. He did not even turn toward her. - -"He might grab, but I think he would put his hand down quick again as -soon as he realized the girl wouldn't want him--that way. She wouldn't -want to be bought at a price--like that." Barb managed to keep her -voice steady in spite of the queer thing her heart was doing. - -"Maybe not," said Phil. "Somehow I thought that is what you would say, -Barbie. Thank you." And suddenly Phil was on his feet. "'Night, Barb. -I've got to telephone a man before it gets any later." - -And before Barb caught her breath he was gone. It did not matter any -more now how her heart behaved, but somehow, oddly enough it stopped -"blopping" and seemed suddenly to be very, very tired and heavy, as if -it were going to sink straight down into her stomach which, of course, -was no place for a heart to be located. - -Yet it was all perfectly natural and like Phil not to have said anything -more at the moment. He had to get the taint of barter off his hands -before he came to her. "Suppose a chap wanted to marry a girl." -"Suppose a chap wanted to marry a girl." The clock on the mantel seemed -to be ticking out the words very distinctly. And suddenly Barb felt -very happy and contented and curled up in her chair again like a kitten. -Here her aunt found her a half hour later. - -"Asleep, Kiddie?" she asked, and Barbara looked up with a shy, radiant -little smile. - -"No, just dreaming," she said. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *INTO HAVEN* - - -Christmas was over, and Sylvia had hardly breathed for a week so -engrossed had she been in all kinds of festivities. Even now she was -preparing to depart on the morrow for an even gayer round, on the long -promised visit to Jeanette Latham, Jack's sister. Perhaps it was to -keep the "Booing" questions at a distance that Sylvia chose to fly from -one mad whirl to another that winter. - -"I almost wish you weren't going to New York, just now, Sylvia. You -look tired to death and your nerves are 'jumpy,' as Doctor Tom says." - -Thus Felicia addressed Sylvia at breakfast the morning of the -twenty-sixth, after the children had scampered off to the delights of -yesterday's new harvest of toys. - -"It is nothing but the day-after feeling," said Sylvia. "I've danced -until morning for four nights running. I'll be all right as soon as I -can get some sleep." - -"I don't know," Felicia looked dubious. "If you were seventeen instead -of twenty-two, I believe I should order you to stay at home." - -"Isn't it lucky, I'm not?" smiled Sylvia. "Felicia, dear, you never did -really boss me in all the years you might have done it. Are you going -to begin now?" - -"I am afraid it wouldn't be much use at this late date," sighed Felicia. -"Sometimes I wonder why you aren't more spoiled than you are. -Seriously, child, you have gotten a little of your shining splendor -rubbed off. Anything the matter?" - -"Nothing in the world, except maybe I wish I knew whether I were going -to marry Jack or not. It is a little distracting not to know. You don't -happen to possess any inside information on the subject, do you?" -Sylvia's smile was whimsical but her eyes were tired. It was true. She -had lost a little of her "shining splendor," as Felicia described it, in -the past few weeks. - -"I do not. But I should on the whole say you were not going to marry -him. You have seen too much of him lately. You need to get away and -get a perspective." - -"Well, who wanted to order me to stay away from New York, just now?" - -"I retract. Go ahead with my blessing. I hope you will meet a hundred -young men and let Jack Amidon get put in his place." - -"That is just it. What _is_ his place?" - -"Sylvia!" Felicia's tone was faintly exasperated. "You are no more in -love with Jack Amidon than I am. Some day you will wake up and find it -out." - -"Will I? Sometimes, Felicia, I have a horrible suspicion I am just a -taster--like tea tasters, you know. Only I like to go round tasting -experience. I never thought I was a bit of a flirt until lately. But -I'm just finding out there are ways and ways of flirting, having -'adventures in personality' as Suzanne calls it. Jack says my 'Damnable -sympathetic ways' are vicious. Maybe they are. I think I must be a -sort of chameleon--all things to all men, you know. I shouldn't wonder -if I couldn't really love anybody--_grand style_." - -"You goose! When the right man comes along you will know the -difference." - -"I wonder." And suddenly Sylvia remembered how she had felt that night -on Lover's Leap, when she and Philip Lorrimer had been the only two -individuals in a whole spacious, shining universe. It seemed now as if -she had heard a kind of Hallelujah chorus, or was it that the silence -had been a strange kind of music itself? - -And then on the heels of this blinding sweet memory had come another, -bringing with it a bitter taste, a memory of those long days after Phil -had gone back to the city and she had watched the mails and pretended to -ignore them. - -And then she remembered Gus and Jack and Doctor Tom. Had they all been -just understudies for somebody else she really wanted in her heart of -hearts? How many other understudies would there be? And would she -marry one of them sooner or later? - -"Women are rather like cats, after all, aren't they, Felicia? They will -pat their mice and keep putting their paws on them, even if they don't -want to eat them." - -Felicia laughed. - -"What a traveler you are! Have you been half round the world since you -spoke last? Shall we ask Tom and Lois over to dinner to-night? We -haven't seen either of them for an age." - -"Yes," said Sylvia. "You telephone, Felicia. I have to pack." - -Sylvia had seen practically nothing of Doctor Tom for the past few -weeks. Never once in that time had she been alone with him. Twice -Doctor Tom had been over when she was in, which was not often during -those full holiday evenings, and she had taken pains to be sure Felicia -was present on those two occasions. Once he had called to her to come -for a drive but she had had a genuine engagement with Jack to plead. -She felt silly enough placing any sort of a barrier between herself and -Doctor Tom but she was afraid for her own part it would be some time -before she could meet him quite naturally again. Sometimes she wished -Jack had kept his "darned impertinence" to himself and other times she -owned it was safer this way. Better that children should not play with -matches at all, since matches did sometimes ignite. At any rate, she -did not mean to see her neighbor alone again until after she got back -from New York. - -But Fate ruled otherwise. That very afternoon, after her breakfast -table philosophizing, she had gone downtown to attend to a few last -errands and the delicious, crisp frostiness of the day tempted her to -walk instead of having the car out. She had hardly finished her tasks -and started homeward when she heard Doctor Tom's familiar whistle, and, -turning, saw him reigning in black Bess by the curb. - -"Game for a spin?" he asked. "I have to go a few miles out in the -country and was looking for company." - -His tone was so natural that Sylvia herself lost her self-consciousness -and was so thankful for the loss that she was very gay and talkative. -If only he needn't find out that it had not been accidental that he had -seen so little of herself of late all would be well. - -"Seems to me you are turning into a regular society Miss after all," he -teased. "Bet you've been cutting Red Cross and everything else since -this dance mania set in." - -"I am afraid I have. I've been an awful backslider in pretty much -everything lately," she told him soberly. - -He flashed one of his quick, shrewd glances at her. - -"What's this, Miss Christmas? Your own special season here and you in -the dumps without even a solitary star sparkle?" - -"You are as bad as Felicia," said Sylvia a little crossly. "Do you all -expect me to grin like a Cheshire cat every minute?" - -He chuckled. - -"Sylvia touchy! What next? Indigestion or bad conscience?" - -"Neither--well, maybe a bit of the latter," admitted Sylvia. "Anyway, I -am not at all pleased with myself lately. I'm getting to be a selfish -pig, and that's the ungarnished truth." - -"Indeed! I hadn't noticed it. The McGuires had a powerful good dinner -yesterday and--" - -"Do hush. It is nothing to send dinners to McGuire's. It doesn't cost -me anything--not even much thought. You needn't try to smooth it over. -I know. I haven't been thinking about a single soul in the world lately -except Sylvia Arden. I set Jack to work and I've just diddled round -myself doing next to nothing. I haven't even learned to cook as I said -I was going to, and since Gus went I haven't practiced and--" - -"And since three weeks ago Thursday you haven't even played me a psalm -tune," he jested. - -Then suddenly he stared. For out of the corner of his eye he perceived -that Sylvia was unmistakably blushing, blushing, of course, the more -hotly because she was so furiously angry at herself for so doing. - -"So it isn't my imagination. There has been some kind of fool talk -somewhere. Confound me for an idiot! Poor kid! We'll settle that." -So thought Tom Daly. Then aloud, "See here, Sylvia, may I say a little -speech? You needn't look at me. I was a manger dog all right, a few -weeks ago, without meaning to be. I had no business to be keeping the -young chaps away from you. I didn't even see I was doing it. I was -down and out for a while, and you, bless your kind heart, saw it and -came to the rescue, like the Christmas girl you are. I shan't forget -what you did for me. If you pulled me out of a rut--and you did--maybe -we both came somewhere near being pulled into a bigger one. So far as I -know, no man is ever old enough to be sure he's passed the fool limit, -and maybe I was nearer the edge than I knew. Anyway, you were a trump -as usual. The blame, if there is any, is mine. All right, little -sister?" Then, at last, he turned to face Sylvia. - -And suddenly and disconcertingly her eyes filled with tears. She was -very tired and her nerves were unstrung by too much gayety and mental -uneasiness. - -"Of course it is all right. There never was anything much wrong, -only--well, I thought I was beginning to plume myself and get complacent -because I was the only one who patted you and smoothed your fur the -right way and maybe I'd better stop before--Doctor Tom, I hate things to -be as they are." - -"Meaning?" - -"Lots of things, but mostly why can't people--men and women--just be -friends and not have anything else snarled up with it?" - -"They can." Tom Daly's steady voice was like oil to the troubled waters -of Sylvia's soul. - -Nor did she guess that it cost him something of an effort to throw -precisely the right amount of big-brotherness into his words. As he -admitted, no man could safely boast that he had passed the fool limit, -but he could and would be man enough himself to be sure no girl like -Sylvia was going to be bothered by the folly. - -"_We_ can anyway," he smiled down at Sylvia to add in the old friendly -way, a friendliness whose very familiarity was steadying. - -She smiled back mistily. - -"Of course we can. I'm a silly idiot to-day. Ghosts seem to walk even -in the sunniest, most everyday places. Thank you, Doctor Tom. I don't -know why I wept. My spirit isn't weepy. It was just my eyes. My -spirit feels like singing 'Yankee Doodle' this minute." - -"Let her go," he approved gayly, and directed the conversation through -the rest of the ride so skillfully to safe and sane and neutral matters -that long before they reached the Hill Sylvia had lost the last vestige -of self-consciousness, and was her old, merry, natural self, with a good -many of the "star sparkles" back in their places. - -This process was so salutary that later when Tom and Lois were at the -Hall to dinner it hardly seemed possible to Sylvia that she had had any -queer feelings at all about the matter and teased and joked with the -doctor in precisely her old merry, audacious way, exactly as she had -been accustomed to doing since she was a naughty little schoolgirl at -St. Anne's. When they were walking home together in the starlight Lois -turned to her husband with a curious question. - -"Tom, don't you ever wish you had waited for Sylvia? She is so lovely -and full of life. She is much more your kind than I am." - -Tom Daly shook his head, and added with all honesty that there never had -been but one girl he had wanted to marry and he had been lucky enough to -get her. And Lois, suddenly lifting her face to his, gave him one of -her rare love looks; a look which he would have crossed the very fires -of Hell to gain. - -As they entered the house she turned to him again. - -"Tom, I am cold and indifferent and I don't always care about the things -you care so much for but I do care--about you. I wish you would try to -remember that, even when I hurt you. Do you mind kissing me?" - -Tom Daly had not "minded." But it was not until they were upstairs in -their own room that the whole of Lois' slow speech evolved. She turned -from the mirror before which she had been letting down her long, ash -blond hair. - -"Tom," she said. - -"Yes, Lois." - -"Do you know I have been having a feeling for a long time that you and -Sylvia were beginning to care for each other? It began that night she -was here and played to you all the evening while I wrote out checks. I -went out to cover the flowers and I saw you on her steps, with her hands -in yours looking so exactly like lovers something just froze in me. I -hate jealous women and I wouldn't say it or hardly think it, but that is -why I have been holding you so far off. If you could love Sylvia, I -didn't want to keep you. I wouldn't fight for anything--even love. But -to-night I saw it had all been just my imagination. I have hurt myself -and you just for nothing. I might have known Sylvia wasn't that kind. -Oh, Tom!" - -But even as he drew Lois into his arms Tom Daly knew that it is -sometimes a woman's business to fight for love. Humbly he admitted that -it had been Sylvia and not himself nor Lois who had saved the day. As -honest a man as ever lived was Tom Daly, but neither then nor at any -other time did he tell his wife how narrowly her fears had escaped -realization. Nor did Sylvia Arden ever guess how slight an impetus -would have set herself and the fine man she knew as neighbor and brother -drifting into perilous seas, instead of being as they now were, anchored -safely in the haven of old friendship. That was Tom Daly's secret, and -he was used to keeping secrets, even his own. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *"AND HAVING EYES"* - - -After the night when Phil Lorrimer played with opportunity a minute, -then set it aside as not for his taking, things began to be different. -Human relations have a way of shifting into new combinations of form and -color like a kaleidoscope just when you think they have become as fixed -as the stars in their courses. - -That night brought a reaction with Phil. He was actuated by a fierce -and relentless energy which only work could appease. Hence he came less -often to Miss Josephine Murray's pleasant apartment, but kept burrowing -deeper and deeper like a mole into the professional soil, working like a -demon by day, and studying, reading, experimenting doggedly by night, -trying his best to fill his mind so full that the thought of Sylvia -could not find a cranny in which to creep and grow. But the less vacuum -he left in his mind the bigger seemed the emptiness of his heart, or -rather its fullness, for was it not full to overflowing with love for -Sylvia? Like a mole, too, in his blindness, it did not occur to Phil -that his stubborn silence might be hurting Sylvia. Still less in his -humble unselfconsciousness did it occur to him that he might also be -hurting Barbara Day. He had supposed always she understood. His love -for Sylvia seemed as obvious and inevitable as rain and sun. It was -incredible that any one should be unaware of it. So he would perhaps -have reasoned, if it had seemed necessary to reason at all on the -subject, which it did not. - -And while Phil burrowed and blundered Barbara grew up. Her cheeks shed -their soft childlike curves. Her eyes lost their dewy morning-glory -look. They seemed not to wonder any more, but to know. The city had -set its seal upon her, fed her youth to its strange gods. But the city -was not all to blame. What had happened to Barb might have happened -anywhere. The little drama in which she was playing out her part might -have been staged in any other place quite as well. Nor was it at all an -original drama. Its plot is curiously old though it has infinite -variations. - -It came to Barb that winter that, after all, happiness wasn't the -essential thing she had believed. One could, it seemed, go on eating and -sleeping and walking and talking and typing and even laughing, just the -same, even if one did feel a little like an empty goblet, turned bowl -down, with all its sparkling contents spilled out. It was queer, but it -was so. - -Yet way down in the bottom of Barb's heart there still nestled a little -winged creature called Hope, just as there had been in the bottom of -Pandora's box. Maybe things were not as strange as they seemed. Maybe -it was just that people were very busy about Christmas time. Possibly -after New Year's it would be different again. - -But before New Year's Barb discovered that things would never be -different, and the way she found out was very simple. - -On the second evening of her visit to Jeanette, Sylvia had run away from -the stately "Duplex on the Drive" to take supper with Barb, and Miss -Murray, for purposes of her own, had asked Doctor Lorrimer to join them -also. He had been a little late in arriving and as the others had -already gone into the dining-room Barb opened the door for him. He -greeted her with the old friendly terrible grip which crushed Barb's -ring into her finger and set the blood singing through her. He started -to make a remark about the weather but his opinion of that commodity was -never completed for suddenly from the room beyond Sylvia's laughter -rippled out. - -Did you ever happen to be engaged in decorous conversation with a man -and suddenly see a change sweep over his face, and an arrested, -listening, illuminated look take possession of it, just because -somewhere in the distance he had heard a step, a voice, a laugh, -belonging to somebody who was not yourself? That was what Barbara Day -saw, and the little winged creature used her wings then and there and -never came back. Barb heard the clock tick out as before, "Suppose a -chap wants to marry a girl," but she knew now, once and for all, that -the clock had never been talking about Barbie Day. It had always meant -Sylvia Arden from the beginning. - -But Barb's fathers had been fighting men and she herself was game to her -little brown fingertips. - -"Hurry!" she said gayly, just a shade _too_ gayly, perhaps, only Phil -did not notice. "Sylvia's here and soup's served." And as she pushed -aside the curtains into the dining-room she announced with a gallant -flourish, "Doctor Lorrimer, ladies." - -But while Phil and Sylvia shook hands she did not look at them, busying -herself instead with rearranging the scarlet carnations which stood in -the center of the table, complaining to her aunt as she did so that the -flowers looked "stiff" and "old-maidish" and needed a "touch." - -It was Barb who was the blithest of them all that night at the little -supper party, bestowing to it the "touch" just as she had to the -carnations. Sylvia and Phil were both slightly self-conscious and not -very conversational. Miss Josephine Murray was somewhat silent too, -watching the young people with eyes that saw all there was to see and -understanding things at which she had been able only to guess hitherto. - -That night after Sylvia and Phil had gone, Barb slipped quickly away to -bed, a little afraid of what her aunt's keen gaze might have discovered, -and longing, in any case, to be alone with the dark and the Thing she -had been dodging all the evening, the Thing which sooner or later had to -be faced and grappled with. - -Later Miss Murray found her wide awake and stooped to kiss her with -unwonted tenderness. - -"Good night, Barbie. Anything I can do to--put you to sleep?" - -Barb shook her head with a tired little smile. Then suddenly she sat up. - -"If you don't mind, I think I'd like you to put your arms around me and -hold me tight for a minute. Mother used to hold me that way when I -felt--achey." - -Miss Josephine's arms went around the girl, holding her very "tight" -indeed for a few moments of silence. - -"Do you feel very achey, Barbie?" she asked presently. - -"Oh, no," lied Barb. "I just wanted to be petted a little weeny mite, -that was all. I'm all right. Thank you, Aunt Jo. Don't bother. Do go -to bed. I know you are tired." - -That was the nearest the two ever came to speaking of the Thing but -neither fell asleep until dawn, and when Barb awoke from her brief, -heavy slumber she was entirely grown up. - -Out in the crisp chill of the December night, after leaving Miss Murray -and Barb, Phil and Sylvia had found their tongues. All the hurt and -estrangement of the past months seemed magically to have shed itself, -leaving only the old happy intimacy with perhaps a touch of something -new and even more exhilarating about it. - -As they walked along the river front they talked of many things, of -Phil's work, of Jack's unprecedented diligence, of Gus Nichols' success -on the road, of Felicia's designs, and Lois Daly's novel, of "Hester -house" and Phil's mother, of Barb's services to the Cause, and Suzanne's -mysterious journeyings; of everything indeed, it seemed, except the -subject which was nearest the surface, their own selves. - -When they reached the Lathams' apartment they were still as far from -having said the really important things that trembled on their lips as -they had been at the beginning. Sylvia knew perfectly well what she -wanted to say but being a woman could not say it. Phil also knew -perfectly well what he wanted to say but being a man set his lips and -did not say it. It was only as Sylvia paused in the doorway and held out -her hand to Phil that the thing came near to getting said in spite of -them both. - -"Sylvia!" Phil's voice had a quick little catch in it very unlike his -usual rather deliberate speech. "If I don't see much of you while you -are here you will understand, won't you? It won't be because I don't -want to but because I--don't dare." And his frank blue eyes implored -her to understand and forgive. - -"Are you sure--there is anything--to be afraid of?" Sylvia's words had -jerked a little, too, and as she