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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>THE HUNGRY HEART</title> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Hungry Heart A Novel" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="48699" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-04-13" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="David Graham Phillips" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1909" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Hungry Heart" /> - -<link rel="schema.DCTERMS" href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" /> -<link rel="schema.MARCREL" href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Hungry Heart A Novel" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/hungry/hungry.rst" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" content="en" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" content="2015-04-13T16:58:14.130539+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48699" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="David Graham Phillips" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" content="2015-04-13" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-hungry-heart"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE HUNGRY HEART</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: The Hungry Heart -<br /> A Novel -<br /> -<br />Author: David Graham Phillips -<br /> -<br />Release Date: April 13, 2015 [EBook #48699] -<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>THE HUNGRY HEART</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 titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">David Graham Phillips</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics xx-large">The</em><span class="bold xx-large"> -<br />HUNGRY HEART</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">A NOVEL</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK AND LONDON -<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -<br />1909</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1909, by -<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Published September, 1909</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="i"><span class="bold x-large">THE HUNGRY HEART</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Courtship and honeymoon of Richard Vaughan and -Courtney Benedict are told accurately enough by a -thousand chroniclers of love's fairy tales and dreams. Where -such romances end in a rosily vague "And they lived -happily ever after," there this history begins. Richard and -Courtney have returned from Arcady to reality, to central -Indiana and the Vaughan homestead, across the narrow -width of Wenona the lake from Wenona the town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The homecoming was late in a June evening, with a -perfumed coolness descending upon the young lovers from the -grand old trees, round the Vaughan house like his -bodyguard round a king. Next morning toward eight Courtney, -still half asleep, reached out hazily. Her hand met only -the rumpled linen on Richard's side of the huge fourposter. -She started up, brushed back the heavy wave of auburn hair -fallen over her brow, gazed down at his pillow. The dent -of his head, but not he. Her eyes searched the dimness. -The big room contained only a few large pieces of old -mahogany; at a glance she saw into every corner. Alone in the -room. Her eyes, large and anxious now, regarded the -half-open door of the dressing room to the rear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick!" she called hopefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick!" she repeated, a note of doubt in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick!" she repeated reproachfully. It was the first -morning she had awakened without the sense of his nearness -that had become so dear, so necessary. It was the first -morning in this house strange to her—in this now life they -were to make beautiful and happy together. She gave a -forlorn sigh like a disappointed child, drew up her knees, -rested her elbows upon them, and her small head upon her -hands. Sitting there in the midst of that bed big enough -for half a dozen as small as she, she suggested a butterfly -poised motionless with folded wings. A moment and she -lifted her drooped head. How considerate of him not to -wake her when the three days and nights on train had been -so wearing!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Swift and light as a butterfly she sprang from the bed, -flung open the shutters of the lake-front windows. In -poured summer like gay cavalcade through breach in -gloomy walls—summer in full panoply of perfume and soft -air and sparkling sunshine. She almost laughed aloud for -joy at this timely rescue. She gazed away across the lake -to the town where she was born and bred! "Home!" she -cried. "And so happy—so utterly happy!" Her -expression, her whole manner, her quick movements gave -the impression of the impulsive self-unconsciousness of a -child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a radiant figure, small and perfect like a sun -sprite, that issued from the room three quarters of an hour -later to flit along the polished oak hall, to descend a stairway -glistening like hall above and wider and loftier hall -below. With hair piled high on her small head, with tail -of matinee over her arm and tall heels clicking merrily on -the steps, she whistled as she went. Some people—women—criticised -that laughter-loving mouth of hers as too wide -for so small a face. It certainly did not suggest a -button-hole. But no one could have found fault with the shape -of the mouth or with the coloring, whether of the lips or -within, or with her teeth, pearl white and seeming the -whiter for the rose bronze of her skin—the shade that seems -to be of the essence of youth, health, and summer. Her nose -was rather large, but slender and well shaped. It was the -nose of mobility, of sensitiveness, of intelligence, not at all -of repose. And there were her eyes, of a strange soft -emerald, with long dark lashes; the brows long also and -only slightly curved, and slender yet distinct. These eyes -were her greatest beauty—greater even than her skin. It -would have been difficult to say whether in them or in her -mouth lay her greatest charm, for charm is not always -beauty, and beauty often wholly lacks charm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But woman feels that figure determines the woman—"the -woman" meaning, of course, efficiency as a man -catcher. It was upon Courtney's flawless figure that the -sour glance of old Nanny, the head servant, rested—old -Nanny, whose puritanism aggravated for her by suppression -all the damned charms of "the flesh." Nanny had reigned -supreme in that house ever since Dick Vaughan was left -alone; so from the first news of the engagement she had -been hating Courtney, whom she regarded as her -supplanter. As Courtney entered the dining room, stiff and -dim and chilly, like all the rooms in that house, old Nanny -was superintending fat, subdued Mazie at work at the -breakfast table. It occupied the exact center of the room, -formal as for a state banquet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning," cried Courtney in her charming manner -of bright friendliness. "Good morning, Mazie. Am -I late? Where's Richard?" Her voice was deeper than -one would have expected, but low and musical.