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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 15:45:22 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 15:45:22 -0800 |
| commit | 4fa82cd3020f9a4c10ecbd2c651d8ce17cb3be58 (patch) | |
| tree | bb4d1e9858fd4c009fd908c8289a020ae61a30f0 /48385-h/48385-h.html | |
| parent | fe534d7b5fb6e52d173840e33b5873565f18efa5 (diff) | |
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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES</title> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="48385" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Margaret Rebecca Piper" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Sylvia Arden Decides" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-02-28" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Sylvia Arden Decides" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="Haskell Coffin" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1917" /> - -<link rel="schema.DCTERMS" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" /> -<link rel="schema.MARCREL" href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" /> -<meta content="Sylvia Arden Decides" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="/home/ajhaines/sylvia/sylvia.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" /> -<meta content="2015-02-28T23:59:08.724803+00:00" name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48385" /> -<meta content="Margaret Rebecca Piper" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="Haskell Coffin" name="MARCREL.ill" /> -<meta content="2015-02-28" name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="sylvia-arden-decides"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. 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.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Sylvia Arden Decides -<br /> -<br />Author: Margaret Rebecca Piper -<br /> -<br />Release Date: February 28, 2015 [EBook #48385] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>SYLVIA ARDEN DECIDES</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-11"> -<span id="sylvia-arden"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Sylvia Arden" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Sylvia Arden</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large xx-large">SYLVIA ARDEN -<br />DECIDES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">MARGARET REBECCA PIPER</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />SYLVIA'S EXPERIMENT: THE CHEERFUL BOOK, (Trade Mark)</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">SYLVIA OF THE HILL TOP: THE SECOND CHEERFUL -<br />BOOK, ETC. (Trade Mark)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">FRONTISPIECE BY -<br />HASKELL COFFIN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">GROSSET & DUNLAP -<br />PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Copyright, 1917</em><span class="small">, -<br />BY THE PAGE COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">First Impression, September, 1917</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I </span><a class="reference internal" href="#of-futures-and-other-important-matters">Of Futures and Other Important Matters</a><span> -<br />II </span><a class="reference internal" href="#reasons-and-wraiths">Reasons and Wraiths</a><span> -<br />III </span><a class="reference internal" href="#twenty-two">Twenty-Two</a><span> -<br />IV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-ways-of-a-maid">The Ways of a Maid</a><span> -<br />V </span><a class="reference internal" href="#september-afternoon">September Afternoon</a><span> -<br />VI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#of-missions-and-omissions">Of Missions, and Omissions</a><span> -<br />VII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#october-developments">October Developments</a><span> -<br />VIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#fire-and-frost">Fire and Frost</a><span> -<br />IX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-moth-and-the-star">The Moth and the Star</a><span> -<br />X </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-city">The City</a><span> -<br />XI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#margins">Margins</a><span> -<br />XII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#such-stuff-as-dreams">"Such Stuff as Dreams"</a><span> -<br />XIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#into-haven">Into Haven</a><span> -<br />XIV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#and-having-eyes">"And Having Eyes"</a><span> -<br />XV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-city-and-sylvia">The City and Sylvia</a><span> -<br />XVI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#as-might-have-been-expected">As Might Have Been Expected</a><span> -<br />XVII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#barb-diagnoses">Barb Diagnoses</a><span> -<br />XVIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-cause-and-the-career">The Cause and the Career</a><span> -<br />XIX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#oh-suzanne">Oh, Suzanne!</a><span> -<br />XX </span><a class="reference internal" href="#sylvia-and-life">Sylvia and Life</a><span> -<br />XXI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-chapter-of-revelations">A Chapter of Revelations</a><span> -<br />XXII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#unto-the-forest">Unto the Forest</a><span> -<br />XXIII </span><a class="reference internal" href="#aftermath">Aftermath</a><span> -<br />XXIV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#high-tide">High Tide</a><span> -<br />XXV </span><a class="reference internal" href="#warp-and-woof">Warp and Woof</a><span> -<br />XXVI </span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-end-and-the-beginning">The End and the Beginning</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="of-futures-and-other-important-matters"><span class="bold x-large">SYLVIA ARDEN -<br />DECIDES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OF FUTURES AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," encouraged Sylvia, "what </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> the trouble -with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne demolished her bonbon, then proceeded -to expatiate on her original proposition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The trouble with you," she averred oracularly -from her cushions, "is that you are addicted to the -vice of contentment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne sat up, brandishing a reproachful -forefinger at the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid not, the person being only Jack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too bad!" murmured Suzanne, regretfully. -"He is so good looking. You two would look -lovely prancing down the aisle together à la Lohengrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suzanne!" Barb opened her eyes to expostulate. -"You are so dreadfully flippant. I don't -believe anything is sacred to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> -play!" She vaunted slangily, imparting a last emphatic -punch upon the acquiescent cushion before she -relinquished it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb's small, brown, child-like face puckered in -perplexity and her blue eyes blinked as if they -beheld too much light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Suzanne!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you going to prescribe for me now you -have diagnosed my case?" Sylvia came to the -rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he is much nicer looking," Barb -interposed surprisingly, then blushed and subsided.