drew her hand away to press the bell -her eyes expressed more even than her tongue had said. - -"Sylvia!" Phil took a swift step nearer but before he could say any -more a solemn liveried person had appeared in the doorway and stood at -blinking attention while Sylvia shot one dazzling glance at the young -doctor and vanished into the dim spaces of the hall, whence it seemed to -Phil, though he could not be sure, she kissed her hand to him behind the -liveried person's back, before she was lost in the elevator. Phil -stared after her a moment in dazed silence then went out into the night. - -The next day, when he came in from the clinic, he found a little note -from Sylvia inviting him to take tea with her the following afternoon. -"Of course it is all nonsense about your not seeing much of me while I -am here," the note had added. "Phil, can't you understand there isn't -anything to be afraid of?" The last was underscored. And then the -writer subscribed herself conventionally his as ever. - -Phil read the note hungrily several times and puzzled more than a little -over its contents, which he perceived were open to more than one -interpretation, especially the underscored portion. And then he had sat -down and written an answer which he dispatched by special messenger. -The answer expressed thanks and polite regret that the writer had a -previous engagement. - -Sylvia had run away into her own room to read the note and grew first a -little rosy, then a little white as she read. Then she tore the missive -into bits, and going to the window, deliberately let the fragments -flutter away in the December blast outside. - -"I might as well have proposed and done with it," she thought hotly. -"Phil Lorrimer needn't worry. I won't endanger his precious peace of -mind again while I'm here. Previous engagement, indeed! He's afraid of -my money and he makes me tired." - -As a matter of fact she did Phil injustice in one particular at least. -The previous engagement had been perfectly authentic. The Washington -Square Players were giving that afternoon a first performance of a play -which had been translated from the Russian by a friend of Phil's and he -had promised to be present and had long ago invited Barb to go with him. -And Barb being fully determined that Phil should never guess how things -were had kept her engagement and succeeded in behaving so comradely and -sisterly, which was precisely the way she had been behaving all along -only more so, that her escort was allowed to continue in his state of -innocence and ignorance as to things better left unknown, which was -quite according to code. - -But it was one of those odd coincidences that sometimes occur that -Sylvia and Jeanette should have been whirling swiftly toward the park on -their way home from the matinée just at the moment when Phil and Barb -were transferring to the Subway at the Circle. Very much absorbed the -latter appeared to be in each other's society, so much so that neither -saw the limousine pass them, but Sylvia had not been so blind, and -Jeanette also had taken in the scene. - -"Wasn't that your little friend with Phil Lorrimer?" the latter had -asked. "Somebody was telling me he goes everywhere with her. I -shouldn't wonder if they were engaged, should you? They certainly -looked devoted enough." So Jeanette had rattled on and never noticed -that Sylvia had not answered. - -That night Sylvia had gone to a big ball and worn a wonderful, -sophisticated Paquin gown of sea green satin and pearls. She looked -very young and lovely. The men flocked around her and she managed them -all like a seasoned coquette and had three proposals during the course -of the evening. Of course it was perfectly well known that she was an -heiress as well as a beauty, so the proposers was not so romantically -rash as might have been thought. - -And from that time on Sylvia "went the pace" as madly as Jeanette -herself, without pause or rest. After that one supper party Barb was -never able to capture her friend again, her engagements piled up so fast -and high. It looked as if Suzanne's prophecy about the "labyrinth" were -being fulfilled. As for Phil, never once was he able to see her again. -She was always out when he called or telephoned and always had previous -engagements when he tried to get her for the theater or a concert. She -was as invisible, so far as he was concerned, as if some fairy's wand -had drawn a magic circle about her, a fact which made him burrow deeper -than ever in his work and made him look a little older and grimmer than -his twenty-five years warranted. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *THE CITY AND SYLVIA* - - -Sylvia had supposed herself sufficiently grown up and wise and modern -when she came to the city but she had not been there a week before she -knew that she had been a veritable innocent, an infant in swaddling -clothes, so to speak. Here was life, of a sort, with a vengeance. - -In Jeanette's circle, Sylvia saw Mammon worship executed on so -prodigious a scale and with such sacrificial ardor it fairly took her -breath away. Everything was of the superlative degree. Sheer wealth, -sheer elaboration, sheer success, sheer bigness, sheer speed, were all -that counted it seemed. And in the mêlée the old-fashioned virtues, -spiritual values, ideals, were somehow either dimmed beyond recognition -or totally extinguished. Love showed itself chiefly in the guise of -passion, often frankly illicit, and in lust frequently but thinly -veiled. The motley throng of young-old men and old-young men who paid -court to herself were obviously actuated by one of two motives or a -combination of the two, the impulse of passion, or the impulse of -avarice. Both points of view Sylvia loathed and thought degrading to -herself as well as the men who held them. Nearly all of the group of -more or less importunate suitors who thronged about her she frankly -despised. The men she might have liked and respected did not come near -her, much less enter the lists. No doubt they classed her with the -other women with whom she appeared, women butterfly clad, butterfly -souled, obviously unfit for the serious purposes of life. Sylvia did not -wonder that the real men kept away. They showed their realness by so -doing she thought. - -Once, at a dinner, fate and her hostess allotted a different kind of -companion, a grim looking person with very broad shoulders and very -clear blue eyes, who let her severely alone during three courses and -then when she was getting desperately bored by the over-assiduous -attentions of the receding-chinned, narrow-browed scion of wealth who -sat at her other elbow had suddenly turned to explode a question in her -direction. - -"What the devil do you see in all this?" - -Sylvia had retorted that she didn't know what she saw but was trying to -find out. - -"When the pumpkin coach arrives I shall skip back home and think it -over," she had added whimsically with a Sylvia smile. - -Her neighbor had grunted a little at that and eyed her sharply from -under his heavy brows. - -"I thought as much," he said. "You don't belong." - -"Don't I?" Sylvia had inquired dubiously. "Isn't my gown all right?" -She was wearing a New York creation this time, of white tulle and gold -tissue, a frock which Jeanette had pronounced a "dream," so her anxiety -was not very deep-seated. "Or is it my hair? Ears are out just now, -aren't they. They told me they were." - -"Oh, you are protectively colored all right. It isn't that. -Superficially you might be any one of this sea of ninnies that surround -us. But, my dear young lady, your eyes betray you. You have a brain." - -"Dear me!" sighed Sylvia, looking around her apprehensively. "Is it so -bad as that? I hope nobody else suspects." - -"No danger. They aren't looking for brains. Bodies content 'em. I hope -you don't think this Punch and Judy show is the real New York? You are -a stranger, I take it?" - -"A pilgrim and a stranger. Where is the real New York?" - -"Downtown, a good deal of it. Some of it is in the universities, -especially in the night classes. Some of it is in the laboratories where -they are fighting disease and achieving chemical miracles. Some of it is -in the little back bedrooms where the chap from the up-state village has -come down to peddle his dreams in the market place. The real New -York--the real America--is made up of just two things--the dream and the -deed. Those that make dreams their masters fail and go to pieces and -that is a tragedy. Those that build without the vision will see the -work of their hands filter to dust. And that's a worse tragedy. But -those who can dream and transmute the dream to human gain, in tangible -form--they are the real thing. These people here haven't the decency to -dream nor the energy to do. They are the scum on the surface. They are -punk--most of 'em. Rotten." - -Sylvia had looked around her a little startled. The scene had looked -brilliant and appealing to her a moment ago. Somehow now she saw it -through this brutal stranger's eyes a "Punch and Judy show.". She -shivered slightly. Suddenly she felt a bit like a little girl at a -party, grown homesick, all at once, ready to be taken home quick. For -she could not help believing her neighbor was right. Underneath the -glamour and the beauty and the poise and the breeding around her there -was a good deal that was more or less "rotten." She had seen it in -men's eyes and heard it in their voices, yes, in the women's, too. She -was filled with a great disgust and with some shame as well. For in her -zest for experience had she not let her own shield get a little dented -and tarnished? She turned back to her companion, her new knowledge in -her eyes. - -"Why did you tell me?" she reproached. - -"Why, indeed? You knew it without my telling you. See here, girl, I'm -going to Alaska myself to-morrow. I can't stand much of this sort of -thing. I'd like to think you were going to pull out, too, before the -taint gets you. I said your eyes betrayed you. They did. But it isn't -only that you have brains. The brains are there but there is something -else too. You have faith. You've lived in a decent sort of world where -people are straight and kind and honest and simple. Better go back to -it while there is still time." - -Sylvia drew a long breath. - -"Thank you," she said. "I believe I will." - -Later Jeanette asked her what she had found to say to Archibald Grant. - -"He's the Arctic Explorer Grant, you know. Quite the biggest toad in the -puddle there, to-night." - -"Was he?" Sylvia had looked thoughtful. "I didn't know who he was but -we had rather an interesting talk. Jeanette, I've got to go home." - -"Go home! Why, Sylvia, you haven't been here two weeks yet!" - -"I know. But I'm incurably a home person. I've had a wonderful time but -I want to see Arden Hall and Felicia and--" - -"Jack?" teased Jack's sister languidly. - -Sylvia flushed a little. At the moment it did seem as if she would be -very glad, indeed, to see Jack. Jack was so clean and young and joyous -and wholesome. He seemed to her to belong to a different world from -that which his sister inhabited. But, after all, at Jeanette's -insistence, Sylvia agreed to stay another week. - -Jeanette herself was almost feverish in her gayety these days. It -seemed, indeed, as if she could not stop if she tried, as if "all the -devils of Hell were loose and after her" as Jack had said. She was a -puzzle to Sylvia. That she was not happy was apparent, but she was -always gay, talkative, full of quick laughter and brilliant plans for -new pleasures, something fresh every hour. There were always many men -in her wake. Usually they were men of brains, men "who did things," as -the phrase goes, musicians, writers, artists and the like. Jeanette did -not affect fools, as she had said curtly to Sylvia once. She had brains -herself and used them. She was rather famous and rather feared for her -somewhat satirical wit. Her husband was a quiet, scholarly aristocrat, -who spent most of his time reading memoirs of somebody or other, or -bringing out elegant "privately printed" monographs. In Jeanette's -scheme of things he seemed scarcely to count at all, beyond the -essential facts of having provided her with an extravagant income and an -assured place in New York society. To do her justice, however, Jeanette -was by no means dependent upon her husband for these things. She made -her own circle wherever she went. She did not need either the Latham -money or name to assure her leadership. She was a born queen. These -factors were merely contributing circumstances. - -Among Jeanette's varied and numerous retinue was one young man whom -Sylvia found less easy than the others to place. This was an artist, -Charlton Haynes by name, a newcomer in the city who had been for some -time engaged in "doing" Jeanette's portrait. Wherever Jeanette was, the -young portrait painter appeared to be also by some magic process. The -two had little to say to each other in public but Sylvia had noticed -more than once how the painter's rather gloomy face lit up when Jeanette -approached, giving an effect much like a sudden sunshine after a passing -cloud. More than once, too, Sylvia had seen a flash of some quick, -wordless communication pass between them. They spent long hours -together mornings in the great ball-room where he worked in the north -light. When Sylvia was with them, as she sometimes was, the artist was -rather silent and absorbed in his work and Sylvia thought if he were -always so quiet he must be rather dull company. - -One morning she suffered an abrupt enlightenment as to the relations -between her hostess and the artist. Jeanette had been detained and had -asked Sylvia to go to the ballroom and explain to Mr. Haynes that she -would be with him as soon as possible. As Sylvia opened the door he had -turned with outstretched arms and an impulsive "Sweetheart, you are -dreadfully late." And then his hands had fallen and a shamed, hang-dog, -caught-in-the-act expression banished the eager look of expectant joy on -his face as he met Sylvia's eyes and saw her quick flush. - -He shrugged and tried to make the best of the situation by a hasty "Beg -pardon, Miss Sylvia. I didn't see it was you." - -"So I judged," said Sylvia and delivered her message gravely and -departed. She wondered if this was what Jack had guessed and if that -was why he had wanted her to go to Jeanette. Had he thought she could -save her? Poor Jeanette! Could any one save her but herself? - -Two hours later Jeanette came to Sylvia, writing letters in her own room -at the little teakwood desk. - -"Sylvia." - -"Yes?" Sylvia had turned, wondering what Jeanette would say, wondering -almost more what she herself was going to say. - -"Charlton says he gave himself away awhile ago, did he?" - -"Rather." - -"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you to know for fear it might bother you. -Otherwise, of course, I don't mind your knowing. We have been in love -for some time. There doesn't seem to be anything to do about it at -present." - -Jeanette's tone was impersonal. She might as easily have been -discussing the relation between the moon and the tides as the relation -between herself and Charlton Haynes. The facts existed. That was all -apparently. At least all Jeanette cared to admit. - -"Couldn't he go away?" asked Sylvia, equally matter of fact. - -"He could, but it would make talk if he went before the portrait was -done. Besides, I don't want him to go. He offered to. It is I who am -keeping him. I hope you are not too much shocked, Sylvia." - -"I'm not shocked at all, but I am sorry. Does Jack know?" - -"Jack!" For the first time, Jeanette showed a quaver of emotion in her -voice. "Jack! Good gracious, no! Why should he? I wouldn't have Jack -know for anything. What made you ask that?" - -"Jack tried to warn me something about you before I came. He seemed to -think you needed me." - -And suddenly Jeanette's calm broke. She flung herself face down among -the silken cushions of the couch. Sylvia came and knelt beside her -putting both arms around her. In a moment Jeanette sat up, flushed but -tearless. Sylvia slipped back upon the floor, her hands clasped around -her knees, her eyes pitiful. - -"I do need you. I need somebody. Sylvia, listen to me. It is a -dreadful thing for a girl to marry if she isn't in love. Fate is sure -to strike back at her sooner or later. That is what happened to me. I -married Francis because I thought he could give me the things I -wanted--the things I thought I wanted. And he has, but it isn't what I -really wanted at all. I am just beginning to understand what I do -want--what life might mean, if one deserved to have it mean anything. I -hate this house and the servants and the hideous kind of existence we -live--the kind I elected to live. It wasn't Francis' choice. It was -mine. But I hate it all now. I'd like to leave it this minute. But I -can't. I'm bound, hand and foot, by conventions and fears and -selfishness. I couldn't live now without luxury, I've had it so long. -I couldn't stand poverty or shame or sacrifice or honesty of any kind. -I'm a sham. I love Charlton. But I shan't try to get a divorce and I -shan't run off with him because I'm not big enough. I'm just big enough -to squirm and suffer and hate myself for being such a pitiful little -coward. I'm not even big enough to send him away. I'm not worth his -wrecking his life and ideals for, but I don't tell him that. I tell him -I love him and that is enough to keep him here like a lap dog. Pah! He -isn't very big either or he would make me go with him or leave me -outright." - -"But, Jeanette, it is all such a tangle. If you really care, why don't -you go to Francis and tell him the truth? Surely nothing can be so bad -as going on like this." - -"You don't know what you are talking about, Sylvia. I'd die before I -would go to Francis and I'd die if he found out, but I'm going on -risking everything until something happens. I don't know what." - -And in the face of such reasoning or non-reasoning, Sylvia had no answer -to make. She was beginning to hate the city heartily. It seemed to be -weaving nothing but misery for everybody. Was there any happiness in -it? Surely she herself had found none. She desired more than anything -else in the world to run away from it all, to get back to Felicia and, -yes, to Jack. They two seemed the only refuge in a heaving sea of -trouble. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *AS MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED* - - -It seemed as if Sylvia's cup of disenchantment were destined to brim -over before the city was done with her. She tried to view Jeanette's -affair with the portrait painter with an open mind and tolerant -attitude. She saw that there was no real evil in it as yet--probably -never would be for Jeanette was likely to "play safe" having much at -stake. But somehow it all disheartened the younger girl. She thought -she could have forgiven both the transgressors more easily if they had -dared a little more, or cared a little more for each other and less for -themselves. If they had eloped she would have been shocked and troubled -but she would have understood their conduct. It was the amazing bad -taste and effrontery of carrying on so half-hearted a liaison in Francis -Latham's own house and under his very eyes which was to Sylvia the least -excusable phase of the matter. Deceit of any sort was obnoxious to her -straightforward soul. She herself could never have kept on living a -daily lie such as Jeanette was living. Something would have snapped. -And somehow Sylvia found herself seeing things all around her blacker, -no doubt, than they were, because of her too much recently acquired -knowledge, and often she remembered the explorer's terse verdict that -these people were "punk." It was all very disillusioning and made one -sick at heart. - -But Sylvia had other cause to feel that happiness was eluding her these -days in early January. The wound to her pride that Phil Lorrimer had -dealt, though seared over, was by no means healed. She tried to be -perfectly fair and sane, to admit that if Jeanette's supposition were -correct, Barb would doubtless make Phil a better wife than she herself -would have done, to acknowledge that it was entirely natural and -appropriate that Phil and Barb should have learned to care for each -other during the intimate months past when she herself had deliberately -neglected Phil. Even so, Phil need not have looked at her as he had -that night on Jeanette's doorstep. He needn't have let her all but -propose to him. That was the deepest rankling thorn of all. She had -almost offered herself to him on Jeanette's threshold. If he had really -cared as his eyes had said wouldn't he have understood what she was -trying to tell him that the money was nothing at all, that it didn't -matter in the least, that there was, indeed, nothing to be afraid of, as -she had twice taken the pains to reassure him? - -If he had really cared would he not have found means to see her during -her weeks with Jeanette in spite of her mantle of invisibility? It was -all too evident that he didn't care, that it was Barb who could give him -what he wanted, or rather let him give everything as his pride demanded. -Sylvia knew perfectly well that she had wanted Phil Lorrimer to ask her -to marry him, knew too, that she had meant to say yes if he did ask her, -but she also knew that though her pride was offended, her heart was far -from being broken. Indeed, love in its entirety, in its heights and -depths, its glory and its mortal agony, its madness and its abiding joy, -she had scarcely as yet conceived. - -She was still questing experience, tasting life, and even the bitter -flavor of this last new-gained knowledge was interesting because -bitterness was new to Sylvia Arden. Youth drinks its gall and wormwood -with almost as supreme satisfaction as it does its nectar and ambrosia. - -Not that Sylvia understood all this or consciously analyzed her mental -processes. She did nothing of the sort. She only knew she had been -hurt, and found it a rather fascinating game to hide the hurt from -herself and the rest of the world. - -Perhaps her zest for the hiding game made her play a little more -recklessly with the men who dogged her footsteps than was entirely wise -or kind. Certainly it made her eyes a little starrier, her cheeks a -little deeper carmine, her laugh a little more tantalizing. Men saw and -smiled and said the little Maryland "Deb" was a queen, a beauty, and a -wit as well as an heiress, an unbelievably lucky combination. - -"Knows how to hold her own too," they agreed. "She'll lead you on to the -limit and then when you think you have her--she isn't there. Got the -elusive game to perfection, wherever she learned it." - -But the last night of her stay in the city Sylvia came near playing her -game an inch too far. There had been a theater party and supper -afterward at the Astor and when at last they started for home she -chanced to get separated from Jeanette who, supposing her guest was with -her husband, had gone on in another car. - -"Why!" exclaimed Sylvia, from the curbing. "I do believe they have all -deserted me. There goes Jeanette, and Francis went with the Homers." - -"Well, here am I!" challenged Porter Robinson, at her elbow. Porter -Robinson was the most daring and insistent of all the swarmers about the -most popular new rose. "Whither thou goest I will go! Here, Cabby," -and his uplifted finger summoned a taxicab in which he and Sylvia were -in a moment ensconced. - -It was a wonderful night. Brilliant stars studded the heavens and the -trees in the park were laden with a fleecy burden of new-fallen snow. -The little girl still in Sylvia who loved snow storms and had too little -of them in Maryland cried out in ecstasy at the sight. - -"Oh-h! Couldn't we drive in there a little and see it? It's so lovely -after the lights and the crowd--like a different world!" - -Naturally Porter Robinson had no objections to driving at midnight in a -closed cab through the park with the prettiest, liveliest, most piquant -girl he had met in many a season. - -But a half hour later Sylvia flashed into the library at the Lathams -with wrath and shame in her heart and ran square into Jack standing with -his back to the fireplace. - -"Ugh! I hate men," she greeted him stormily. - -"You do! What's up? Where is Jeanette? You look like a Valkyr or an -avenging fury." - -"I don't know where Jeanette is. Porter Robinson brought me home." - -"Oh," comprehended Jack. "So that is the rumpus. Didn't Porter behave -like a perfect gentleman?" - -"He did not." Sylvia threw off her cloak with a wrathful gesture, -leaving her slim, rounded young loveliness, clad in the white tulle and -gold "dream," suddenly revealed to Jack's eyes. "He tried to kiss me, -if you must know." - -"And what did you expect at this time of night when you had shed your -lawful chaperones?" inquired Jack blandly. "Especially after you had -been flirting like the mischief with him all the evening!" - -Sylvia slipped into a chair and stared up at Jack. "How did you know?" -she asked with astonished meekness. - -Jack laughed. - -"Didn't. I just guessed. So you did flirt with him like the mischief?" - -"I--shouldn't wonder," admitted Sylvia with a grimace. "He's a beast, -but then maybe I was a little to blame. I suppose I shouldn't have -asked him to take me riding in the park at this time of night." - -"Possibly not," agreed Jack. - -"You wouldn't have taken advantage of a situation like that, Jack. You -know you wouldn't." - -"H-m-m?" interrogated Jack dubiously. "That so? If you looked one half -as pretty in the cab as you do this minute, I'm morally or immorally -certain I should not only have tried to kiss you but have succeeded." - -"Jack!" - -"Like this!" And suddenly, to Sylvia's utter surprise, he had stooped -and kissed her full on one crimson, excited cheek. "Game's up, -sweetheart. My turn. You've had your fling, and I guess from all -Jeanette writes it has been a pretty lively one. Honest Injun, Sylvia, -aren't you sick of it all, ready to try it out on a different line with -me? No, don't speak just yet. I'm not quite through. I promised I -would get busy and show you I could hold down a man's job if necessary. -Well, I've done it. I'm not boasting, but you can ask Dad if I haven't -made good and kept my promise to the letter. That is all on that -subject. Secondly, I don't pretend to be a saint, but thanks to you and -the Christmas Family setting me straight some years ago I'm a fairly -decent specimen as men go. I believe I'd show up moderately well by -comparison with the Porter Robinsons and the rest. That is all of that. -Thirdly, I love you. There isn't any other girl, never has been, and, -so far as I can see, never will be. Now--did you mind very much having -me kiss you?" - -Sylvia's eyes were demurely downcast, her cheeks flushed, but a quiver -of a smile appeared around the corners of her mouth. - -"Not much. I rather think I--I liked it--a little," she admitted. - -That was enough for Jack, and five minutes later when Jeanette came in -she found him on the arm of Sylvia's chair, her tulle and gold rather -crushed and mussed but with her eyes looking very starry. - -He sprang up with alacrity as his sister entered and went to give her a -brotherly kiss. - -"'Lo, Jeannie. Sylvia and I have just got engaged. Hope you don't -mind?" - -Jeanette shot a straight, questioning, dubious look at Sylvia then -remarked she was delighted, of course, and if they would excuse her she -would go to bed as she was very tired. Sylvia had vaguely realized at -the moment that Jeanette was white, but it was not until the next day -that she understood. Charlton Haynes had left suddenly for California on -the midnight train and he and Jeanette had apparently parted for all -time. Of what lay behind Sylvia could not even surmise and Jeanette -kept her own counsel. At any rate, Sylvia was able to perceive that -under the circumstances the other woman had little enthusiasm left over -for the love affairs of even her sole and beloved brother. - -And that next afternoon Sylvia and Jack went South together, and the -Minotaur did not get Sylvia after all. But whether she had not stepped -blithely into a deeper labyrinth than the one she had evaded was another -question. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *BARB DIAGNOSES* - - -The evening that culminated in Sylvia's engagement to Jack, Phil had -spent with Barbara. Barb had discovered that it was neither impossible -nor very difficult to slip back into the beaten way of friendship with -the young doctor, especially as he himself had never left that safe and -sane path and had no faintest conception of the mad little, sad little -detour the girl had accomplished beneath his very eyes. Barb was a very -wise and brave little lady and having realized that she had been -reaching for the moon withdrew her hand and made the most she could out -of every day sunbeams. Phil never guessed that his occasional visits to -Miss Murray's apartment were rather bittersweet occasions to Barb, nor -did he notice that she was quieter, graver, not quite so responsive as -he had hitherto found her. As a matter of fact, Phil wasn't seeing much -of anything these days except his own stolidly endured misery. It had -been bad enough to know Sylvia was in Greendale where he couldn't see -her at all, but to know she was within easy reach and yet farther from -him to all intents and purposes than if an ocean or a desert separated -them was incomparably worse. - -He hated Jeanette Latham's kind of life, hated to have Sylvia's fresh -radiance tarnished by its contact, hated to think of her, night after -night, in the society, even in the arms of the Porter Robinsons of -Jeanette's circle, jealous of it all because it kept Sylvia from him, -hurt that she would give up none of her gayeties for his sake, blindly -conscious that he had offended her, though only half guessing how and to -what extent. - -One night he had been at the opera, way up in the upper tiers, as was -his custom, and between the acts he had wandered about in the galleries -and seen Sylvia in a box below, surrounded by a swarm of devoted male -attendants, and he had watched her with mingled gloom and avidity. She -was so lovely in her chiffons and furs and her exquisite youthfulness -and grace, her face uplifted, her hair shining in the light like -burnished copper, her lips parted with laughter. She seemed so -eminently a part of the picture to fit into the brilliant scene as a -diamond sparkles appropriately in its hoop of gold that Phil's heart -sank heavier than ever. Well, it only proved he had been right. What -had he to offer Sylvia in exchange for all this? She belonged to it and -it to her, as a bird belongs to the air. - -Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze that had made Sylvia look up. -At any rate she raised her eyes and met his, staring hungrily down at -her. The exciting, haunting music of Tristan and Isolde had stirred -strange deeps in Sylvia, begotten an élan of flesh and soul which flared -like a pure flame in her eyes at the moment. The man at her side, -Porter Robinson, as it happened, saw the look and followed her gaze with -curiosity to see what had lit the flame. But in all that sea of faces he -had no means of distinguishing the one which stood out for the girl as -if it had been the one face in the world. In a second she had turned -away and lowered her eyes. - -"What was it?" asked her companion. "Did you see a vision?" - -"Maybe," said Sylvia. "Hush! The music is beginning." - -All the rest of the evening she half hoped Phil would seek her out in -the box but he had not come. And the next night had been the one when -she had discovered Porter Robinson was a beast and an hour later had -found herself rather unexpectedly engaged to Jack Amidon. - -As for Phil, his will tugged at its moorings that night. He, too, had -been moved by the music, and even more by the challenge of Sylvia's -eyes. He had telephoned her the next day to try to make an engagement -with her for the evening but Sylvia was submerged with engagements, had -a tea, a dinner, a theater party, and so forth, already on hand, and her -voice over the telephone was as cool and remote as a mountain stream. -She even forgot to tell him she was leaving the city the next day. -Sylvia's pride in its way matched Phil's own. - -And so instead of spending the evening with Sylvia, Phil had dropped in -to see Barbara, which is where this chapter really began. - -He was certainly anything but good company that night. He sat somberly -looking into the fire, answering Barb's casual chatter with brief -absent-minded monosyllables. Barb, watching out of the corner of her -eye, and with the sure intuition that love teaches, guessed the source -of his gloom. She forgot all about her own hurt in sorrow for his and -longed with all the mother in her to comfort him. Suddenly the silence -which had fallen became intolerable, the weight of the unspoken thing -too heavy to be endured another minute. So out of a clear sky Barb -dropped a bomb. - -"Phil, why don't you ask Sylvia to marry you?" - -Phil jumped and stared and frowned. - -"Reason's sufficiently obvious I should say. The gown and the furs and -the pearls she had on last night probably cost more than my year's -income." - -"What of it? Gowns and furs and pearls aren't important. There are -things that Sylvia cares much more about." - -"What?" - -"You," was on the tip of Barb's tongue, but she did not say it. After -all, that was for Sylvia to say. She had no means of knowing how Sylvia -felt except that vivid memory of the way the other girl's eyes had -looked that night on Lover's Leap. - -"Happiness, for one thing," she substituted. "Phil Lorrimer, don't you -know Sylvia Arden well enough to know the things that money buys are not -the real things--the things she cares for. She is willing to play with -them while she is waiting. Who wouldn't? I would myself, if I had the -chance. But Sylvia never mixes things up. She knows what counts and -what doesn't count as well as anybody I know. If you think her having -money and your not having it makes the slightest difference to her, -you're even stupider than I gave you credit for." Barb had warmed to -her subject and did not care if the lash of her tongue did sting a -little. She rather thought Phil Lorrimer needed a sting or two. She -had forgotten for the moment she had ever been in love with this young -man herself. She remembered only she was a woman speaking for her sex -in plain round terms. - -"You mean Sylvia wants me to ask her to marry her?" - -Barb made an impatient gesture. - -"I don't know anything about that. That is between you two. What I do -know, and what I am trying to tell you, is that the modern woman -despises a man just as much for not wanting to ask her to marry him -because she has money as she does for wanting to ask her to marry him -because she has it. That kind of idea is ancient and exploded and -idiotic and disgusting." - -Phil threw out his hand in half humorous, half serious protest. - -"My word! What an avalanche! So you think it is thoroughly -contemptible in me to care whether the woman I marry has a million -dollars or not when I haven't a red cent?" - -"I do," asserted Barb stoutly. "The money isn't any of your affair, any -more than the kind of knife you use on the operating table is hers, or -the color of your hair or eyes, for that matter. It just hasn't -anything to do with it." - -"What is my affair? What is the male end of the bargain, according to -the latest approved feministic standards?" - -"It's the male end of the bargain, if you choose to put it that way, to -give a woman love and respect and comradeship, a clean, strong, healthy -body and mind and soul, to be the kind of man she would like the father -of her children to be. I believe that is about all. Read Beatrice -Forbes-Robinson Hale's chapter on the 'New Man' and you'll understand -why Sylvia's money has nothing to do with the case and why your pride is -stupid and conceited and old-fashioned, a relic of the time when man -expected to be the sole provider and expected his wife to be the chief -parasite of the family, when he gloried in his high and mighty -superiority and expected her to be meekly grateful and appreciative of -said superiority. Now, do you understand?" - -"A little," said Phil Lorrimer slowly. "Thank you, Barb. Maybe I have -been an idiot, as you say. It takes you to clear away the rubbish in a -fellow's mind. Jack tried to tell me the same thing and, well, I guess -Sylvia tried, too, only she didn't put it as violently visibly as you -have, and I threw the words back in her face like the donkey I am. -Barb, do you believe there is any chance she'll forgive me?" he begged -anxiously. - -"I don't know how much she has to forgive," retorted Barb shortly. "But -you had better be about it before her forgiveness is all she has left to -give. You can't expect a girl like Sylvia to sit down and wait for a -man to get his eyes open like a Maltese kitten. I suppose you know Jack -is hot on the trail, and no doubt there are plenty of others here in New -York." - -"Lord! Don't I know it?" Phil got to his feet. "You needn't rub it in, -Barb. I'm scared enough on that score already and jealous as the old -one. I'd have liked to drop asphyxiating gas on the moon-faced calf I -saw with her last night at the opera, looking as if he owned her. Gee! -I've got to get out and let the air circulate through my brains a -little. I feel as if I had a hot box up there." He gave his tawny head -a thump. "Honest, Barb, I'm much obliged to you for your efficiently -brutal treatment. You are some doctor, all right." - -And in his genuine gratitude Phil started to seize both Barb's small -hands in his, but she backed away, fearful perhaps lest he see more than -she wanted, now that his eyes were unsealed in other respects. In a -moment he was gone and Barb walked deliberately over to the mirror and -surveyed her flushed face and big, excited eyes. - -"They say a critic is a man who can't write. I begin to think a -reformer--at least, a woman reformer--is a woman who can't have what she -wants. Maybe I can get the sacred fire after all. Wonder if Aunt Jo got -it--my way." - -Barb laughed a little tremulously and then picked up a volume of Ellen -Key and sat down to read as hard as she could. - -Her brain was very clear that night it seemed. She felt as if she could -have written a book about woman herself. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *THE CAUSE AND THE CAREER* - - -For two weeks after that Barb saw nothing of Phil, a fact for which she -was exceedingly grateful. The news of Sylvia's engagement had come up -from Greendale, and Barb had no wish to see the look which she knew -would be in Phil's blue eyes, if he too, had heard, as no doubt he had. -Neither had she any desire to say "I told you so," though it was her -right. Her warning, though late, had been justified. No one could -expect Sylvia Arden to sit down and wait "for a man to get his eyes open -like a Maltese kitten." Sylvia had not waited, and Phil's eyes were -open at least twenty-four hours too late. - -The next time Phil and Barb met was at a public meeting. Miss Murray -had been scheduled to speak but at the last moment had succumbed to -laryngitis, and Barbara, dismayed and protesting, had been haled into -the breach. - -It was the first time Barb had ever spoken in public, though she had -more than once sat on platforms with her aunt, striving to look -dignified and impressive and generally worthy of the "mantle." She was -desperately frightened now and when she finally rose to face the -audience, which was made up mostly of women of the working-class, her -knees shook and her throat felt as if she were trying to swallow the -whole Sahara Desert. The upturned faces paralyzed her forces. She -wished an earthquake would come and dispose of the audience and bury -herself in eternal oblivion. And then suddenly behind those weary-eyed, -apathetic faces in the foreground, she saw Phil Lorrimer's friendly, -encouraging eyes and some tension within her snapped. She began to talk -slowly at first, and then more swiftly, borne along on the current of -her own surging thought and emotion. She never knew afterward quite -what she said. She seemed to have talked more about happiness than -about enfranchisement. Perhaps the women who listened were more -interested in happiness than they were in the vote anyway. At all -events, they listened respectfully, even eagerly, as Barbara Day painted -for them her crystal clear vision of a world where women were to be -neither drudges nor toys, but honored co-workers, laboring in joyous -self-expression, side by side with men, a world where motherhood should -be respected and supported by the nation, where education should be open -not to the favored few but to the many, a world where war and brutality -and slavery, of soul and body, and all blood guiltiness should be -impossible, a world enlightened, free, strong, glad. And this -millennium, the women of America were to help to bring about, _must_ -help if they were to save themselves and their sisters--so Barbara Day -told them. "We have to work together. Whatever we are, the one thing we -cannot be is indifferent--you and I--we must be awake--wide awake." - -And with that Barb had slipped shyly back into her seat amid the -applause which greeted her little speech, terribly frightened again now -it was all over and wondering if it had not been intolerably -presumptuous in her to have spoken at all, much less present so -portentous a plea. - -There were other speeches but Barb scarcely heard them. She fell into a -revery, in which she carried the vision she had shared with these women -on and on until it became almost as the new Jerusalem in its -transcendent splendor. - -And in her vision she seemed to see why it had been given her to desire -and to have no fruition of desire, to know the flare of happiness and to -know happiness gone out like a wind blown candle, to understand what it -was to be acquainted with heartache and loneliness. For all these -things would teach her how other women yearned and suffered and were -denied. If she herself had found her heart's desire in a good man's -protecting love, in the warm glow of her own hearth fires, with her own -children in her arms, would she have desired so poignantly to help these -others to find life more abundant? By the measure of what she had lost, -had she not gained? - -"Happiness left us content with happiness but sorrow bids us rise up and -seek something divine," says some one, and Barbara Day had come to -understand this with many other things. As the old music teacher had -said: "Love is the great Master." - -The hint of the "Something divine" was still in Barb's eyes when she -took Phil's outstretched hand in the doorway where he waited. He had -meant to congratulate her on her speech but somehow the words evaporated -before the look on her face as she lifted it to him. He saw she had -been in some far, high place where he could not follow and the spell was -still upon her. - -"How did you know I was here?" she asked presently, as they made their -way to the Subway together in silence. - -"Your aunt sent me word. I am tremendously grateful. I wouldn't have -missed it for anything. Barb, you made me understand a whole lot of -things." - -She flashed him a quick, startled glance. She did not wish him to -understand too much. But she need not have feared. Phil was as blind -as ever so far as she was concerned. - -"You are a wonder, Barbie. I'm a little scared of you all at once. I -am afraid I haven't been quite appreciating what an angel I was -entertaining--or rather letting entertain me." - -"Don't. If you mean that silly speech, you needn't talk. I feel as -humble as--that puddle," groping for a simile she happened to let her -gaze fall upon a pool which a recent shower had left in the gutter. - -Phil smiled. - -"There's a star reflected in the puddle," he said gently, then dropped -the subject as she obviously desired. - -As they stood in the crowded Subway later there was little chance for -conversation, but Barb noticed that Phil looked worn and tired, almost -haggard. Her heart was very tender for him. It didn't matter how much -she was hurt. Barb sensed intuitively that women were meant to be hurt. -But that Phil should suffer was all but intolerable. She almost hated -Sylvia who had brought that look to his eyes. Alas! What a jumble -things were! How changed everything was since that happy September week -with Sylvia at Arden Hall! She remembered how Suzanne had rallied -Sylvia on her fitness for matrimony and charged herself in jest with -having designs on Phil Lorrimer. Funny Suzanne! Poor Suzanne! What -was she doing? - -It happened at the moment Suzanne was sitting by the fire in Miss -Murray's apartment, doing absolutely nothing for the first time in many -strenuous weeks. There Barbara and Phil found her a few moments later, -to their unbounded astonishment. - -"Well, aren't you going to greet the returning prodigal?" asked Suzanne, -getting up. - -Whereupon Barb recovered sufficiently to throw her arms around her -friend with a series of little rapturous, inarticulate, affectionate -gurgles such as women occasionally indulge in. - -When she had finished it was Phil's turn, and though his greeting was -more decorous, it was no less hearty. - -"Where have I been? I know that is what you are bursting to ask. Sit -down all and let me tell you. Dearly beloved, I have been on the road. -No, not selling petticoats like the immortal Emma, but in the chorus of -'The Prettiest Princess,' and it's been worth a fortune to me." - -"In the chorus! Oh, Suzanne! What did your father and mother say?" - -"They haven't said anything up to present speaking, for the very good -reason that they don't know what I've been up to. I told them I was -traveling. I was. Gee! How I've traveled! I also told them I had been -visiting Aunt Selina in Salt Lake City. I did visit Aunt Selina. I -spent a week with her while the 'Prettiest Princess' and her retinue -delighted the enthusiastic Mormon gentlemen. For Heaven's sake, don't -stare so, Barb! I assure you both my virtue and my looks are -unimpaired. You can see the latter for yourself." - -Suzanne whirled round to the mirror as if to assure herself that her -statement was true. Certainly the others could see for themselves that -Suzanne had never looked prettier in her life. - -Little by little the story came out, delivered with much glee and gusto -by the irrepressible Suzanne. That night Phil had found her in the -Square she had come to the end of her resources and knew something had -to be done at once if she were going to avoid an ignominious return to -Norton, Pa., or the sacrifice of her pride to ask for an advance of -money. A manager had refused her latest play that day but even as he -had done so he had offered her a place in the third company of the -musical comedy he was just starting on the road. Suzanne had asked for -a night to consider and she had been considering when Phil had -interrupted her meditations. In his society, too, she had decided to -take the offer. The next day she had become a member of the third -company and the next was "on the road." - -"Why did you come home? Show bust?" - -"Indeed, no. The 'Prettiest Princess' goes on as cheerfully as may be -lacking its most charming first row right chorus girl." - -"Fired?" still further inquired Phil. - -"Nope. Resigned. Came into a fortune and flew back to the Great White -Way instanter." - -"What kind of a fortune? Anybody died?" - -"Thank goodness no. On the contrary. An editor came to life. I've -sold a series of stories to the Ultra Urban, two hundred plunks per. -'Melissa on the Road' is the general title, Melissa being, of course, -Suzanne, thinly disguised. I thought I might as well make copy out of -myself and I did. I've given things so close to the way they really were -that every one will swear they are fiction of the most romancy order." - -"Are they coming out under your own name?" Barb found breath to ask. - -"No. I thought they might begin to appear before I had a chance to -explain things, so it seemed better to break the shock, as it were. -They are anonymous, which will make them more spicy." - -"Good for you!" chuckled Phil. "I'll bet they are spicy all right." - -"But the best isn't told. I've written a play--a real play that is -going to make the managers sit up on their haunches and beg prettily. -And I've got a Star in my crown--I mean in my circle of friends--who -wants to play the lead. What do you think of that? Let Broadway stop, -look, and listen. Suzanne is coming, Hurray! Hurray!" she chanted. -"I'll cause more of a sensation than my predecessor at the bath. Now, -tell me the news." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *OH, SUZANNE!* - - -It was not until Phil had gone and Barb and Suzanne were reduced to the -intimate kimono and pigtail state that Barb got the full force of the -stream of Suzanne's confidences. - -"When I think what a fool I was only just last September I could weep, -if only it weren't so killingly funny." Suzanne sat up in bed to -announce. "I thought because I had a pretty knack of juggling words and -a little mother wit I could just walk right in and conquer the literary -and dramatic world as easy as anything. The trouble with college is it -gives you an over-dose of fine spun theories about life and doesn't -teach you a thing about being up against the real article. Maybe it -couldn't. I guess we all have to knock that lesson out of the bed rock -itself with a chisel or a pick axe. I've tried both ways. I don't know -all there is to know yet by a long shot but I know a whole heap more -than I did, which is something to be thankful for." And the speaker -thumped the pillow with her doubled fist rather as she had thumped -Sylvia's hammock cushions the preceding September. - -Barb, listening, sighed a little as she wondered if this knowledge of -life were as desirable as Suzanne seemed to think. It left one a little -tired, she thought, this knowing things. - -"I don't know whether you ever guessed," Suzanne rattled on, "how near I -was to the end of my rope last November. Phil knew, but he kept my -secret, like the good dear he is. By the way, what is the matter with -Phil? He looks awfully seedy and sober. Don't know but you do, too, -come to think of it. City got on your nerves?" - -Suzanne's keen eyes sought her friend's face with an intentness that -made the latter turn under pretense of switching off the light. - -"Nothing the matter with me," she said cheerfully. "With Phil, of -course, it is Sylvia." - -"H'm, I suppose so. He certainly looked as jolly as a tombstone when we -were talking about her engagement a while ago. Well, why didn't he go -in and get her himself? He could have last September easily enough. -Anybody could have seen that with half an eye. Gets me why he didn't -clinch it that night at Lover's Leap." - -Barb made no reply. Even with Suzanne she could not discuss Phil's -mischance, especially as Suzanne would be sure to say it served him -right. Barb was very pitiful for Phil. She did not want to hear -anybody say sharp things about him. - -"Go on about yourself," she suggested, getting into bed. "Do you mean -you were really hard up, last November?" - -"Hard up!" chuckled Suzanne. "My dear, I was not merely badly bent. I -was broke. That night I was up here to supper I was as hungry as a -wolf. I hadn't been eating much of anything for days." - -"Oh, Suzanne! And you never told me!" - -"Naturally not. I had made my own bed and I intended to lie on it even -if it was a bit rocky. Of course they would have sent me money from -home, or Sylvia or any of you would have lent me some. But I wouldn't -ask anybody. I set myself to work out my own salvation and I meant to -finish up the job." - -"You are a wonder, Suzanne! But wasn't the show work dreadful?" - -"Not so dreadful as you might think. You have to work like everything, -and there is a good deal naturally that you have to shut your eyes and -ears to, but it was Life with a capital letter, which was what I was -looking for. Heaven knows I got it! Sometimes more than I bargained -for." There was a catch in Suzanne's voice which made Barb come a -little nearer and put out her hand until it touched her friend's. - -"Barbie!" Suzanne's voice was lowered. - -"Yes." - -"Did you ever think goodness was a sort of relative thing? That some -girls are good just negatively because they never have any temptation or -opportunity to be anything else?" - -"Yes," said Barbara again. - -"You don't know what you are really like inside until you suddenly come -up against the sharp edges of things. Do you remember when Sylvia said -she wanted to get acquainted with herself and I said I knew all about -myself. Well, I didn't, that's all. I found out." - -"Suzanne!" Barb's voice had a motherly croon to it. - -"Don't be scared. I'm all right. I did get scorched a little, and I -know fire now when I see it. Who do you suppose came to my rescue when I -was singeing?" And Suzanne mentioned the name of a "Star" all America -knows and loves--a Star of the first magnitude. - -"There was a big snow storm and we were blocked for a day this side of -Kansas City. Her company happened to be on the same train ours was. I -dug her Chow out of a snow bank for her and we got acquainted. I guess -she saw where I was drifting. Anyway, she pulled me back just in season. -Never mind who the man was. He doesn't count any more. He never counted -very much. I was just dizzy with life. It all frothed and bubbled and -sparkled like champagne, and I was a little drunk with it all maybe. -She made me see things. She'd been there. She knew." - -Barb nestled closer, but did not speak. Did she not understand? Had -life not frothed and bubbled and sparkled for her, too? Did she not -know how nearly anything could happen when you felt like that? -Especially if the man cared or pretended to care. It had been at once -her own safety and torture that in her case the man had not cared. - -"I saw her again at Denver," continued Suzanne, "and she told me the -kind of a play she wanted. And Barb, just like a flash of lightning it -came so quick, I knew I was going to try to write a play for her and I -did. And she's seen it and she likes it and she wants me to take it to -----. He's her manager--just as soon as I can and tell him she liked -it. And I'm going to, to-morrow. Oh, Barbie! If he should like it. -But he won't. I mustn't think he's going to. I'd die if I were sure, -I'd be so happy." - -And to-morrow Suzanne had taken the play to the great manager and had -sent in the Star's card bearing the magic caption, "Introducing Miss -Morrison." The caption had worked like a charm, swung open doors and -fore-shortened delays. It was an incredibly brief space of time before -Suzanne found herself in the most inner of all the offices with a pair -of shrewd kindly eyes fixed inquiringly upon her. - -The manager had glanced over her manuscript with a swift apprising gaze, -then glanced over Suzanne in something of the same manner. - -"I'll read this, this afternoon," he promised. "I have the greatest -confidence in the judgment of that lady," with a nod at the card which -lay among the litter on his desk. "If she says this is good, I have no -doubt it is. At any rate, we will hope for the best. Lord knows we are -looking for something good. I'll telephone you to-morrow if you will -leave me your number and address. By the way--" he frowned a little. -"Haven't I seen you before somewhere, Miss Morrison?" - -Suzanne twinkled. - -"I've brought you three plays--all impossible," she said. - -"Indeed! Let us hope this one--" he glanced at the manuscript--"will be -at least--probable." - -"It is more than that," said Suzanne. "It is a dead sure thing. Read -it. You will see." And with that parting shot Suzanne withdrew, -leaving the manager grinning at her effrontery. - -But the next day when the great manager sought to communicate with -Suzanne over the telephone, Suzanne, white and silent, was packing to -take the next train for Norton, Pa. - -A telegram had been sent to Salt Lake City in her aunt's care and -followed her back to New York. The telegram had said: "Mother very sick. -Come home at once." - -"It is Mr. ----" said Miss Murray from the telephone. "Will you speak -to him, Suzanne?" - -"No," said Suzanne curtly. "Tell him I'm out of town. Tell him -anything. I don't care." - -Thus did the Nemesis of Suzanne's joyous tilting with the universe -overtake her. At the moment when victory seemed well within her hands -life had struck back. Like the star of the seer's vision, the star of -her ambition fell burning into the waters. - -"_And the name of the star is called wormwood; and the third part of the -waters became wormwood and many died of the waters because they were -made bitter._" - -At the station in Norton, Roger Minot waited with his car to meet -Suzanne--a crushed anguished Suzanne, her pertness and her prettiness -equally in eclipse. She could only put out her hand to him with a -little moan and gasp "Mother?" - -"She is holding her own. There is hope--at least a little," he told -her. "When did you start?" - -"From New York?" - -"From Salt Lake City?" - -"I haven't been in Salt Lake City for days. I got to New York -yesterday. I didn't know. I didn't know. Oh, Roger, it's dreadful! -I've been so selfish--so everything that is horrid." - -Roger Minot looked straight ahead of him and said nothing. Perhaps he -knew it was for the good of Suzanne's soul to taste the whole acrid cup -of her remorse. - -But as they neared the parsonage his heart was smitten with pity. -Suzanne looked so wan and grief-stricken and subdued, so utterly unlike -the Suzanne he knew, all sparkles and ripples and laughter, like a -little shallow stream running along through sunshine. The hand which -was not busy at the wheel closed over Suzanne's. - -"Don't give up, little girl. Maybe it will come out right, after all. -Anyway, remember I'm right here if you need me." - -Suzanne uttered a sound which was a little bit like a sob. When, -indeed, had Roger not been right there when she needed him? though she -had treated him as the very dust beneath her feet. Dear Roger! And with -an impulse of penitent tenderness she gave back the pressure of his -hand. - -And then in a moment they were at home, where the chairs still stood -stiff and angular against the wall, though up there in a quiet room -above the hand that had put them in their places lay very still and -white. Suzanne's mother was very sick indeed. It was she, after all, -and not her willful little daughter that had pulled the family out of -its comfortable rut and cast a sad spell of differentness upon the -household. Suzanne had stayed away but sickness had come in and another -darker guest waited outside the door, his shadow already on the -threshold. Poor Suzanne! The waters were made bitter, indeed, at the -falling of her star. - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *SYLVIA AND LIFE* - - -In the meanwhile Sylvia, home at Arden Hall again, slipped back very -easily and naturally into the old ways and almost as easily and -naturally into the new one of being engaged. - -"It is really quite a comfortable state," she told Felicia. "You don't -have to wonder about every new man you meet when you are all -satisfactorily accounted for and checked off yourself. You can even -enjoy flirting more," she added wickedly with a Sylvia twinkle, "since -everybody knows you don't mean anything by it. Anyway, I'm so used to -having Jack around that it isn't much different being engaged to him -from not being engaged to him. I am afraid I am a hopelessly unromantic -person, Felicia. I always supposed when people got engaged it was a -fearsome, sublimated sort of experience like being on top of an Alp or -something of the sort. But I don't feel any different from what I did -before, except for the comfortable settled feeling I have already -mentioned. And I'm not going to get married for a long time. I am -going to make the most of the privileges and immunities of my present -blissful state." - -But as was perhaps natural Jack did not share his fiancée's leisurely -attitude. In fact the two came more than once near to quarreling on the -subject of the date of their marriage. But Sylvia's will was stronger -and Sylvia would not be married for another year. That was a flat and -unequivocable dictum and Jack had to put up with it as best he could. He -dared not hurry his perverse lady love for it must be confessed he -sometimes experienced doubts whether he had won her at all, so slight -seemed the bond between them. The very tranquillizing effect of the -engagement upon Sylvia was disturbing to Jack. That she could take so -placidly what was the biggest thing in the universe to him was alarming -and a little exasperating. Sometimes he would accuse her of not caring -for him at all and then she would still further disconcert him by -looking very directly and questioningly at him as if she, too, had some -doubts on the subject. - -Sylvia knew she had floated into the engagement from the crest of one -wave of emotion to another. Her estrangement from Phil Lorrimer, her -disillusionment about Jeanette's married life, the panic-stricken horror -and shame with which her own affair with Porter Robinson had filled her, -her generally overwrought, hysterical, nervous condition had all -contributed to throw her into Jack's arms that night. He had seemed an -oasis on a desert, a spar to the drowning. She had awakened soon enough -to the realization that it was by no means a grand passion, a life and -death affair, this placid, even affection she felt for Jack. She loved -him sufficiently. She knew she could be fairly happy with him and make -him happy, perhaps could even let her affection deepen into something -approaching a great love in due time. They were ideal comrades already, -and Sylvia had a theory that comradeship was a better basis than stormy -passion for happy wedlock. Yet perhaps down in her heart there was a -fear that something was lacking in it all, something that kept her -stubbornly insistent on postponing the wedding for a year. Impulsively -she had yielded the first redoubt. She intended to be sure of herself -before she surrendered the fortress for good and all. She meant to do -it in the end without reservation, for better for worse. There should -be no shilly-shallying like Jeanette's in her life. That she was -determined upon. - -Part of the steadying effect of her engagement expressed itself in a -sincere desire to stop the unsatisfactory flitting from flower to flower -process, sipping honey here and there, into which she had drifted during -the restless winter months past. She had had enough tasting of -experience and honestly sought serious employment for her energies. - -Luckily there was always plenty to occupy her on the Hill. More and -more the Byrd sisters came to depend on her, especially as Julietta was -now away getting acquainted with her grandson, Gloria's boy, recently -arrived upon this planet. The girls at "Hester house," and Hope and -Martha, also came in for a generous share of her attention. The old -buoyant, radiant Sylvia seemed to have come back to them, ready to cheer -and comfort and command at need. Never was her genius for happiness -more in demand or more in evidence than it was that February. It seemed -as if everything had been awry and sad and bad while she had been away -in the city and that now she was home it must all just naturally -straighten itself out. - -She took up her music again with rigorous hours of practice. She -fulfilled her long made threat of learning to cook, much to Aunt Mandy's -pride and delight in her role as chief professor of the culinary arts. -She went in, seriously, this time, into Red Cross work, organizing a -unit which she kept sternly to its task of rolling bandages and all the -rest of the necessary if rather prosaic labor. She also got under way a -class in first aid instruction under the tuition of a young doctor whom -Tom Daly had recommended, too busy himself to take on any new duties. - -Doctor Tom and Sylvia saw a great deal of each other off and on but -always in the comfortable, wholesome, brother and sister relation which -their November interlude had interrupted but not destroyed. Sylvia was -often at the cottage playing with the babies whom she adored and kept -out of Lois' way as often as possible so that the latter might have time -for the typing of her book which was almost ready for the publisher's -hands. Marianna and Donald, too, came in for a large share of Sylvia's -time. For them she spun rare tales old and new and rendered Kim and the -Water Babies, the Immortal Alice and other beloved favorites of the -realms of gold until she knew them nearly by heart. With the children -Sylvia was happiest of all. Living in their world she almost forgot her -own, which in spite of her boasted contentment did not wholly satisfy -her. She had learned that the busier she was, the better life seemed, -leaving fewer crannies and nooks for doubts and wonders to seep in. - -Of course there was plenty of gayety both in Greendale and in the -near-by city, but she steadily refused to go in for an excess of this -kind of thing, though here, too, she and Jack came near to dissension. -It must be admitted Jack was scarcely so assiduous a devotee of business -now that he felt his assiduity no longer essential to the winning of his -liege lady. He was ready now to enjoy the fruits of his labor and have -a thoroughly frivolous holiday with Sylvia as mistress of the revels. -But just as he wanted to cut loose Sylvia wanted to go sedately. He -complained that he saw infinitely less of her now he was engaged to her -than he had when he was not, and resented somewhat sharply the thousand -and one claims and duties which Sylvia acknowledged. Yet the two never -really quarreled. Jack was too sunny-tempered and Sylvia too tactful, -and on the whole they were very happy together, Sylvia, oddly enough, -happier than Jack. - -Meanwhile the war went on overseas and men began to shake their heads -and prophesy that we would be in it soon. But that was still nineteen -hundred and fifteen and we kept out. About this time came a letter from -Hilda, the first in many months. The chief item told simply and with -scarcely any comment was that Bertram had been killed early in October. -"I can hardly realize it or feel it," wrote Hilda. "It is getting to be -an old story over here. Women see their lovers and their sons and their -husbands go and they don't come back, or if they do, they come maimed -and crippled, only the shadow of the men that went forth. In the -meanwhile we try to heal as many as we can, though it is discouraging to -heal them and send them back to be killed outright perhaps next time." - -The letter and its sad news had haunted Sylvia for a long time. What a -strange romance Hilda's had been--so brief it must almost have seemed a -dream! She had known Bertram only a few weeks in August. By the first -of September they had become engaged. A week later he had gone to the -front. In October he had been overtaken by death. And that was the end. -What a waste there was to it all! - -Half consciously all that month Sylvia expected to hear that Barb and -Phil were engaged. She had long since made up her mind that that -particular consummation was natural, even desirable. She, herself, was -far too sane a person to spend many moments prying among ashes to see if -any sparks remained. Nor would she permit herself to regret that which -had perhaps never been more than moonshine and dream stuff. She was -able to persuade herself quite easily that since she was able to be so -placidly happy without Phil she had never needed him overmuch. That -miracle moment on Lover's Leap and that other music intoxicated moment -in December came to seem to her mere magic casements through which she -had looked for the briefest interval of time into another world, -essentially unreal, fantastic, a sort of mirage of the soul. And -mirages were not in Sylvia's line, so she did not often let herself -remember those irrevocable moments. - -Once in her desultory reading she came across a little poem called -"Remembrance," one stanza of which particularly haunted her. - - - _Not unto the forest--not unto the forest, O my lover!