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't want to get 'em," protested -Barbara earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia looked up with an expression half -mirthful, half dissenting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O dear!" groaned Sylvia. "Yes and no. -Why do I always have to see both sides of things? -Lois </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O, but, Suzanne, Marianna and Donald are such -dears!" pleaded Barb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia looked up a trifle startled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear the Greeks bearing gifts. No man ever -gave a woman something for nothing since time -began. You'll see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'A violet by a mossy stone.' Mr. Kinnard isn't -looking for violets. You'll see, as I said before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never thought of Felicia's marrying again," -she said after a moment of silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeanette Latham? Mrs. Francis VanDycke -Latham? </span><em class="italics">The</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which helps," murmured Suzanne. "See -here, Sylvia, if you once get into that high society -labyrinth you'll never get out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Sylvia! How funny!" puzzled Barb. -"Don't you know all about yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara shook her head with a faint sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe not. Or, if I do, I don't let myself look -at the real Barb for fear--" She broke off and -Suzanne intervened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I did!" said Sylvia quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both," parried Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="reasons-and-wraiths"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">REASONS AND WRAITHS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you have tea?" inquired Felicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia nodded assent and sat down, resuming -her sewing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad to see you still survive," she said, as -he lit his cigarette and dropped into a near-by chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," sighed Felicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a lugubrious tone to vouchsafe to the -holy state!" he teased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia smiled as she made the statement but -there was genuine feeling behind it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you dread change for yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For myself? I don't know. I wasn't thinking -especially about myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you ever?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia tranquilly snipped off her thread and -admitted that she remembered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you remember how he raved when you -told him you were going to marry Syd?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Felicia, forgive me! I didn't mean to hurt you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my road was too devilish rough. I'd like -it different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia looked up, surprised both at his words -and the unusual passion in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you suppose I have ever forgotten I didn't -get what I wanted? Felicia, I loved you before -Syd ever saw you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know. I'm sorry. I was always sorry. -You know that, Stephen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Felicia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you so afraid of change you wouldn't risk -beginning over again--with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stephen!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well? Is it so impossible to conceive? -Haven't you guessed I was going to ask it sooner -or later?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Oh, Stephen, I wish you hadn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid there are many. One of them--rather -two of them--are out under the tree at -present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His gaze followed her gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," said Felicia quietly. "That would -be part of the injustice to you. I don't want -children. Marianna and Donald are enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she is coming up the Hill now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense!" He turned back to Felicia -to protest. "Sylvia would be the last to stand in -the way of your happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stephen shook his head soberly, trying his best -to understand since she desired it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And they say women have no sex loyalty," -muttered Stephen Kinnard. "See here, Felicia, do -you realize you have as good as accepted me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia laughed softly and her flush deepened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is really no?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mirth died out of her eyes at the gravity of -his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="twenty-two"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TWENTY-TWO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Please, Felicia. Look at me. Am I all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Pity that ever the jubilant springs should fail at their flow</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And that youth so utterly knowing it not should one day know."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of questions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you don't want to do any of these things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia smiled dubiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your observations lack a certain finished -coherence but I assure you I am not, nor is he--at -least, not seriously."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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. </span><em class="italics">Am</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you coming, Syl?" Suzanne's voice -called from the hall as she knocked and entered -almost simultaneously, followed by Barbara.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'The feast is set,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The guests are met.</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>May'st hear the merry din.'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," admitted Felicia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-mp!" snorted her companion. "Most people are fools."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-ways-of-a-maid"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE WAYS OF A MAID</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You look mighty sweet and cool and moonshiny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sure I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack dropped on the railing by her side and -bent his handsome head until it was very near the -girl's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't I do--for a Cause?" he asked, unconsciously -echoing Suzanne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scarcely. I am afraid you are more like an effect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An effect!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia paused for a word, then, "A derelict," -she pronounced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack's head went up quickly, his self-complacency -shattered for the moment. Sylvia's word had -stung.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I honestly remind you of anything -so--dilapidated, not to say rotten?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack settled back on the railing with a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then for goodness' sake find one you aren't a -nincompoop at," retorted Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easier said than done, young woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know," relented his mentor. "I haven't -any right to preach till I find my own job."