_ - _Take me from the silence of the forest!_ - I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night - And echoing of laughter in my ears, - _But here in the forest_ - I am still, remembering a forgotten, useless thing, - And my eyelids are locked down for fear of tears-- - _There is memory in the forest._ - - -She had gone to a dance with Jack that night and every now and then the -music had taken words. - - - I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night - And echoing of laughter in my ears. - - -But, afterward, in her own room, she had sat a long time by the window -looking out into the white night where snows lay on her rose bushes. -And perhaps she remembered a "forgotten useless thing" and her eyelids, -too, were "locked down for fear of tears." And a new fear awakened in -Sylvia's heart that night, a fear of Love. She, too, needed to be -delivered from the memory of the forest. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - *A CHAPTER OF REVELATIONS* - - -February passed and March came in, rough and blustering, with "noise of -wind and of many waters" blowing its silver trumpets to life long -dormant under winter snows. There came a few warm days and the crocuses -began to run gay little races through the grass in Sylvia's garden and -the jocund company of daffodils appeared. One morning a bluebird -flashed out in the magnolia and the cardinals called "Pretty! Pretty! -Pretty!" ecstatically all day long. - -But then came frost and the frivolous crocuses in their parti-colored -gowns lay flat and desolate like little dead dreams. The daffodils -blackened and their stalks snapped, brittle as icicles. The bluebird -disappeared, nobody knew where, and the cardinal's joy was muted. And -it was all a symbol of life as it was in the world that spring of -nineteen hundred and fifteen. Men had dreamed of peace and good will, -of strong nations hailing each other with a "God speed" across the -waters, a world of quickened life and promise and progress. And -suddenly, out of a clear sky, as it seemed, had come blackening, -devastating war. Men who had smiled like friendly gods snarled and -hissed and rolled each other in the dust like brute beasts. Hymns of -hate replaced the song of the morning stars, and the Prince of Peace was -again crucified. - -And still America looked on, dismayed, awed, shaking herself like a -great dog, but not yet ready to leap at the throat of the enemy of -democracy, not yet ready to believe such an enemy could really live and -move and have his mighty being in this day and generation of -enlightenment. Not yet was Beowulf dedicated to Heorot's cause, not yet -did he fully realize the hatefulness of Grendel, who bore God's wrath. -Aloof from it all, America's great pulse beat on almost steadily. Men -and women loved and sinned and suffered and bartered and sacrificed as -they had been doing from the beginning, more or less unmindful of the -whirlwind sowing not so far off, with only an ocean between it and -themselves. And what is an ocean nowadays? - -In the stuffy little town of Norton, Pa., Suzanne took a deep draught of -life that March; a deeper draught, indeed, than New York, or for that -matter all the cities of America could have held to her lips. Day by -day, as she sat by her mother's bed, she learned lessons no college -could have taught her. Suzanne's spirit had been "stabb'd broad awake." -She saw the Suzanne of the past, blind, arrogant, selfish, deeming -herself wise and self-sufficient, yet really knowing neither life nor -herself. Here in the quiet room where the angels of life and death -wrestled she saw things very clearly and was made humble. - -But it was willed that she be spared the last drops of the cup of sorrow -and remorse. In those early March days her mother drifted back slowly -from the Hinterland. It was almost as if Suzanne's need and Suzanne's -prayer and Suzanne's love had brought her back. Little by little, as -the mother grew better, she and her daughter came into the grace of -mutual understanding and sympathy and forgiveness, knowing at last the -whole story of Suzanne's light-hearted vagabondage. Mrs. Morrison was -able to smile and sigh over "Melissa on the Road," the first installment -of which appeared in the April issue of the magazine whose editor had -"come to life" in season to recognize a live human document when it came -into his hands. - -As for the play, Suzanne received a letter in March from the great -manager informing her he had kept in touch with her affairs through Miss -Murray, congratulating her on her mother's recovery and begging for an -interview at her earliest convenience. His confidence in the Star's -judgment had, it seemed, been justified. The play was as good as -Suzanne had promised, so he admitted. - -Accordingly, one day, when her mother was able to spare her, Suzanne -went up to New York to sign contracts and discuss royalties with a -glibness which scarcely betrayed her recent complete inexperience of -such pleasing commodities. The play was to be tried out in early -September and if it was successful would be given a chance on Broadway -later. - -"Of course, that is on the knees of the gods," the manager had warned. -"You can't tell what the public will do. The public is a spoiled child. -The thing may go. It may not. The whole thing's a devilish lottery, -you understand." - -Oh, yes, Suzanne understood. All life was pretty much of a devilish -lottery she thought, but that made it more rather than less interesting. -Long ago she had taken for her motto, "Believe and venture, as for -pledges the gods give none." It was enough for her at the time that the -play was to be given a trial. More would have slain her with joy she -thought. - -Of course she ran straight to Barb with this bucketful of delightful -certainties and enchanting possibilities. And Barb was as happy as -Suzanne over it all. She was an artist at rejoicing with those that -rejoice as well as mourning with those that mourned. Sometimes she -seemed to herself to be nothing at all but an agglomeration of -sympathies for the rest of the world. Her own selfhood seemed drowned -in the sea of humanity. She was not unhappy. Indeed she was quietly, -humbly content. To some women to love itself is the main thing. In -such the waters of affection returning back to their springs, fill them -indeed full of refreshment. There was no bitterness in Barb. Gladly and -freely she had broken her alabaster box of precious ointment not -counting the cost, nor deeming the performance any sort of waste, rather -a privilege. - -As for the Cause, her dedication to it held no more scruples. Suzanne -had been right in her prophecy. She was "white hot" in her faith, in her -mission, the whiter-hot, perhaps, because she had managed to get -"martyrized" along the way. - -In March Lois Daly's book was accepted by the publishers, with hearty -congratulations on her return to the field of literature after her -sojourn elsewhere. The terms of her contract were generous and Lois -smiled, well pleased. She took the letter at once to her husband, and -when he had expressed his delight and pride in her success she had -explained why she had done the thing. - -"I didn't want to write a bit, Tom," she said. "I dreaded to go into it -again. Of course when I once got in it I loved it just as I always -have. It is exhilarating--soul-possessing. But I was happy without it, -perfectly happy. I don't know whether you understand that, Tom. I was -afraid sometimes it worried you that I had given it up. It needn't -have. You and the home and the children were enough to fill every -need." - -"Then why did you do it?" He surveyed her, puzzled. It occurred to him -as no doubt it occurs to many wise men at times how little he knew his -wife. Do men ever really know their wives? Tom Daly thought of that -little episode with Sylvia and wondered if it had had anything to do -with sending Lois back to her writing. - -"Why? Because I wanted to make some money--quite a lot of money--and -that was the only way I knew of doing it--my only wage earning asset," -she smiled. - -But Tom still looked bewildered. Just why should Lois have suddenly -acquired her zeal for money? She had never been luxurious in her -tastes, turning always preferably to simplicity of living, as those of -the aristocracy of brains usually do. Therefore he awaited -enlightenment. It was twilight and they were sitting together in the -dusk, but he could see her eyes shining with a sort of wistful -tenderness as they lifted themselves to his. - -"You don't ask why I wanted the money? Is it because you know that I -wanted it to give to you?" She pushed the publisher's letter across the -table to him. "It is yours, dear,--my gift to the hospital. I haven't -been able to show I cared for what you were working for. Perhaps I -haven't really cared, though I think I have learned a little about it -this winter, while I've been working myself. I've had a little light--a -crack of it, anyway." She smiled at him in the grayness. "But I've -always cared for you, Tom, even when maybe I haven't shown it, and I -want to give this--piece of me to your hospital because I do love you -and your big vision. Will you take it? It isn't much, but it comes -straight from my heart." - -"Not much!" cried Tom Daly. "Lois, it is everything." - -And in a moment his arms were around her and there was nothing else in -all the world but they two, mystically one in the fullness of their love -each for the other. - -So Spring brought with it quickened life and love to Tom Daly and Lois -as it had done to Suzanne Morrison and her mother. - -Spring, too, brought back Gus Nichols from his concert tour, a little -thinner and tired looking as if the fire of his music had burned rather -deep but with a new poise and dignity and manhood, along with his old -boyish charm. - -Mr. McIntosh was as happy as a child with a new toy at having the boy -back, or rather as a child with an old toy, beloved and rediscovered. -It was pleasant to see the two together, old man and lad, so different -racially and temperamentally, yet so bound together by the ties of -affection. - -"Best job you ever did in your life, Sylvia Arden," Mr. McIntosh had -observed one Sunday when he and Gus were taking dinner at the Hall. -"Best job you ever did, when you persuaded me to adopt the boy. I can -see you now, impertinent little witch that you were, sitting up and -giving me advice like a grandmother. But it was good advice. I grant -you that. You knew what you were talking about and talked to some -purpose. See here, Sylvia--" The old man lowered his voice a little, -though the others--Gus and Felicia and Doctor Daly--were engaged in -conversation and could not hear, "do you think there is anything the -matter with the lad? He doesn't look just happy to me. You don't think -there can be a girl or any nonsense like that?" - -Romance had always seemed more or less nonsense to Angus McIntosh, -probably would unto the end, though years and affection had somewhat -tempered his aversion for sentiment. - -Sylvia looked up a little startled, remembering suddenly what she had -almost forgotten--that unspoken thing she had read in the boy's eyes -that night after his first concert. Gus, too, looked up at the moment, -and as their gaze met Sylvia saw that the boy's had the fire and dew of -a Galahad in them, the look of one who sees the Grail afar off. Her own -eyes fell. She could not bear that shining, reverent look. It blinded -her, shook her, quickened her, filled her with humility and compassion -and envy. She perceived that Gus had found this thing which she herself -seemed forever seeking with vain quest. In giving he had gained, in -losing he had found. - -"Well?" challenged Angus McIntosh at her side. - -Sylvia shook her head. - -"No, Gus looks to me--very happy," she said. - -"I'm glad you think so." The old man's tone was relieved, as if a -burden had been lifted from his mind. He had the greatest respect for -Sylvia's judgment and understanding. "Glad you think so. He seems all -right, but I wasn't sure. Thought I'd see what you thought, that's -all." - -Later Sylvia played accompaniments for her guest's violin. And if his -eyes had not already conveyed the truth to her, his violin would have -done so. Sylvia could hardly keep the tears out of her eyes as she -played. Not that the music was sad. It was jubilant, at times almost -triumphant. It throbbed and welled and exulted. It disdained pity as a -crowned monarch might have disclaimed it. It proclaimed itself -inviolate, consecrate, perfected. "I rejoice! I conquer! I love!" it -sang. - -As Sylvia rose from the piano she almost feared to meet the gaze of the -listeners. She thought they must all have heard the message of the -violin as she had heard it. But no one seemed to have done so. They had -felt the power and the beauty of the thing, but its soul had been -concealed from them all except Sylvia herself. - -And then Sylvia saw that Jack was in the room. He had come in while they -had been playing and stood silent, waiting until the violin ceased. She -went to him, her eyes still full of the music, and noticed that he was a -little white and very grave, with something of his boyishness stricken -out of him. - -"I didn't know you were back from New York," she said, though that -wasn't at all what she seemed to care about saying. The ordinary, -conventional words rise to our lips when the real things hide unsaid. - -"Let's get out of here a moment," he whispered, under cover of greeting, -"I've something to tell you." - -Sylvia stepped out into the hall and he followed. - -"Sylvia, there's been an accident. Phil's hurt--dying, maybe." - -He put out his arm quickly, for Sylvia swayed toward him with eyes that -told him what perhaps he had known in his heart all the time. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *UNTO THE FOREST* - - -Sylvia did not faint. Indeed it seemed to her as if she had never in -all her life been so quick in every fiber as she was at the moment she -heard Jack's voice saying those fearful illuminating words, -"Phil--dying, they think." It was as if a great clean wave swept over -her leaving her purged of misunderstanding and doubt and weakness and -compromise. With one blinding flash of light she saw clear. She drew -away from Jack's arms. - -"Tell me about it. No, I am all right. Tell me." - -There was little to tell. A crowded street, a heedless chauffeur, a -toddling Italian baby escaped from its mother's fruit stand. These were -the details. There was nothing unusual about them. Such accidents -happen daily in great cities. One scarcely hears of them they are so -frequent of occurrence. The wonder is there are not more of them when -human life teems so thick and is held so cheap. But, unfortunately, -clear-witted, quick-moving, strong-limbed young ex-football heroes are -not always at hand as in this case. The baby was happily unhurt, but -Phil Lorrimer lay in the hospital at the point of death. - -Instead of keeping a luncheon engagement with his friend, Jack Amidon -had been called upon to take charge of a grave situation. Finally, -there being nothing left to do, he had come back to Greendale to tell -Mrs. Lorrimer--Mrs. Lorrimer and Sylvia. - -"I thought it would be better to tell his mother myself," he said to -Sylvia. "Telegrams knock you out so. She is a wonder, though. Not a -whimper. She's going up on the five o'clock from Baltimore. I'm taking -her in, in the car." - -"I am going, too," said Sylvia. - -For a moment the two stared at each other, then Jack understood and -acquiesced. - -"All right. That is for you to say," he responded quietly. "Go and get -ready. I'll tell the rest." - -Even in her distress, Sylvia smiled wanly at Jack. It was so like him to -understand, to spare her, to see at a flash the helpful, kindly thing to -do. Jack was always so "dear." She tried to express her gratitude but -he cut her short by stooping to kiss her, not on the lips as usual, but -on the forehead. - -"Don't bother about me, sweetheart. I don't count," and he strode away -from her toward the living-room where he had promised to "tell the -rest." - -Sylvia ran up the stairs to her own room, dazed and dry-eyed, with a -strange lightness about her, as if she had suddenly shed her body and -become all spirit. In a few moments Felicia joined her, quiet, helpful, -unquestioning. There was never any need of explaining things to -Felicia. She did not ask why Sylvia, engaged to one man, should be -rushing with anguish-stricken eyes to the sick-bed of another. Perhaps -she understood that better than she had understood the engagement in the -first place. - -It was a strange journey--first, the swift almost silent automobile ride -to the city; Jack's stern, white face as he kissed her good-by so unlike -the sunny lover she was used to, whom she had loved "by the light and -beat of drums," a look so different it had haunted her all the way to -New York; beside her the quiet countenance and grief-filled eyes of -Phil's mother. Feeling scarcely worthy to dwell in the sanctuary of her -own grief, Sylvia's heart went out to the older woman in her silent -agony. Perhaps never in her life before had the girl realized what it -meant to be a mother--how mothers gave and gave and gave, and suffered -and suffered and suffered, and loved and loved and loved, unto the end. -What was going on in the mind and heart of the other woman she could -only conjecture. Dimly she perceived that the mother loved the son for -the baby he had been, the boy and youth he had been, the man he was, the -man he was to be--all in one. How could she bear it? Sylvia wondered. - -Then the vision widened. How could all those women over in Europe bear -it? To give up their sons--the very fruit of their bodies, those for -whom they had undergone the agonies of death! It was horrible. Phil -was only one, and he had offered life for life. That was natural. But -those other strong young men, over there--they were giving life for more -death. That was the unthinkable, hideous part of it. The sorrows of -all the world seemed pressing down upon her, crystallized, made real by -her own poignant, personal grief. Phil became the mangled young life of -the world. - -Suddenly Sylvia felt she could bear it no longer alone. She put out her -hand and let it rest upon the hand of Phil's mother. Mrs. Lorrimer -turned with a faint little smile. - -"Pray, Sylvia, pray," she said softly. "Try to help me say 'Thy will be -done.' I am trying to say it. But it is hard--so very hard." - -"I can't," Sylvia's young voice flung back, hard, almost fierce, in its -hurt. "I can only keep saying, 'Don't take him. Don't take him. I -can't bear it.'" - -But Mrs. Lorrimer shook her head and pressed the girl's hand. - -"We can bear anything, Sylvia--anything. We are never asked to bear too -much." - -"I am," cried Sylvia passionately. "I can't bear his dying--without -knowing. He must know." - -"He will know, dear." - -Sylvia took comfort from the quiet assurance. She believed Mrs. Lorrimer -meant she felt sure that Phil was still living, would live. She did not -know the mother meant that her son might already be where there could be -no misunderstanding, no longer any seeing as through a glass darkly, but -face to face with infinite realities. Alice Lorrimer was not young like -Sylvia. She knew from sad experience how many paths of human life lead -straight to the Garden of Gethsemane.' - -Presently Sylvia spoke again. - -"Mrs. Lorrimer, how do you suppose I could have been so blind--not to -know--I cared--this way?" Sylvia's phrases came out in quick, uneven -gasps, as if every word hurt. "I didn't know--I never knew until Jack -told me just now--about Phil. I didn't know," she moaned. - -"Maybe Phil was blind too, dear. I think he was. He put an unreal thing -ahead of a real one, I am afraid, just because he cared so much. You -needn't look surprised, child. Mothers know so much more than any one -ever tells them. Of course I don't know what happened in New York, but -I have always suspected my boy hurt you, and it was the hurt which made -you shut your eyes so tight." - -"It was something like that," admitted Sylvia. "It is so horribly easy -to get all muddled and twisted up in life." - -"It is," agreed Mrs. Lorrimer. "Sometimes it takes a great grief to -remove the bandages from our eyes." - -"I know. When Jack told me--first everything went black and then it was -all white and shining. I felt as if I had never really seen clear in -all my life before, except maybe just once, last September out in the -woods at sunset. I think Phil and I both knew then. Oh, Mrs. Lorrimer, -why didn't he speak? What difference could my money possibly make? -Money and love haven't anything to do with each other. They are in -different kingdoms like animal, vegetable, mineral, only there must be a -fourth kingdom--the love kingdom." Sylvia's eyes smiled a little, like -stars through mist. - -"Men do not always understand, little daughter. Perhaps they never -understand quite. You must not blame Philip too much." - -"Blame! Oh, I don't. The blame was mine. I shouldn't have rushed like -a mad thing into the fire to save my pride. I wasn't true to love or -Phil or myself or Jack. Maybe I was untruest of all to Jack. He will -never tell me, but I know I have hurt him dreadfully. Sometimes I think -women are the cruellest things in the world. We don't mean to be but we -are." - -"I am afraid we are sometimes." - -"I didn't mean to be cruel. I've always wanted to be kind. Maybe that -is the trouble. I've been too kind. I let myself believe I loved Jack -because it pleased me to make him happy. And I haven't made him happy. -That is the worst of it. I believe he has been miserable all along -because he knew I was giving him counterfeit gold instead of the real -thing. It was only I who did not know, and even I suspected, sometimes. -That was why I wanted to keep so dreadfully busy all the time, so I -wouldn't have time to think. Mother Lorrimer," in sudden contrition, -"you are so tired and I have chattered and chattered until I almost feel -better because I've talked. As if I mattered--beside you." - -Mrs. Lorrimer pressed the girl's hand again. - -"Nothing matters very much just now," she said, "except God." - -"But God is so far off." - -"Oh, no, He isn't, Sylvia. - - "'Closer is He than breathing - And nearer than hands and feet.' - -Haven't you ever felt how near He is?" - -"Yes," said