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You! Girls don't need a job. Their job is -to look pretty and get married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia frowned at that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heretic! That's not twentieth-century lingo. -You are positively mediæval. I shall set Barb on -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't wear anybody's flowers. I had too many."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I am not different from just anybody?" There -was a caressing, proprietary note in his voice. -"Sylvia, sweetheart, you </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia faced him and the issue then, aware that -she could fend no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid there isn't--much," she said -gently, apropos of his word </span><em class="italics">hope</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand clinched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia, is there any one else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head hastily, but her eyes fell -beneath his penetrating gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't--Sylvia, it isn't Phil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia's head went up and there was a flash in -her brown eyes, a deeper flush on her cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is nobody. Jack, you haven't any right to -ask that," she rebuked him hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," he apologized. "Consider it -unasked." "So it is old Phil," he thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">man</em><span>." In her confusion Sylvia -hit hard again; harder perhaps than she really -meant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack rose and made one or two quick turns tip -and down the balcony. Then he came to a halt -before Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sweetheart, wouldn't there be any chance for -me?" he pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll hope all there is," he retorted grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll stay out," announced Jack coolly as -Sylvia rose with apologies and followed her captor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You surely may. I'm so glad." And Sylvia's -face corroborated her words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How lovely!" Sylvia buried her face in the -nosegay. "I just have to wear them. Oh, dear, -I haven't a pin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here you are!" And the young doctor -solemnly produced the needful article.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust you!" laughed Sylvia. "There, aren't -they perfect? Come on, quick. Let's not waste -the music."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ditto my sentiments. Is this my dance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Doctor Tom's, but he won't care. Hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another country heard from," grunted Angus -McIntosh as he watched the two swing into step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="september-afternoon"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Suzanne!" Thus Barb, always sensitive -to the possibility that some one's feelings might be -going to be hurt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll find a way," prophesied Barb earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne laughed at this arraignment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't the music of the El, </span><em class="italics">per se</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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, </span><em class="italics">who</em><span> is the third man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If my eyes do not deceive me the third man -is Roger Minot. Did you know he was imminent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you will have to look the other way -then," observed Sylvia. "He is in plain sight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." The negative was sufficiently decisive to -make the driver send a sharp glance at his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You! May I ask what you are going to do -that is so almighty important?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may ask but I am not likely to inform -you if you take that tone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack whistled softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gee! Am I in as bad as all that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the name of heaven why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I want to, chiefly. Also I think -everybody--male and female--ought to know how."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thence to dressmaking and millinery, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd vote for the salad personally. By the way, -where is Hilda? Heard lately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better get on to his ship then," suggested -Sylvia a little dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a ring of determination in his voice -which startled Sylvia a little, it sounded so -alarmingly conclusive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack! I didn't promise," she protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="of-missions-and-omissions"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OF MISSIONS, AND OMISSIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Barb only laughed and accepted the pickle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm nothing militant to-night. I'm at peace -with the whole world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even the menacing male?" teased Jack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven forbid!" he ejaculated piously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't wear a last year's hat. Why do -you use last century methods with women? They -hate compliments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," he urged. "What is this thing you -girls are up to? What is it you are going to New -York to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb shot him a shrewd rather indignant glance. -Then she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't really care, but, just to punish you, -I'm going to tell you. You deserve it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you not to come and you came," was the -burden of Suzanne's complaint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There she is!" Her finger pointed. "Oh, Phil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on," he called cheerfully. "I'm coming. -Can I reach you from above?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." Barb's voice sounded faraway but steady -as Phil's own. "Don't try. It's all crumbly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hang tight then. I'll be there in a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. Let go. I'll catch you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D-don't mi-nd me," she begged. "I'm just -being g-glad I let go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't," she begged. "Please put me -down. I can walk perfectly well. I'm dreadfully -heavy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes." Phil's frank face lit up with pleasure. -"Sure you don't mind, Jackie Horner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit. Glad to have a rest," acquiesced -Jack cheerfully. "Pile in, Sylvia. Phil's waiting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil Lorrimer drew a long breath and set his lips -rather as he used to set them before a tackle in the -field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jack Amidon. "The biggest kind -of fool. Do you suppose the money matters a -hang to her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="october-developments"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OCTOBER DEVELOPMENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="fire-and-frost"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FIRE AND FROST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe. When the kiddies are grown up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But don't you mind not doing it now? Don't -you want to do it dreadfully sometimes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I think that is all wrong," she announced -decidedly. "You oughtn't to have let it go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mind staying a few minutes with Marjory, -Sylvia? It is cook's night out and I have -to see about supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got in earlier than I expected. Come on back -and enjoy the twilight with me," she heard him -inviting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lois' answer was inaudible but in a moment -Doctor Tom entered the living-room alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, here's my best daughter and my star -neighbor! Come on, Cherub, and let your old Dad -toss you up to the moon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is the Curry baby?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Died early this morning," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Sylvia's exclamation was pitiful. "Can -I do anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will money help? You know I'm ready to give -to the hospital any time--any amount you want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Tom smiled his old wide-mouthed friendly grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia had been about to refuse but Doctor Tom -cut her short.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It sure will," promised the doctor. "I feel as -if almost anything would go down in me this minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Tom shook his head as the door closed -upon his wife and daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After supper Lois excused herself to do some -household auditing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay and rest and we'll call hospital taboo," -promised Doctor Tom. "Never mind the old -accounts to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Steve Williamson's down with pneumonia. I -can't press them now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pneumonia on top of twins! They </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> -unfortunate." And Lois left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind if I smoke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was nearly an hour before Lois returned to -the living-room. She paused a moment on the -threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, so you aren't building hospitals after all? -Forgive me for being such a bad hostess, Sylvia. -Was that Brahms?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia shook her head with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what it was," she admitted. -"Something I heard in my dreams maybe. Did I -put you to sleep Doctor Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, just soothed the savage in me. I feel fairly -pacific at the moment. Don't stop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a step I intend to take," he grinned. "If -you must go, I'm at your service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia, how did you know I had the blue devils -to-night?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I did. You played to 'em--charmed -'em, as I said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed a little grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She might," dubiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right you are," he said heartily. "There </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> -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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his own yard close by he met his wife placidly -draping a blanket over a rhododendron bush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-moth-and-the-star"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE MOTH AND THE STAR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know about that. I can't imagine old -McIntosh standing for this fiddling business. He's -a husky old Puritan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Miss Arden--lives on a high mucky -muck hill out in Greendale. She's something to old -McIntosh. Niece maybe. I forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I reckon. Shut up. There he comes. Gee! -He's nothing but a kid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all right, Daddy McIntosh," she whispered. -"Just you wait till they hear him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I! Oh, no. I have done nothing," disclaimed Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Gus himself stepped into the box, having -gently but firmly slipped away from the crowd -which would have waylaid him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But even as she snuggled down among the pillows -she heard a wee distinct little voice inside her -somewhere say something quite different.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Sylvia put her hands over her ears, for -she didn't want to hear any more of that kind of talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-city"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CITY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the Bus Phil turned to Barb to ask a rather -odd question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Roger Minot been in town lately?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think so. Suzanne wouldn't let him -see her if he did come. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I just wondered. Suzanne is looking a little -peaked, don't you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it had not taken Phil's long legs many seconds -to be up with her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne smiled an April smile at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" Phil was somewhat dubious about -the sudden flush on Suzanne's cheeks, the sparkle in -her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head, mischief written in every line -of her thin, pretty, piquant face.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Till you applaud the deed,'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne giggled wickedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do nothing of the sort, dear Dumb -as the Grave. I have your sacred oath not to -peach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me off, Suzanne," he begged. "Honest, -I'm worried about you. You look wild."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Suzanne only laughed again, and assured him -she was saner than the statue of Liberty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="margins"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MARGINS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a tinker's dam," he shrugged. "Whatever -that may be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why--" began Sylvia and stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is only one why, young lady, and you -know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you wouldn't, Jack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't what?" blandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't work--just because I want you to. -It is so horribly like a bribe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a bribe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I don't like it. I told you I didn't promise -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe so," agreed Jack so amicably that Sylvia -lifted her eyebrows at him. "I was brought up -never to contradict a lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's not discuss ourselves," she added. "Tell -me the news. Did you see Barb and Suzanne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw Barb. Suzanne has fled the coop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The report is she is out of town, traveling with -friends. Barb looks worried and Phil looks wise -but neither has much to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Phil know where she is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do stop talking nonsense, Jack, and tell me more -about Suzanne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Serves him right. Why didn't he go and marry -her and not let her go off on a tangent like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack, you are perfectly horrid to-day. I wish -you had stayed in New York. How is Jeanette?" Sylvia -changed the subject severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After Christmas. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing especial. I thought a dose of you -might be good for her, that is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course Sylvia had flared out in quick anger at -his implications.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="such-stuff-as-dreams"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't need any bait," said Phil. "But I -admit the curiosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The older man leaned forward and deliberately lit -his cigarette from a candle that stood close at hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't smoke?" he remarked irrelevantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," admitted Phil. "At least, not often. -Bad for the operating table."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a wonderful chance," said Phil steadily, -"but I should like to think it over, if you don't -mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Justin Huntley smoked in silence during this, for -Phil, rather long speech. Phil was not much given -to eloquence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil pulled himself together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Huntley waved the words aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wonder if old Mephisto had any qualms," muttered -Justin Huntley as the door had closed upon the -tall young doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you speak, dear?" inquired his wife. "I -didn't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I didn't say anything--worth repeating."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How like Philip is to his father, isn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very like," somewhat dryly. "Did you say -there was a girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-mm. Maybe he will be back, after all," -remarked her husband irrelevantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why? Phil, it can't be the money that -appeals to you?" Barb's voice was startled, -incredulous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Asleep, Kiddie?" she asked, and Barbara looked -up with a shy, radiant little smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, just dreaming," she said.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="into-haven"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">INTO HAVEN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, who wanted to order me to stay away -from New York, just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is just it. What </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> his place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--</span><em class="italics">grand style</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You goose! When the right man comes along -you will know the difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Felicia laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Sylvia. "You telephone, Felicia. I -have to pack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Game for a spin?" he asked. "I have to go a -few miles out in the country and was looking for -company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid I have. I've been an awful backslider -in pretty much everything lately," she told him -soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flashed one of his quick, shrewd glances at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this, Miss Christmas? Your own special -season here and you in the dumps without even -a solitary star sparkle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are as bad as Felicia," said Sylvia a little -crossly. "Do you all expect me to grin like a -Cheshire cat every minute?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia touchy! What next? Indigestion or -bad conscience?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed! I hadn't noticed it. The McGuires -had a powerful good dinner yesterday and--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And since three weeks ago Thursday you haven't -even played me a psalm tune," he jested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lots of things, but mostly why can't people--men -and women--just be friends and not have anything -else snarled up with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They can." Tom Daly's steady voice was like -oil to the troubled waters of Sylvia's soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> can anyway," he smiled down at Sylvia to -add in the old friendly way, a friendliness whose -very familiarity was steadying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled back mistily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they entered the house she turned to him again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Lois."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="and-having-eyes"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"AND HAVING EYES"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But before New Year's Barb discovered that -things would never be different, and the way she -found out was very simple.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Barb's fathers had been fighting men and she -herself was game to her little brown fingertips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry!" she said gayly, just a shade </span><em class="italics">too</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later Miss Murray found her wide awake and -stooped to kiss her with unwonted tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, Barbie. Anything I can do to--put -you to sleep?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb shook her head with a tired little smile. -Then suddenly she sat up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Josephine's arms went around the girl, holding -her very "tight" indeed for a few moments of -silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you feel very achey, Barbie?" she asked -presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-city-and-sylvia"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CITY AND SYLVIA</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil do you see in all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia had retorted that she didn't know what she -saw but was trying to find out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the pumpkin coach arrives I shall skip -back home and think it over," she had added -whimsically with a Sylvia smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her neighbor had grunted a little at that and eyed -her sharply from under his heavy brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought as much," he said. "You don't belong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me!" sighed Sylvia, looking around her -apprehensively. "Is it so bad as that? I hope -nobody else suspects."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pilgrim and a stranger. Where is the real -New York?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you tell me?" she reproached.