Sylvia, remembering again that night when she and Phil and -the "shadowy third" had been so close to each other that there had not -been a breath between them. And then she fell silent, led at last unto -the forest where she had not dared to go for many months. And in the -forest Sylvia sought God. - -It seemed an endless time before they reached the great station in New -York but at last they did arrive. There was no one to meet them. It -was a very different arrival from the one Sylvia remembered in December. -Jeanette had been there then to greet her and Barb and Phil. She had -been breathless, exhilarated with happiness. She remembered how almost -intoxicated with sheer delight of living she had felt when Phil had -helped her into the limousine and recalled also what a queer, deserted, -almost lonely feeling she had experienced, immediately after, when she -leaned out of the car to wave good-by to Barb and Phil on the curb. - -The thought of Barb brought a new current of reflection. For all she -knew it was Barb and not herself who had the right to be with Phil now. -How did she know but he might have learned to care for Barb in all those -months? Wasn't it probable, natural, that he should have done so? Why -should she expect him to keep on caring for her while she had given -herself to Jack? A panic seized her. All the way to the hospital even -Phil's desperate illness, which she had never seemed able to sense, -loomed less important than this new specter which had arisen. What if -Barb should be there with him? What if they should say "Who is this -young person? The woman he loves is there already with him. There is -no room for another." - -But when they reached the hospital no such questions were raised. Mrs. -Lorrimer swept everything aside with her quiet dignity. "I am his -mother," she had said. "And this is Miss Arden," quite as if the -authorities knew and understood why Miss Arden must be admitted. -Perhaps they did understand. The doctor who challenged them shot a -quick questioning look at Sylvia and bowed acquiescence. Possibly -Sylvia's eyes were the password. The doctor was used to reading human -faces. He had admitted many another white-cheeked, tortured-eyed young -woman into the chamber of the Shadow ere this. He was gravely -sympathetic. He did not expect the young man in there to live -twenty-four hours. It would be a miracle, he thought, if he got well. - -And so the mother and the girl who loved Philip Lorrimer sat beside him -all that still night though he did not know them. Sylvia lived a -thousand lives and died a thousand deaths before the gray dawn came to -the quiet room. And who knows what new agonies the mother who bore the -lad suffered during those long silent hours? To Sylvia at least, there -was something beautiful even in the unspeakable anguish of it all. Even -in death Phil would be hers and she his. Love had crowned her as it had -crowned Gus. She no longer envied the young musician his Grail ecstasy. -She, too, had been anointed. - -Sylvia never knew whether she consciously prayed that night. It was -rather that she talked with God and He in His beneficence let her share -some of His eternal secrets. - -And underneath it all she was crying out to Phil, "Don't die. Don't -die. Don't die. I love you. I love you. Come back. Come back." And -she did not seem to be saying it to the inert form on the high, narrow -bed. That was not Phil at all. Phil was all strength and energy and -vitality. That was a mere husk of something--what, she did not care. It -had nothing to do with Phil or with herself. She was sending out her -cry, not from her body to his, but from her spirit to his, wherever the -latter was faring. She knew that wherever he was he would hear and -almost she knew he would come back. - -The strange part of it was he did come back, as if Sylvia's voice had -arrested him and brought him back from those far fields to which he had -been journeying. Perhaps not so strange, after all. The wisest men of -all the ages have not been able to mark the metes and bounds of the -power of love. At any rate, whether Sylvia's call had anything to do -with it or not, Phil Lorrimer came back. The miracle was achieved. - -It was early morning when Phil opened his eyes, blue as ever, though -dark-circled and heavy, and the first thing he saw was Sylvia, who had -just turned from the window where she had been watching the dawn come up -over the city with strange unearthly light and shadow. Something of the -same light was on Phil's face as he recognized Sylvia. With one swift -light step she was beside him, her face bent over his, her heart in her -eyes. - -"Sylvia." The voice was faint as if the speaker had come back from -other worlds, but distinct, wondering, happy. - -"Phil!" And as he felt Sylvia's kiss on his cheek, Phil closed his eyes -again as if there were now no other bliss to attain in this world or the -next. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *AFTERMATH* - - -Three weeks later and April had surprised even the city and taken it by -storm. Buds were beginning to burst in the trees in the park, hyacinths -rainbowed here and there, the fountains were released from their winter -bondage. The river took on a bluer hue to match the sky, or was it at -the hint of the bird who arrived just before Easter giving advance -notice of the latest colors in Nature's fashion house, bearing samples -on his own back? - -In Miss Josephine Murray's little apartment Suzanne and Barb and Sylvia -were assembled, one blue and gold afternoon, with tongues flying fast as -of old. - -"When is Phil going to be able to be moved?" Suzanne was demanding of -Sylvia. "And where is he going to move to?" - -"Next week, we hope. And he is coming to Arden Hall." - -"Bless us! how modern!" teased Suzanne. - -Sylvia flushed and shook her head. - -"It isn't so specially modern. It is just natural. The doctors say he -has to get out of the city. His mother thinks she has to get back to -the girls, and she also thinks there is no doctor in the world equal to -Doctor Tom and wants him to set his eye on Phil. Of course, he can't go -to 'Hester house.' That would be too absurd and he'd hate it -anyway--with all those sympathetic females in attendance. There is -always plenty of room at the Hall, and it is lovely there in April. So -he's coming," she concluded. - -"Reasons as plenty as blackberries," jeered Suzanne. "Perfectly well -explained. What do you happen to be doing with your fiancé in the -meantime?" - -Sylvia looked up at that, meeting Suzanne's eyes squarely. - -"I haven't any," she announced quietly. "Jack has known for three weeks -I wasn't going to marry him. In fact, he suggested it himself." - -"More and more modern," approved Suzanne. "It is indeed well to be off -with the old love before you are on with the new. When are you going to -announce your next engagement?" - -"Maybe never," said Sylvia so soberly that Suzanne relented and -obligingly turned the fire on herself. - -"Speaking of being off with the old love, it seems to be the one thing I -can't manage. Roger and I have decided we miss quarreling so much when -we are separated that it's simpler and more agreeable to get married and -quarrel in peace." - -At which last Suzannesque paradox Sylvia and Barb laughed and proffered -congratulations. - -"Better offer Roger condolences instead," advised Suzanne. "I shall -lead him a life." - -"Is he coming to New York to live?" inquired Barb, remembering her -friend's urban preferences. - -"He is not. He is having far too much fun stirring things up in Norton, -Pa. We are going in for politics. I think I shall let him run for -mayor. There will be a lovely row, for all the crocks are afraid of him -now, and it isn't a circumstance to what they'll be if they suspect he -wants to raise that particular tempest in their cozy, grafty teapot." -Suzanne chuckled, scenting battle afar off. A "scrap" was as the elixir -of life to her. "I don't want to live in New York, anyway," she -continued. "I couldn't bear to be very far off from mother, and it's -much more distinguished to draw my royalties and breath on some sacred -Parnassian Hill in Norton, Pa. Likewise it is less expensive. I shall -come up often, however, if only to see that they do not murder my -precious play. Vengeance is mine if they touch one hair--that is, one -line--of its blessed substance. Remember my prophecy, sweet friends? -I-did-write-a-play." And, lacking a cushion, Suzanne thumped the tea -table with her fist until the cups rattled ominously. - -"You did," agreed Sylvia. "And here is Barbie here, an ornament to the -Cause. Wait until you see her marching in the parade next fall! Wait -till you know what she did to the legislators when she bearded them at -Albany! She is so modest she will hide her light under a bushel, but -I'm all the time hearing things about her. Phil says she's a wonderful -speechifier. To the victor--in her own colors!" And Sylvia dropped the -yellow jonquils she was wearing in her friend's lap and bent over her to -press a butterfly kiss on her forehead. - -Sylvia and Barb had come very close to each other during the latter's -recent stay in the city. Phil Lorrimer's accident had been a fiery -ordeal for Barbara as well as Sylvia, and Sylvia, guessing this, felt -very tender toward the other girl. Never once did they reach the point -of putting things into words. But words were not essential to mutual -understanding. Barb and Sylvia knew all there was to know, each about -the other, without communication on the subject and their love was the -stronger for knowing. Perhaps the closest Barbara ever came to a -confession was when she said to Sylvia once that she didn't believe -there was a single woman who was a really inspired worker in the Cause -who hadn't a hurt of her own somewhere underneath to make her pitiful of -scars other women carried. "I guess maybe they are even thankful for -their hurts when they have healed a little," she had added with -Barb-like naïveté. "It makes them understand so much more. You've got -to understand to care." - -And Sylvia had understood and cared so much for Barbara's hurt that she -would not offer her the last spear thrust--the word of spoken -compassion. And, after all, Sylvia could hardly help seeing that Barb -scarcely needed compassion. She, too, had her Grail fire to follow and -it took her to high places. - -"Oh, Barb is some little wonder!" Suzanne had agreed. "Isn't it funny -how much we've all been through since September and yet we aren't any of -us so cock-sure about things as we were then? I was the worst--the most -Sophomoric of the three--and maybe I've come the worst croppers just -because I had to have the cock-sureness forcibly if not painlessly -extracted. Anyway, I don't want to go back and be the Suzanne of -September, nineteen hundred and fourteen again. What about the rest of -you? Would you like old Time to turn back in his flight?" - -"No," said Sylvia and Barb in emphatic chorus. Then they all laughed and -grew sober. - -"It is a vote," declared Suzanne. - -When Sylvia got back to her hotel she found a message from Jeanette -Latham inviting her to dinner. A little reluctantly she telephoned -acceptance. She was not very anxious to see Jeanette, not only because -she had rather distasteful memories of her recent visit but because she -dreaded meeting any of Jack's people just now. It seemed to her they -must dislike and despise her for her treatment of Jack. Not that she -blamed them for that. No one could judge her more harshly than she -judged herself on that score. - -Arrived at the great house on the drive, Sylvia was informed that Mrs. -Latham was in her own room and begged that Miss Arden would come up. The -two kissed and then drew back each surveying the other woman fashion, -out of the tail of her eye. - -Jeanette was a little pale, Sylvia thought, but somehow prettier than -she had been in December, her rich brunette glow softened and subdued a -little. She was wearing an exquisite rose-colored robe above which her -lovely full throat gleamed white and her eyes looked darker and more -brilliant than ever. - -"Sylvia, it is good to see you," she murmured. "Take off your wraps. We -are going to have dinner up here if you don't mind. Francis is dining -out. We can have a cozy gossip all to ourselves." - -As the dainty little dinner was being served the two talked about -everything in general and nothing in particular, taking pains to avoid -anything that could possibly interest either. It was only after the -meal was cleared away and the maid banished that they came to the really -important things. - -"Sylvia, I know you think I am going to be disagreeable about Jack. I'm -not. I'm glad. No, don't speak yet. I want to tell you why I am glad. -I knew you didn't care for Jack, at least not enough. You sort of half -way cared just as I did for Francis. You thought it would be suitable -and agreeable and easy and please everybody all round especially Jack. -And you thought that the rest would come in time, didn't you?" - -Sylvia nodded in shamed silence. - -"On the whole, your reasons for getting engaged were quite as creditable -as mine for getting engaged to Francis, certainly more so than Isabel's -for getting engaged to her miserable count. But, even so, they weren't -good enough. There is only one reason for getting engaged to a man, -anyway, only one for marrying him, and that is just plain old-fashioned -love. I found that out in a very expensive course of lessons. You -didn't love Jack. I knew it that night. I had just sent Charlton away -and I knew the real thing--what it was. I care more for Jack than -almost anybody in the world and I didn't want him to be unhappy any more -than you did, but he is going to be more unhappy now than if you had -said no last December." - -Sylvia winced at that. - -"I know it, Jeanette. I am as sorry about that as you can possibly be." - -"I know. I didn't mean to reproach you. I just wanted to tell you I -know it was better this way, hard as it is for Jack. He'll get over it -now. At least, I hope he will, but if you had married him he wouldn't -have gotten over it. He would have been like Francis. Francis knows I -don't care. At least he knows I didn't use to care. It has hurt him -pretty badly sometimes, I'm afraid. Maybe now he'll understand. I'm -not so bad as I might have been. I--Sylvia, do you know why I sent -Charlton away?" - -Sylvia shook her head. - -"I had just found out--something--about myself. I am not much good but -I couldn't go on with that kind of thing when I knew-- Sylvia, please -understand. It is harder to say than I thought." - -And suddenly Sylvia did understand, and came and put her arms around the -other woman with real joy and affection. - -"If it will only be a boy," sighed Jeanette. "It is dreadful to be a -woman in this world, and Dad would like it so, and so would Francis." - -When she returned to the hotel again there was a letter from Jack -waiting for Sylvia, the second only since she had come to New York. The -first had been in response to her telegram announcing that Phil was -surely out of danger. It had been a very brief letter, expressing his -relief and pleasure at the good news of Phil's recovery. "And Sylvia, -Belovedest," it had added, "don't forget I meant just what I said that -day. Don't bother about me. I don't count. Nothing counts except your -being happy. I believe I have always known it was Phil you really cared -for. Anyway, I know it now. You have always been an angel of goodness -to me and I am grateful. It has been just Jack and Jill going up the -hill. Jack fell down and broke his crown all right, but there is no -reason in the world why Jill should come tumbling after. And in order -to prevent such a disaster the best thing Jack can say is good-by." - -Sylvia had written back a long, affectionate and remorseful letter -blaming herself wholly and severely and accepting his proffered release -from their engagement. She had not heard from him again until now. -Consequently she tore open the letter with some trepidation. - - -"Dear Sylvia,"--So it ran-- - -"I am sailing to-morrow to join the American Ambulance Field Service in -France. It isn't a new notion. It has been in the back of my brain a -long time. I should have gone in December if you had refused me then. -I am not much good at anything but driving a car. I stuck to the -business because you wanted me to but my heart wasn't in it. Dad -understands, and is perfectly willing I should go. Don't misunderstand -me, please, sweetheart. I am not doing this for gallery play or to work -on your feelings. And I'm not going to talk any tommyrot about my life -being spoiled and wanting to throw it away. I don't want to throw it -away. I want to find it if I can over there. It seems to me France -ought to drive whip and spur into any chap and make a man of him. -Anyway, I'm going to have a try at it. Of course there is a little -danger--not much. You must not worry. Danger agrees with me, and I'm a -lucky chap in everything but love. Best wishes to old Phil. Remember -that means in _everything_. - -"I would have come to say good-by in person, but it took a little more -nerve than I have just now. It was easier for both of us for me to make -a quiet getaway. Wish me luck, Sylvia. - -"Yours, as always, - "JACK." - - -Sylvia read the letter, dazed, troubled but by no means surprised. It -was like Jack to do the gallant, generous, splendid, impulsive thing. -As she finished she made a rapid calculation. "I sail to-morrow." That -must mean to-day. He was already gone. Somewhere out beyond the harbor -his ship was plowing its way toward France. The tears came into her -eyes. Jack was very dear to her. Why, oh why had she driven him to this -unnecessary danger, this fearful carnage field overseas? And yet was he -not right? Would he not find something worth the risk in the stern -realities of that glorious and tragic country he went to aid? That he -had not gone into it lightly she saw. He had counted the possible cost -as any man who was not a fool must count it. But he had not gone in -bravado or in bitterness. He had taken pains to show her that. He had -gone simply, in quiet earnest to prove himself, not to throw away his -life recklessly but to find it as he said. Dear Jack! No wonder -Sylvia's eyes were wet as she folded his letter and put it back in its -envelope. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *HIGH TIDE* - - -For weeks after his injury Phil Lorrimer had been too sick to care very -much about anything except the agreeable fact that his mother and Sylvia -hovered over him like seraphim as he assured them later. It had -mattered very little to him where he was nor how he got there so long as -Sylvia was there too. It might be Heaven for all he knew. For a while -it had seemed quite probable it was Heaven, for he remembered quite -distinctly that Sylvia had kissed him and she had never done that on -earth he was quite certain. - -But presently his mind had cleared and things had been explained. He -heard how he had been hurt and how his mother had come at once. Neither -of these things seemed hard to grasp. But why was Sylvia here? Sylvia -was engaged to Jack. Why was she here spending long hours by his -bedside? Sylvia was always kind. It must have been sheer kindness that -brought her he concluded. But somehow there appeared to be more than -kindness in Sylvia's eyes, though after that heavenly dream she had not -kissed him again. - -It was not until he was almost able to travel that Sylvia told him that -she and Jack were no longer engaged, that they had decided it had all -been a mistake and that Jack had gone to France. Phil took the news in -silence and sobriety. He had very little to say on that subject or any -other for the rest of the day. And Sylvia, suddenly self-conscious, had -kept away from the hospital on the next day. But on the next, the day -before the cavalcade was to start for Greendale, she came. Phil was -sitting by the window looking somewhat like his old self though gaunt -and lean as a wintered wolf. - -"You weren't here yesterday," he accused sternly. - -"No. What a spoiled invalid you are getting to be! You don't expect to -see me every day, do you? Those carnations need fresh water. I'll get -some." Sylvia turned, flowers in hand, but Phil had waxed suddenly, -unexpectedly imperious. - -"Put 'em down," he ordered so stentoriously that Sylvia obeyed without -really intending to. - -"Come here," he still further ordered. Sylvia did not come nearer but -she did stand perfectly still looking at him. - -"I missed you like the devil yesterday," he observed. - -"You flatter me," said Sylvia. - -He ignored her irony. - -"I say, are you really not engaged any more?" - -Sylvia admitted that she really was not. - -"Why did you end it?" - -"I told you. We decided that it was a mistake." - -"When?" - -"A few weeks ago." - -"Precisely when?" - -"The night I knew you were hurt." Sylvia faced him steadily now. If he -wanted facts he should have them. - -"Was that why you broke it off?" - -"I didn't break it off. Jack did." - -"You mean he didn't like your coming here to me?" - -"No. It wasn't that. He just knew--well, he knew I couldn't marry him. -Jack is a dear. He always sees things without being told." - -"And I don't see things until they are rammed into my darn fool eyes. -Is that it?" - -Sylvia acknowledged that that seemed to be a fair statement of the case. - -"You tried to show me a thing or two last winter?" - -"Yes." - -"And when I wouldn't look, you cut me good and proper as I deserved and -got engaged to Jack?" - -Sylvia nodded. - -"Sylvia!" - -"Well?" - -"Barb opened my eyes as to what an idiot I'd been about the money -business. She did it one night, too late though. I rushed out to see -you the next day, first minute I had, and Jeanette told me you were -engaged to Jack and had gone home. That cooked my goose, all right." - -"Well, the silly fowl ought to have been cooked." There was a faint -twinkle in Sylvia's eyes. - -"Granted," agreed Phil heartily. "See here, Sylvia, I've a whole lot of -things to say to you but a man in a bath robe doesn't cut a very -impressive figure saying the things I've got to say and--" - -"Don't say them then. I insist on being impressed. Besides, it is time -you went back to bed. I'm going, anyway." - -"Sylvia!" - -Sylvia paused in the doorway. - -"Did you kiss me that night or did I dream it?" - -"The idea!" But Sylvia's cheeks were less ambiguous in their answer -than her lips as she fled into the corridor. - -"Bless her!" grunted Phil. "Just wait until I get on my feet. I -wouldn't care if she were Miss Midas herself, I'd run off with her. I -wish she'd kiss me again." - -But it was May now and Sylvia had not kissed him again. Though