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia drew a long breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," she said. "I believe I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later Jeanette asked her what she had found to -say to Archibald Grant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's the Arctic Explorer Grant, you know. -Quite the biggest toad in the puddle there, to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go home! Why, Sylvia, you haven't been here -two weeks yet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack?" teased Jack's sister languidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two hours later Jeanette came to Sylvia, writing -letters in her own room at the little teakwood desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" Sylvia had turned, wondering what -Jeanette would say, wondering almost more what -she herself was going to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charlton says he gave himself away awhile ago, -did he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Couldn't he go away?" asked Sylvia, equally -matter of fact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not shocked at all, but I am sorry. Does -Jack know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack tried to warn me something about you -before I came. He seemed to think you needed me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="as-might-have-been-expected"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AS MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why!" exclaimed Sylvia, from the curbing. -"I do believe they have all deserted me. There -goes Jeanette, and Francis went with the Homers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ugh! I hate men," she greeted him stormily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do! What's up? Where is Jeanette? -You look like a Valkyr or an avenging fury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know where Jeanette is. Porter Robinson -brought me home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," comprehended Jack. "So that is the -rumpus. Didn't Porter behave like a perfect gentleman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia slipped into a chair and stared up at Jack. -"How did you know?" she asked with astonished meekness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't. I just guessed. So you did flirt with -him like the mischief?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Possibly not," agreed Jack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't have taken advantage of a situation -like that, Jack. You know you wouldn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jack!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia's eyes were demurely downcast, her cheeks -flushed, but a quiver of a smile appeared around the -corners of her mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much. I rather think I--I liked it--a -little," she admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang up with alacrity as his sister entered -and went to give her a brotherly kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Lo, Jeannie. Sylvia and I have just got -engaged. Hope you don't mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="barb-diagnoses"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BARB DIAGNOSES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it?" asked her companion. "Did -you see a vision?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe," said Sylvia. "Hush! The music is -beginning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so instead of spending the evening with -Sylvia, Phil had dropped in to see Barbara, which is -where this chapter really began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Phil, why don't you ask Sylvia to marry you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil jumped and stared and frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What of it? Gowns and furs and pearls aren't -important. There are things that Sylvia cares much -more about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean Sylvia wants me to ask her to marry her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb made an impatient gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil threw out his hand in half humorous, half -serious protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is my affair? What is the male end of -the bargain, according to the latest approved -feministic standards?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barb laughed a little tremulously and then picked -up a volume of Ellen Key and sat down to read as -hard as she could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her brain was very clear that night it seemed. -She felt as if she could have written a book about -woman herself.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-cause-and-the-career"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CAUSE AND THE CAREER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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, </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did you know I was here?" she asked -presently, as they made their way to the Subway -together in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a star reflected in the puddle," he said -gently, then dropped the subject as she obviously -desired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, aren't you going to greet the returning -prodigal?" asked Suzanne, getting up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had finished it was Phil's turn, and -though his greeting was more decorous, it was no -less hearty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the chorus! Oh, Suzanne! What did your -father and mother say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you come home? Show bust?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, no. The 'Prettiest Princess' goes on -as cheerfully as may be lacking its most charming -first row right chorus girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fired?" still further inquired Phil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nope. Resigned. Came into a fortune and -flew back to the Great White Way instanter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of a fortune? Anybody died?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are they coming out under your own name?" -Barb found breath to ask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good for you!" chuckled Phil. "I'll bet they -are spicy all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="oh-suzanne"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OH, SUZANNE!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne's keen eyes sought her friend's face with -an intentness that made the latter turn under -pretense of switching off the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing the matter with me," she said cheerfully. -"With Phil, of course, it is Sylvia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on about yourself," she suggested, getting -into bed. "Do you mean you were really hard up, -last November?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Suzanne! And you never told me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a wonder, Suzanne! But wasn't the -show work dreadful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbie!" Suzanne's voice was lowered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Barbara again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suzanne!" Barb's voice had a motherly croon to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The manager had glanced over her manuscript -with a swift apprising gaze, then glanced over -Suzanne in something of the same manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suzanne twinkled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought you three plays--all impossible," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed! Let us hope this one--" he glanced -at the manuscript--"will be at least--probable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Mr. ----" said Miss Murray from the -telephone. "Will you speak to him, Suzanne?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Suzanne curtly. "Tell him I'm out -of town. Tell him anything. I don't care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">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.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is holding her own. There is hope--at -least a little," he told her. "When did you start?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From New York?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Salt Lake City?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't give up, little girl. Maybe it will come -out right, after all. Anyway, remember I'm right -here if you need me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sylvia-and-life"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">SYLVIA AND LIFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once in her desultory reading she came across -a little poem called "Remembrance," one stanza of -which particularly haunted her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Not unto the forest--not unto the forest, O my lover!</em></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Take me from the silence of the forest!</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And echoing of laughter in my ears,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">But here in the forest</em></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I am still, remembering a forgotten, useless thing,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And my eyelids are locked down for fear of tears--</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">There is memory in the forest.</em></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She had gone to a dance with Jack that night and -every now and then the music had taken words.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And echoing of laughter in my ears.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-chapter-of-revelations"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A CHAPTER OF REVELATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much!" cried Tom Daly. "Lois, it is everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Spring brought with it quickened life and love -to Tom Daly and Lois as it had done to Suzanne -Morrison and her mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" challenged Angus McIntosh at her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Gus looks to me--very happy," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's get out of here a moment," he whispered, -under cover of greeting, "I've something to tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia stepped out into the hall and he followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia, there's been an accident. Phil's -hurt--dying, maybe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="unto-the-forest"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">UNTO THE FOREST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about it. No, I am all right. Tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going, too," said Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the two stared at each other, then -Jack understood and acquiesced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. That is for you to say," he responded -quietly. "Go and get ready. I'll tell the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Lorrimer shook her head and pressed -the girl's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can bear anything, Sylvia--anything. We -are never asked to bear too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," cried Sylvia passionately. "I can't bear -his dying--without knowing. He must know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will know, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Sylvia spoke again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was something like that," admitted Sylvia. -"It is so horribly easy to get all muddled and twisted -up in life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," agreed Mrs. Lorrimer. "Sometimes it -takes a great grief to remove the bandages from our -eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men do not always understand, little daughter. -Perhaps they never understand quite. You must -not blame Philip too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid we are sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Lorrimer pressed the girl's hand again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing matters very much just now," she said, -"except God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But God is so far off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, He isn't, Sylvia.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Closer is He than breathing</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And nearer than hands and feet.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Haven't you ever felt how near He is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia." The voice was faint as if the speaker -had come back from other worlds, but distinct, -wondering, happy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="aftermath"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AFTERMATH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When is Phil going to be able to be moved?" -Suzanne was demanding of Sylvia. "And where -is he going to move to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next week, we hope. And he is coming to -Arden Hall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless us! how modern!" teased Suzanne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia flushed and shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reasons as plenty as blackberries," jeered -Suzanne. "Perfectly well explained. What do you -happen to be doing with your fiancé in the meantime?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia looked up at that, meeting Suzanne's eyes -squarely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe never," said Sylvia so soberly that Suzanne -relented and obligingly turned the fire on herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At which last Suzannesque paradox Sylvia and -Barb laughed and proffered congratulations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better offer Roger condolences instead," advised -Suzanne. "I shall lead him a life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he coming to New York to live?" inquired -Barb, remembering her friend's urban preferences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Sylvia and Barb in emphatic chorus. -Then they all laughed and grew sober.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a vote," declared Suzanne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia nodded in shamed silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia winced at that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it, Jeanette. I am as sorry about that -as you can possibly be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And suddenly Sylvia did understand, and came -and put her arms around the other woman with real -joy and affection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Dear Sylvia,"--So it ran--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">everything</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours, as always,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"JACK."</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="high-tide"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HIGH TIDE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You weren't here yesterday," he accused sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put 'em down," he ordered so stentoriously that -Sylvia obeyed without really intending to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here," he still further ordered. Sylvia did -not come nearer but she did stand perfectly still -looking at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I missed you like the devil yesterday," he observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You flatter me," said Sylvia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ignored her irony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, are you really not engaged any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia admitted that she really was not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you end it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you. We decided that it was a mistake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few weeks ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely when?