she took -very good care of her guest that particular attention did not seem to be -included in the list. Up to this time, too, Phil had not been -sufficiently "on his feet" either to run off with his hostess or even to -have the presumption to ask her to marry him. - -May in Maryland! Is there anything lovelier the world over? Roses in -the gardens, wistaria dripping purple trails from the balconies, waxen, -fragrant magnolia bloom! Red bud and dogwood on the hills! Green fire -everywhere! - -In Sylvia's garden Phil Lorrimer lay stretched at ease in a canopied -hammock watching a pair of red birds carry on a lively courtship in the -magnolia tree. He was getting on famously it was declared. Certainly he -felt too much energy to be willing to stay recumbent much longer. He -was beginning to be restless. It was a wonder he had not begun before. -It was not so long ago that if any one had told him he would stay -contentedly for nearly two months away from his beloved clinic he would -have thought them mad and no doubt told them so. But sickness is a -powerful leveller and Phil had other things on his mind beside medicine -and surgery these May days. - -"Enter egg nogg," announced Sylvia suddenly arriving, Hebe like, with a -tray and a tall glass of foaming yellow deliciousness. - -Phil sat up. - -"Gee! What business has a great hulking idiot like me to loaf around -and let an angel like you wait on him hand and foot?" - -"Angels aren't conspicuous for their hands and feet. They are all wings -like that mosquito there. Don't let him bite. He'll disfigure your -beauty. And don't stop to concoct highfaluting speeches. Your business -is to drink." - -"All right I will, if you'll sit down too." He patted the hammock -beside him and Sylvia accepted the invitation. - -When he had disposed of the egg nogg he set the empty glass on the tray -on the grass where Sylvia had deposited it. Then he turned to look at -his companion. Sylvia was well worth looking at these days. Her old -rose bloom and "moonshininess" were back again. She had returned close -to the "jubilant springs" from which she had journeyed afar during the -troublous winter past, though perhaps the little girl Sylvia had -disappeared forever in the course of her devious wayfaring. At any -rate, the new womanliness was very becoming. - -"Is this a good time to propose?" demanded Phil so suddenly that Sylvia -blushed like a schoolgirl and drooped her head, but her lips twitched -roguishly as she averred that it was as good a time as any. - -"Very well. Remember I'm scared to death. I never proposed to a girl -before in my life and I'm never going to do it again. One, two, three! -Sylvia, will you marry me?" - -Sylvia lifted her head then and her eyes met Phil's straight and brave -with the fine surrender of a proud woman. - -"Yes," she said quietly. - -"Thank the Lord!" Phil mopped his perspiring brow. "If you don't mind -kissing me again I'd feel a little more as if it were real. I've lived -a dreadfully long time on that heavenly kiss. I'd like an earth one, -please." - -An hour later they were still in the hammock as blissful and mutually -self-absorbed as the redbirds. - -"Sylvia, do you realize that I haven't any money, thanks to this -heavenly-infernal smash up of mine, that even my job is knocked galley -westward by all this business? If I weren't too jolly happy to think at -all I should think I was an idiot and an ass if nothing worse to ask a -girl to marry me under the circumstances." - -"Don't think," said Sylvia. "What is the use? You will get caught up -quick enough when you are well again. Don't talk about money. It -leaves a bad taste in your mouth." - -"All right, I won't. But, Sylvia, there is another thing." Phil's eyes -strayed over the beautiful May sweet garden, on to the great red brick -house whose open doors suggested hospitality and affluence and home -happiness on a bountiful scale. "Have you thought you will have to give -this up and come and live in a little airtight compartment in New York?" - -For a moment Sylvia was startled out of her new content. Her eyes, too, -followed Phil's. Never had Arden Hall seemed so dear, so infinitely -desirable as now in the ripe hour of her happiness. Somehow she had -never thought of that particular complication though it was obvious -enough. To lose the Hall now that she had just come into the very heart -of it, or to have it again for brief holidays only, snatched "on the -wing" as she had said once before! A redbird flashed like a flame -before her in the sunshine. The redbirds would soon be nesting. -Mechanically the thought crossed her mind. Nesting! That was it. She, -too, would be nesting in the heart of the man she loved. She looked -back to Phil who was watching her with troubled eyes. - -"I shan't care, if I have you," she said. - -And it was true, would always be true for Sylvia Arden. She had been -like the empty marshes, waiting for the tide to come in. The tide had -come, full flood, sweeping every inlet and lagoon. There were no vacant -places in her whole being. Love filled it all. Nothing mattered any -more except this big, strange, beautiful, engulfing thing which had come -to her and taken possession. Felicia's prophecy had come true. Sylvia -had found the real thing at last, and knew the difference between it and -the specious substitute with which she had striven to be content. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *WARP AND WOOF* - - -Early in June, Sylvia and her little circle were shocked and saddened by -the sudden death of Angus McIntosh. He had gone to the office as usual -but had come in early in the afternoon, and in the dusk Gus had found -him sitting in the big chair beneath his mother's picture looking as -serene as if he had just fallen asleep. It seemed there had been for -quite a while past the probability that the very thing which had -happened would happen. This Gus had known and had been in a measure -prepared, though we are never fully armed against such loss. When our -dear ones leave us there is always a sad surprise about it. We can -never quite believe they can really go, however we think our minds are -fortified. - -Silent in his grief as in his love, Gus went quietly about the grave -duties which his foster-father's death imposed upon him, but no one -could have seen the lad and not known he was suffering acutely. To -Sylvia alone he seemed able to voice the grief that possessed him and to -her he turned with natural impulse to seek solace from one who knew what -the dead man had meant to the lonely boy. Sylvia gave him all the -comfort and friending she could in his hour of need. She felt very -pitiful for him not only because of this sorrow but because she knew he -had another scarcely healed hurt, though this new grief had driven it -into the background. - -When the old man's will was read many were surprised to learn that aside -from some bequests to servants and old friends and a small annuity to -"my beloved son, Augustus Nichols," the bulk of Angus McIntosh's hard -earned and considerable property was left to Thomas Daly in trusteeship -to found a hospital for Greendale. When people tried to commiserate Gus -on his rather meager sharings he had rejected their condolences. It -appeared he had for some time known of the disposition Angus McIntosh -had made of his estate. It had, indeed, been by the lad's own wish that -he was not burdened by the management and responsibility of a great -property. - -"What would I want with all that money?" he asked Sylvia. "I should -have hated it. I don't want money. I've never wanted it. I've had -more than my share already in my musical training. Thanks to his -generosity, my violin will bring me all the income I can stand. I -couldn't tend to a big property and keep on playing. I've got to play. -It is all I'm fit for. He understood. We talked it over so often. And -he didn't want to fritter away his money in little driblets in small -charities. He wanted to leave it in a lump sum where it would really do -some good. The hospital seemed to be the best. His mother died because -she didn't have proper medical care. It always hurt him to think about -it. He wants a room named after her. Oh, he knew exactly what he was -doing. I wish people would stop sympathizing with me. I don't want -their sympathy." - -So surprisingly it came about that Tom Daly's castle in the air suddenly -appeared convertible to brick and mortar. And the beauty of having it -so minutely and perfectly planned in advance was that there need not be -the slightest delay in getting the substance of things hoped for under -way. Thanks to Doctor Tom's unflagging effort other bequests to the -hospital were already forthcoming, including Lois Daly's gift of love, -but the big unhampered lump sum provided by Angus McIntosh's will made -it possible to carry out the doctor's dreams on a scale which he had -hardly dared hope to contemplate hitherto. - -One day Phil Lorrimer, up in New York, had a letter from Tom Daly. The -latter had for some time been considering the advisability, even the -necessity, of taking to himself a professional partner. His hands had -been already full before the hospital project had matured. Now they -were overflowing. All of which was preliminary to asking the younger man -if he would consider moving to Greendale to become Tom Daly's associate. - -Phil's breath came hard as he read. It was of all things the one he -would have liked best if he had chosen. Tom Daly had long been a boyish -idol of his, and since the boy had attained his own manhood he had seen -even more clearly the bigness of the other man's vision, the scope of -the service he was rendering Greendale. Nothing could have pleased or -flattered the young doctor more than that Tom Daly should consider him -worthy of the proffered post. - -Moreover, Phil's sickness had taken heavy toll even of his abundant -young vitality. It would be a year at least before he would be -perfectly strong again, and he had been warned since he had been back -that it was extremely doubtful whether he would be able to stand the -city work and city life. Here was his release in dignified, desirable -form. - -There were other considerations, too. It was no small inducement that -he could be near his mother in Greendale. He had realized more than -ever of late how hard it was for her to have her loved ones so -scattered. His father was in China, his sister in Constantinople, he -himself might just as well be at the uttermost parts of the earth for -all she saw of him under normal conditions. And his going to Greendale -would put an end to that source of regret and anxiety. - -But, chief of all naturally, was the knowledge that the arrangement -would bring joy to Sylvia. In spite of her sincere willingness to go -anywhere with him he knew it was hard for her to leave the beloved home -of her heart. And now there would be no need of such a sacrifice. The -cottage and the Hall were but a stone throw apart, an admirable -proximity so far as the professional partnership was concerned. - -So Phil wired, "Accept gladly, if Sylvia approves," and had hardly sent -the message before an enthusiastic letter arrived from Sylvia imploring -him to say yes to Doctor Tom's proposition if it were not in any way -contrary to his wishes and ambitions. - -"Of course it is just too heavenly to think of our living at Arden -Hall," she had written, "but, Phil, don't let any thought of me -influence your decision. Whatever you want, I want. You know I'd be -happy going to sea in a sieve with you if you elected to be a sieve -pilot. But, oh Phil, I can't help hoping you will want to come to -Greendale." - -All of which made Sylvia's approval fairly evident. - -Soon after this Phil went to call on the Huntleys, who had been kindness -itself to him and to his mother during the latter's stay in the city. -The doctor was not at home but Mrs. Huntley was delighted to see him and -hovered over him with tea and sandwiches and cakes as a fond female bird -hovers over its offspring with juicy worms. - -When Phil came to revealing his future plans he did so a little warily -remembering how he had refused Justin Huntley's generous offer. But -Mrs. Huntley seemed genuinely pleased. - -"How lovely for you! Now you can marry that sweet girl and everything -will be quite all right, will it not?" - -Phil explained that everything would have been quite all right in any -case since the "sweet girl" had been willing to come to him if he had -not been able to come to her. - -"Quite as it should be," Mrs. Huntley had declared approvingly. "But I -am glad it has come out as it has just the same. Do you know, Philip, -I've always been a little glad you didn't take Justin's offer, dearly as -I should have loved to have you with us." - -Phil hesitated to speak, not being quite certain of his hostess' course -of reasoning. But she soon enlightened him. - -"It isn't the kind of work for a young man," she went on. "It is too -disillusioning. Don't you think so? It might have made you a -little--just a little--cynical, you know. Mightn't it? It is hard to -keep your faith in human nature when you have a practice like Justin's." -She paused a moment then continued with unusual affirmatives. "Justin -was a country practitioner in a little town once. He took his father's -place. Wonderful old man--Justin's father! As much of a priest as a -doctor Justin used to say. He lived among kind, simple, hard-working -people and they loved him like a father. You should have seen them -flocking in from the farms and mountains to his funeral. There was a -kind of personal relation you don't get in cities." - -"No," agreed Phil. "Anyway, you don't get it in Dr. Huntley's kind of -practice. I get some few chunks of personality at the clinic." - -"Sometimes I've wished Justin had stayed in the country and followed his -father's steps. But I suppose it had to be this way. Justin wasn't -satisfied until he had worked his way to the top, though sometimes one -wonders what the top really is," she sighed. "But, anyway, I am glad -your father's son is going to have a different outlook. Justin will be -glad, too. He liked your refusal, though it disappointed him. He -understood." - -"He has been very good to me, and you, too," said Phil, warmly. "I hope -you don't think I don't appreciate his kindness and was ungrateful. It -was a big thing to offer a young man. But I couldn't take it. I had to -hold tight for my kind of a job. And, thanks to luck and Doctor Daly, I -have it." - -Watching the fine, earnest, young face, with its clear, honest, blue -eyes, and that firm, strong chin, Mrs. Huntley thought Phil Lorrimer -owed his opportunity chiefly to his own intrinsic worth, clear head, and -fine ideals, which was true. But perhaps almost more was he beholden to -a big-souled missionary out in China who had set him a standard of -manhood to follow and a gentle, low-voiced woman who lived at the foot -of Sylvia's Hill and had a gift for mothering. - -July brought Stephen Kinnard back to Greendale after much wandering, -from Alaska to Mexico, from Mexico to Quebec, and finally to Maryland. -He had written charming desultory letters from time to time to Felicia -and had been especially rejoiced over her having won the competition as -he had prophesied. But never in any of the letters had he pressed again -the question he had asked in September. Among other arts Stephen -Kinnard possessed the art of long patience and the power of biding his -time. - -Occasionally jolly, friendly, brotherly epistles had come for Hope, too. -At first Hope had blushed delightfully over them and read and reread -them until she fairly knew them by heart. But as the letters came less -frequently she gradually ceased to watch for them. Youth needs -something more substantial than a chimera to feed upon. Moreover, in -June, a young architect had come to Greendale to build Doctor Tom's -hospital, a rather clever young man with some Beaux Arts letters after -his name and a good eye for a pretty girl. Passing up the Hill and down -it as he did frequently in his interviews with the Doctor, he had -occasion to go by the Oriole Inn and it took him remarkably little time -to discover that it was agreeable to drop in afternoons for a cup of tea -in the quaint dining-room or out under the trees which the orioles still -haunted. Perhaps not the least of the charms of the place was the -presence of the fair-haired, slender lily of a girl who hovered about -with a pleasing anxiety that he be well served and often took the task -of ministration upon herself in her zeal. - -Out of the corner of her eye Martha watched this too, even as she had -watched Hope and Stephen the previous summer. It had for some time been -evident to Martha's astute vision that so long as Hope remained -unclaimed there would always be honey seekers about her sweet rose. -Much as she dreaded to have Hope marry she thought she would prefer the -sad certainty of such a contingency to the eternal worrying lest Hope be -somehow hurt and her white flower-likeness be made to droop in the dust. -The young architect apparently meant business. By July he was spending -most of his free hours in Hope's society. Martha had almost settled -down to acquiesce in the idea of Hope's surrender when she heard that -Stephen Kinnard was back in Greendale, news which brought the anxious -pucker back to her forehead. - -But she need not have worried. Hope was pleased to see Stephen as a -younger sister might have been glad to welcome back a long absent -brother. She had all but forgotten she had ever had any dreams about -him. The real love which was daily more engrossing made the pale little -phantom love so insignificant as to be scarcely a thing to be recalled. -It had been love and not the lover that Hope had hungered for from the -first. - -As for Stephen himself, Hope had never dwelt except upon the outer -margins of his consciousness. He had admired her as the artist in him -always paid tribute to beauty wherever he found it. He had a fatal gift -of kindness always and gave careless largess easily to lovely women -whenever they had the luck to cross his path. That Hope had invested -him, even temporarily, with the glamour of her sweet, shy, little dreams -he had no manner of idea. He had, from the beginning, paid homage to a -higher court. - -Shrewdly perceiving that the chief obstacle to his suit was Sylvia, -Stephen did not blunder into a premature insistence. Sylvia's wedding -was set for early September. He could afford to wait a little, though -he took pains to make himself very useful and desirable in little ways -to the household on the Hill while he waited. - -During the summer Sylvia had a few brief letters from Jack. He was -well, intensely thrilled by the experience he was undergoing, rejoicing -endlessly, apparently, in his luck at having at last found a genuine -task which he could pursue with all the zest of play. Physical courage -had always been an inherent characteristic with him. Danger agreed with -him as he had said to Sylvia. In deeds of daring he had always -delighted, simply, with no fuss about it. Jack was never spectacular. -It was merely that being a good gambler he liked hazards. This game of -life and death made an excellent substitute for the game of love in -which he had gallantly lost. In fact it seemed he found even greater -satisfaction in it. At any rate, he was in it, as he had been in love, -with all his might and main and with all his heart. - -Sylvia's engagement, expected as it had been, had appeared to disturb -little less than the surface of his exultant, new found joy of service. -Perhaps the larger issues swallowed up his private grief even as they -had swallowed Hilda Jensen's. Certainly he had little time for thought -or brooding. Life crowded thick around him. He was in the same unit -with John Armstrong and that in itself was a satisfaction, for the two -had long been staunch friends. Hilda, also, he saw occasionally as she -was working in the hospital at Neuilly, not far from the front. - -It was Hilda who wrote in August that Jack had been wounded and was in -the hospital in her care. The injury, though painful, was not serious -and Jack made light of it as well he might, for he had been "cité" for -"distinguished service under fire" and won the Croix de Guerre. - -"The men all say he has a charmed life," wrote Hilda. "The Poilus are -quite superstitious about him. He goes anywhere, everywhere with his -car, in the most unheard of, impossible places with the utmost disregard -of it and himself. John says he never saw anything like him. He keeps -them all, French and American alike, in an uproar of mirth, too. Even -in the hospital it is the same. He tells his funniest stories and makes -his absurdest jokes and has everybody in a good humor without trying. He -is the sunniest fellow I ever knew. You can't down him. You needn't -worry about him as far as you are concerned, Sylvia. I don't mean he -doesn't care. He does care tremendously. He deserves the Croix de -Guerre, in love, too. He has been under fire. You can see that. But -what I mean is, he is so thoroughly wholesome and happy-hearted he will -come out all right. He can't help it. John says it is making a man of -him over here, and I believe it is true, though I think you started that -process. - -"But, oh, Sylvia, it is dreadful! If ever it ends I shall fly back to -safe, peaceful, happy America and try to forget all the agonies I've -seen and lived over here. We all hope America will manage to keep out -of war, but it seems as if she could not long do so with safety and -honor. It is hard to forget the _Lusitania_, and for us it is almost -harder to forget Belgium. Americans at home will never fully understand -Belgium. For us it has been stamped with red hot irons upon our minds -and memories. We cannot forget." - -As Sylvia eagerly read this letter she couldn't help hoping that somehow -or other this terrible experience Hilda and Jack were going through -together might, in time, bring them still nearer. Women are incorrigible -matchmakers where their old lovers are concerned, and Jack and Hilda had -long been good friends. They were both too essentially sane and too -young to let their lives be wrecked by the hapless experiences with -which they had started out. If only they might find consolation and -happiness in each other Sylvia thought she would have nothing left to -wish for. - -And so summer days came and went, with their joys and their sorrows, -their dreams and their despairs, their losses and their gains, woven all -into the common web of life. And finally again came September. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - *THE END AND THE BEGINNING* - - -Cloudless September afternoon! The same blue space of sky beyond the -shining-leaved magnolia; the same pink and white riot of cosmos; the -same dial dedicating itself to none but sunny hours! And again Barb and -Suzanne and Sylvia on the porch at Arden Hall. Externally everything -was much as it had been a twelve month ago. But the year had brought -its changes and left its traces as years will. As the shell's growth is -marked by its increasing number of circles so spiritual development -stamps its impress upon human faces and even more on human souls. Barb -and Suzanne and Sylvia were less unchanged than the outer world. All -three had grown in the grace of wisdom, each according to her way and -measure. - -Barb was still quiet and humble of heart, but the year had given her the -poise which comes from increasing self dependence and even more from -depths and widths of experience. Barbara was learning to base life -broad on the roots of things and faced the world serenely content if a -little gravely, going the "softlier all her days for the dream's sake" -as so many women do. - -Suzanne was, on the surface, the least changed. She still flashed out -conversational audacities and delighted in "taking a shot at the idols" -as she put it. But underneath the jewel-like hardness and brilliance of -the exterior there was a difference. Her theories of life were not so -polished and compact and perfected. She had undergone more than one -seismic upheaval of emotion during the year and her "cock-sureness" was -shattered if not annihilated. But the greatest difference lay in her -deepened power of human sympathy and understanding. The success of -"Melissa on the Road" had not been mere accident but a logical outgrowth -of its author's surer insight into life, and the play was an even more -certain indication that Suzanne in finding herself had found something -universal at the same time. - -As for Sylvia--but let Sylvia speak for herself. Suzanne, lolling as -before in Sylvia's hammock, again pronounced judgment. - -"I never knew a person for whom the whole universe seemed to be working -the way it does for you, Sylvia Arden. Now, if I had wanted to live in -a certain place Roger would have been called to Kamchatka or Kalamazoo -or some other God forgotten spot. But just because you had your heart -set on living at Arden Hall the fates come galloping up to present Phil -a choice professional opening on a charger." - -"Do you know whether a charger is a horse or a platter?" laughed Sylvia. -"I should never know from your phrasing." - -"It is both, of course. Don't criticize my diction. Diction is my -business. And don't crab. Honest, Sylvia, don't you think your luck is -altogether out of proportion to your deserts?" - -"'In the course of justice which of us should see salvation?'" quoted -Sylvia. "Oh, I know, Suzanne. It is almost too good to be true that -Phil can find the right kind of work in Greendale and we can live here -at Arden Hall. But you are mistaken about my having set my heart on -living here. I love it better than any place on earth but I would have -gone anywhere with Phil. Even the Hall wanes in comparison with him." -And Sylvia blushed charmingly as she made the admission. - -"Of course you think so. Quite the proper sentiment to express -twenty-four hours before your wedding. May the Lord give me grace to -feel the same next December when I follow your lead to the altar. But, -Sylvia, you don't really know what you are talking about. I can't -imagine you in a little apartment. You're too--spacious." - -Sylvia smiled. - -"Oh, I believe I could have adjusted my spaciousness if necessary. But -I'm rather glad I don't have to. I'd rather--spread." - -"You _will_ spread, too," put in Barb. "You and Phil will have a -wonderful opportunity to really live here, more than you could ever have -done in the city." - -"I hope so." Sylvia's eyes were thoughtful as she looked out across the -lawn, past the magnolia to the blue sky, just as she had a year ago. -She looked as if she saw visions. Perhaps she did. The "home trust" -which she and Felicia had formed years ago was still an integral part of -her scheme of things. She meant her home to be a home in the truest -sense, not just a house beneath whose roof she could shelter herself and -her loved ones. She wanted her doors to stand open wide to the -world--especially the lonely people. "The lonely people" were always -very close to Sylvia's heart perhaps because her own lonely girlhood had -given her the clew to the yearning that nearly all the world knows at -times. - -"You are going to keep on being viciously contented," accused Suzanne. - -"I hope so," said Sylvia again. "I feel that way at present, anyway. I -am afraid I'll never do anything very big, Suzanne. You and Barb are -going to leave me way behind, I know. I haven't any special ambition -except to be happy myself and to make other people within my range -happy, too." - -"You are a genius at that. Remember what Mr. Kinnard said. Don't let -Suzanne tease you, Sylvia. You have the secret of living. If all the -people in the world wanted to be happy themselves and tried to see that -other people near them were happy, why--" - -"The millennium would have come," finished Suzanne. "You are blooming -sentimentalists both of you, though I don't deny there is a little solid -sense behind your sentiment. Anyway, I have a sneaking notion I shall -have a sort of satisfaction knowing that down here on your Hill things -are going to be a little more the way they ought to be than is customary -in this cranky old world." - -"Why, Suzanne! That is just what I was thinking," cried Barb. "I see -so much sin and sordidness and misery and things so snarled and twisted -that it seems as if they never would smooth out. I'm going to see even -more this year if I go in for the probation work. And it is wonderful -to me to be able to think that it is all clean and sweet and happy and -kind in Sylvia's world. It is kindness somehow that is important. If -we would all be kind the way Christ taught us there wouldn't be any war -and hate and competition and oppression. We'd all be just brothers and -sisters." - -"Maybe that is what we are growing into," said Sylvia soberly. "Thank -you, Barb. I like that--what you said just now. Remember, if you want -to send anybody down to my--_our_ garden-- It is Phil's, too--we shall -be glad to take her--or him--in. We want to help." - -"We want to help." That is the keynote of the new democracy. And Barb -and Suzanne and Sylvia, each in her own way, had enlisted in the shining -army which is none other than the army of love. - -And indoors, while the three girls were thus philosophizing about the -universe at large, Felicia and Stephen had suddenly concentrated upon -themselves. - -"Felicia," Stephen was saying, "I have waited very patiently. Haven't -you a different answer for me this time? I am not going to pretend I -shall go away broken-hearted if it is no. My heart is a little too old -to break, but if you could make it yes it will make all the difference -in the world. Couldn't you say it, dear? Sylvia won't need you after -to-morrow. And you know the kiddies won't be the losers. We'll see to -that. Those reasons of yours aren't operative any more, you know." - -"But there is still Sydney," she reminded him gravely, her face averted. - -"There is," he admitted. "Ah, but, Felicia, you can't live all your -days on a memory--even so vital a one. I don't expect to take Syd's -place. I don't even want to. But, Felicia, look at me. Haven't I -somewhere a place all my own in your heart?" - -And then Felicia lifted her eyes, still forget-me-not blue like -Marianna's. - -"Yes, Stephen, I believe you have--a big place. If you want me as I am, -the best of me gone, the rest is all yours." - - -Night and stillness of night on Arden Hall and Sylvia's garden! -Suddenly out of the darkness Sylvia stole down the broad staircase, -candle in hand, like a vestal virgin, in her white silk robe, her dark -hair unbound, lying loose upon her shoulders. - -On the wall, near the foot of the stairs hung two portraits; one, of a -dark-eyed young man, the other a lovely young girl, looking out with -wistful, wondering gaze upon the world. - -Straight to the portraits went Sylvia, holding her candle high. For a -moment she stood there with uplifted face and rapt gaze, trying to speak -to these two, to bespeak their blessing this night on the daughter who -was to follow in their footsteps to-morrow in giving herself in marriage -to the mate she loved. - -"If only you were here," she sighed. "I do want you so, Father! -Mother! Please try to know and be glad I am so happy. Please be glad. -I want you to be glad." - -In the flickering light of the uplifted candle it seemed to Sylvia as if -her father's dark eyes smiled down into hers as if he understood and was -glad as she desired. - -"The truest and the kindest," she whispered. "That was what Doctor Tom -said, and I know you must have been. Phil is like that, too, Father. -I'm glad you know. Good night." - -Then she turned to the fair girl whom it had always been a little hard -to think of as a mother, she was so tiny and sweet and girlish herself -and her eyes looked so incredibly young and innocent. - -"Little Mother!" crooned Sylvia. "Little, little Mother! I wonder if -you were afraid at all. Did you ever feel like running away even from -him? This marrying is such a big, solemn business. Didn't you feel a -teeny little bit scared about it all? It isn't that you are afraid of -him. It is rather yourself you don't trust, as if you weren't quite -tall enough to reach up to marriage. Marriage is so high, so dreadfully -high. But it is all right, isn't it, little Mother? You just have to -trust love, don't you? Good night, little Mother. Please love me up -there where you are." - -This rite over, Sylvia turned to go back upstairs. But the moonlight -fell in bright patines across the floor from the latticed windows, -beside the front door, and Sylvia had never been able to resist -moonlight. Hastily she set down her candle and snatched up a black -velvet cloak from the rack and throwing it about her shoulders, covering -her thin silken draperies, she unbolted the rear door which led out into -the garden and ran down the steps into the enchanted world outside. - -Even as she reached the path she uttered a half startled exclamation. A -tall form was pacing up and down under the willow-trees, silhouetted -against the whiteness of the garden space. She did not retreat however -but stood motionless as a statue with the moonlight full upon her. In a -moment the silhouetted figure turned and came swiftly toward her. - -"Sylvia!" - -"Phil!" - -For a second she was swept into Phil's arms, his kiss on her lips. Then -they stood apart, looking at each other as if all at once they had -discovered some new, sacred thing which all their love up to now had not -taught them. - -"Phil, I'm glad--glad it is you," breathed Sylvia. "Glad I'm going to -be yours." - -"Forever and ever, amen," said Phil Lorrimer, as solemnly as if he were -pronouncing his own wedding service. - -The actual ceremony took place the next day in the gray stone Gothic -church where Sylvia's father and mother had been made man and wife. But -to Sylvia, and perhaps to Phil, too, it always seemed as if the real -wedding had been the night before in the white moonlight of Sylvia's own -garden. There it was at least that Sylvia lost forever her fear of not -being able to reach up to marriage however high it was. Love, she knew, -would show her the way. - - - - THE END - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list - - -WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. D. Williams. - -One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been -written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable -and thoroughly human. - - -JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster. - -Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. - -Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious -mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which -is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. - - -THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates. - -With four full page illustrations. - -This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children -whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom -seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A -charming play as dramatized by the author. - - -REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic, -unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of -austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal -dramatic record. - - -NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. - - -REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell. - -Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. - -This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque -little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a -pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. - - -EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin. - -Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton. - -Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She -is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is -wonderfully human. - - - * * * * * - - - *KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - -MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -This book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy reality -of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother's -experiences. - - -SATURDAY'S CHILD. - -Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. - -Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a -quest for happiness. She passes through three stages--poverty, wealth -and service--and works out a creditable salvation. - - -THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. - -Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. - -The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be -swamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of varied -interests, and has her own romance. - - -THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. - -Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. - -How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted -herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life. - - -THE HEART OF RACHAEL. - -Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. - -Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these, -there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of fiction's most -appealing characters. - - - * * * * * - - - *BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list - - -SEVENTEEN. - -Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. - -No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young -people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the -time when the reader was Seventeen. - - -PENROD. - -Illustrated by Gordon Grant. - -This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, -tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a -finished, exquisite work. - - -PENROD AND SAM. - -Illustrated by Worth Brehm. - -Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases -of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness -that have ever been written. - - -THE TURMOIL. - -Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. - -Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his -father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a -fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. - - -THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. - -Frontispiece. - -A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country -editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love -interest. - - -THE FLIRT. - -Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. - -The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, -drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another -to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising -suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. - - - * * * * * - - - *THE NOVELS OF - MARY ROBERTS RINEHART* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - -K. - -Illustrated - -K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, -and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. -She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their -young love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which -has made the author famous. - - -THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. - -Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. - -An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the -"Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success -are found in this book. - - -WHEN A MAN MARRIES. - -Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. - -A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his -aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family -income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic -upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most -entertainingly told. - - -THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. - -Illus. by Lester Ralph. - -The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold -Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular stair-case. Following -the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is -woven a plot of absorbing interest. - - -THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. - -Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) - -Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly -realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious -doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with -world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and -slender means. - - - * * * * * - - - *STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY - GENE STRATTON-PORTER* - - May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - -MICHAEL O'HALLORAN. - -Illustrated by Frances Rogers. - -Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Northern -Indiana. He adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. He also assumes -the responsibility of leading the entire rural community upward and -onward. - - -LADDIE. - -Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. - -This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The -story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, -but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love -affairs of older members of the family. Chief among them is that of -Laddie and the Princess, an English girl who has come to live in the -neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a mystery. - - -THE HARVESTER. - -Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. - -"The Harvester," is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book had -nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be notable. -But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," there begins a romance -of the rarest idyllic quality. - - -FRECKLES. - -Illustrated. - -Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he -takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great -Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to -the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The -Angel" are full of real sentiment. - - -A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. - -Illustrated. - -The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type of -the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness -towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty -of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and -unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. - - -AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. - -Illustrations in colors. - -The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana, The -story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. -The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and -its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. - - -THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL. - -Profusely illustrated. - -A love ideal of the Cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy and -humor. - - - * * * * * - - - *THE NOVELS OF - CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM* - - -JEWEL: A Chapter in Her Life. - -Illustrated by Maude and Genevieve Cowles. - -A story breathing the doctrine of love and patience as exemplified in -the life of a child. Jewel will never grow old because of the -immortality of her love. - - -JEWEL'S STORY BOOK. - -Illustrated by Albert Schmitt. - -A sequel to "Jewel," in which the same characteristics of love and -cheerfulness touch and uplift the reader. - - -THE INNER FLAME. - -Frontispiece in color. - -A young mining engineer, whose chief ambition is to become an artist, -but who has no friends with whom to realize his hopes, has a way opened -to him to try his powers, and, of course, he is successful. - - -THE RIGHT PRINCESS - -At a fashionable Long Island resort, a stately English woman employs a -forcible New England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. Many -humorous situations result. A delightful love affair runs through it -all. - - -THE OPENED SHUTTERS. - -Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo Play. - -A beautiful woman, at discord with life, is brought to realize, by her -new friends, that she may open the shutters of her soul to the blessed -sunlight of joy by casting aside self love. - - -THE RIGHT TRACK. - -Frontispiece in color by Greene Blumenschien. - -A story of a young girl who marries for money so that she can enjoy -things intellectual. Neglect of her husband and of her two -step-children makes an unhappy home till a friend brings a new -philosophy of happiness into the household. - - -CLEVER BETSY. Illustrated by Rose O'Neill. - -The "Clever Betsy" was a boat--named for the unyielding spinster whom -the captain hoped to marry. Through the two Betsy's a delightful group -of people are introduced. - - - -Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - * * * * * - - - - - *THE SYLVIA ARDEN BOOKS* - - *By MARGARET R. PIPER* - - Each one volume, cloth decorative, - Illustrated. $1.50 - - -Sylvia's Experiment: The Cheerful Book (Trade Mark) - -Sylvia of the Hill Top: The Second Cheerful Book (Trade Mark) - -Sylvia Arden Decides: The Third Cheerful Book (Trade Mark) - - - *OTHER STORIES* - - *By MARGARET R. PIPER* - - The Princess and the Clan, $1.50 - The House on the Hill, $1.50 - - THE PAGE COMPANY - 53 BEACON STREET, BOSTON, MASS. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48385 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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