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night I knew you were hurt." Sylvia -faced him steadily now. If he wanted facts he -should have them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that why you broke it off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't break it off. Jack did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean he didn't like your coming here to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I don't see things until they are rammed -into my darn fool eyes. Is that it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia acknowledged that that seemed to be a -fair statement of the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You tried to show me a thing or two last winter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when I wouldn't look, you cut me good -and proper as I deserved and got engaged to Jack?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, the silly fowl ought to have been -cooked." There was a faint twinkle in Sylvia's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say them then. I insist on being impressed. -Besides, it is time you went back to bed. -I'm going, anyway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia paused in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you kiss me that night or did I dream it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The idea!" But Sylvia's cheeks were less ambiguous -in their answer than her lips as she fled into -the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter egg nogg," announced Sylvia suddenly -arriving, Hebe like, with a tray and a tall glass of -foaming yellow deliciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil sat up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right I will, if you'll sit down too." He -patted the hammock beside him and Sylvia accepted -the invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia lifted her head then and her eyes met -Phil's straight and brave with the fine surrender of -a proud woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour later they were still in the hammock as -blissful and mutually self-absorbed as the redbirds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't care, if I have you," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="warp-and-woof"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WARP AND WOOF</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All of which made Sylvia's approval fairly evident.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How lovely for you! Now you can marry that -sweet girl and everything will be quite all right, -will it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Phil hesitated to speak, not being quite certain of -his hostess' course of reasoning. But she soon -enlightened him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">Lusitania</em><span>, 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-end-and-the-beginning"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE END AND THE BEGINNING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Sylvia--but let Sylvia speak for herself. -Suzanne, lolling as before in Sylvia's hammock, -again pronounced judgment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know whether a charger is a horse or a -platter?" laughed Sylvia. "I should never know -from your phrasing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sylvia smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are going to keep on being viciously -contented," accused Suzanne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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--</span><em class="italics">our</em><span> garden-- It is -Phil's, too--we shall be glad to take her--or -him--in. We want to help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And indoors, while the three girls were thus -philosophizing about the universe at large, Felicia -and Stephen had suddenly concentrated upon themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there is still Sydney," she reminded him -gravely, her face averted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Felicia lifted her eyes, still forget-me-not -blue like Marianna's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sylvia!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Phil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Phil, I'm glad--glad it is you," breathed -Sylvia. "Glad I'm going to be yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forever and ever, amen," said Phil Lorrimer, as -solemnly as if he were pronouncing his own wedding -service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by C. D. Williams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With four full page illustrations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas Wiggin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that -carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SATURDAY'S CHILD.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, -lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher -plane of life.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE HEART OF RACHAEL.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SEVENTEEN.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>PENROD.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Gordon Grant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>PENROD AND SAM.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Worth Brehm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE TURMOIL.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE FLIRT.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE NOVELS OF -<br />MARY ROBERTS RINEHART</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>K.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE MAN IN LOWER TEN.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>WHEN A MAN MARRIES.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illus. by Lester Ralph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY -<br />GENE STRATTON-PORTER</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>MICHAEL O'HALLORAN.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Frances Rogers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>LADDIE.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE HARVESTER.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>FRECKLES.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrations in colors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Profusely illustrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A love ideal of the Cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy -and humor.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">THE NOVELS OF -<br />CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM</span></p> -<!-- class: center small - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. --> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>JEWEL: A Chapter in Her Life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Maude and Genevieve Cowles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>JEWEL'S STORY BOOK.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Albert Schmitt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sequel to "Jewel," in which the same characteristics of -love and cheerfulness touch and uplift the reader.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE INNER FLAME.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece in color.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE RIGHT PRINCESS</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE OPENED SHUTTERS.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo Play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE RIGHT TRACK.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frontispiece in color by Greene Blumenschien.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>CLEVER BETSY. Illustrated by Rose O'Neill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE SYLVIA ARDEN BOOKS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">By MARGARET R. 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