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mazie smiled a welcome, then cast a frightened glance -of apology at Nanny, who did not smile. "Mr. Richard's -down to the Smoke House," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Smoke House was the laboratory Dick's grandfather, -Achilles Vaughan, had built for him on the site -of the smoke house of the pioneer Vaughan, settler there -when Wenona was a trading post in New France. "Of -course!" said Courtney. "I might have known. He -wanted to go last night, but I wouldn't let him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny scowled at this innocent, laughing "I wouldn't -let him." She turned on Mazie, who was gazing -open-mouthed at Courtney's simple, fresh finery. "What'r ye -gawkin' here fur, with your mouth hangin' like a chicken -with the gaps?" she demanded in a fierce aside. Mazie -lumbered through the door into the kitchen. "As I was -saying," continued Nanny to her new mistress, "he's put -in most nigh all his time down to that there smoke house -day and night—ever since his aunt, Miss Eudosia, died. -Yes, an' before that, while Colonel 'Kill, his grandfather, -was still alive. He's got sleeping rooms and everything -in the upstairs. He often don't come here even to meals -for weeks. Mazie or Jimmie carry 'em to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney nodded. "A regular hermit. It was the -merest chance that we happened to meet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You was the first young woman he'd laid an eye on -in a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny's tone was colorless. Only a very stupid woman -puts both barb and poison on a shaft when either is enough. -Courtney, who understood and felt remorseful about the -old woman's jealous anger, answered with good-humored -gentleness: "I guess that </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> why I got him. But he'll -not be a hermit any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's begun already," said Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We mustn't allow it," replied Courtney, not quite so -good-humoredly. The old woman's steady bearing down -was having its effect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no goin' agin nature. The Vaughan men -ain't ever bothered much about women. They don't let -foolishness detain 'em long. And this one's his gran'paw -over agin. When he gits at his work, he's like a dog after -a rabbit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems a little chilly and damp in here," said -Courtney. "Do help me open the windows. I love sun and -air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Eudosia—" began Nanny, and checked herself -with a considerable shortening of the distance between chin -and end of nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney understood what that beginning meant. But -she ignored. "And," she went on, busying herself with -curtains and fastenings, "we'll move the table in front of -this big window. I like breakfast near the window in -summer, near the fire in winter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny lowered upon the small straight young figure, so -bright and graceful. "Miss Eudosia—" she began fiercely. -Again she checked herself, but it was to say with bitterness, -"But then she's dead—and forgot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed!" protested Courtney. "You'd have -thought she'd gone only a few months ago instead of four -years if you'd heard Richard talking about her yesterday. -And I'm sure she'd have done what I'm suggesting if she'd -happened to think of it." Then with a look that might -have softened any but a woman resolved to hate another -woman: "Do try to humor me in little things, Nanny. I'll -be very meek about things that do matter. I've had no -experience in keeping house. You'll teach me, won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny stood inflexible, her wrinkled hands folded -tightly at the waist line of her black alpaca. She could -not help Courtney displace that table from its ancient site. -It was as if this frivolous, whistling, useless chit of an -ornamental wife were violating the sacred Eudosia's coffin—the -graves of all the Vaughans—for traditions are graves, -and Nanny, like all who live by tradition, lived among -graves. After a time Courtney, more nervous under those -angry eyes than she showed, got the table at the open -window. The room was livable now, and after she had -rearranged the dishes the table looked invitingly human. But her -buoyant young enthusiasm had oozed away. With wistful -gaze out over prim lawns and flower beds, stiff and staid as -Sunday, she said: "I guess I'll bring Richard to breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He et before he went."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Courtney's tone showed that she was hurt. -But she instantly brightened. "I'll get him to come and -sit with me while I have breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A covert sneering smile in the depths of Nanny's eyes -made her flush angrily. "If I was you I wouldn't -interrupt him," said the old woman. "He don't allow it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How absurd!" cried Courtney. But straightway she -was amazed and shocked at herself—on this her first -morning in the new and beautiful life, to be drawn nearer a -vulgar squabble than in all her nineteen years—and with -an old woman toward whom it would be cowardice not to -be forbearing. "I'm cross because I'm hungry," she said -contritely. "While breakfast's coming I'll run down for -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's set in his ways," said Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll not mind me—this once." And she took up her -train and went by the long French window to the broad -veranda with its big fluted pillars. At the end steps she -paused. Yes, it was summer in the Vaughan grounds as -elsewhere. But that prodigal wanton had there been -caught, had had her tresses sleeked and bound, her -luxuriant figure corseted and clad in the most repellant -classical severity. Courtney, of the eyes keen for color -and form and fitness of things, felt rebuked and subdued -once more. She glanced farther round, saw Nanny's -parchment face and sinister gaze watching and hating her. -There is a limit beyond which youth refuses to be -suppressed and compressed, and defiantly expands in more -than its natural gay audacity. This climax of Nanny, -representative of Vaughans not so rigid in death as they had -been in life, was just the necessary little-too-much. With -a laugh and a toss of the head, she swung her skirts very -high indeed above her pretty ankles and ran like a young -antelope across the lawn, and into and along the path -leading away toward the eastern part of the grounds. -Through a carefully artificial thicket of lilacs, elders, and -snowballs she sped, then through a small wood with not a -spray of underbrush anywhere. She came out in a clearing -at the water's edge. Before her, one of its walls rising -sheer from the retaining wall of the lake, stood the -laboratory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused astonished. She had expected a temporary -sort of structure. Before her rose a fitting temple for the -mysteries of the "black art." It was a long two-story -building of stone and brick, not visible from the lake proper -because it stood upon the bank of a deep, narrow inlet. -The weather had stained its walls into the semblance of -age wherever they showed through the heavy mantle of -bitter-sweet that overspread even the roof. Around the -place hung an air of aloofness and seclusion, of mystery, -that appealed to her young instinct for the romantic. The -brick path divided into two. One went to what was -obviously the entrance to the second-story bachelor suite; the -other turned to the left, rounded the corner of the house, -ended at the massive iron door of the laboratory proper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This door was wide open. Courtney stood upon the -threshold like a bright bird peering from the sunshine into -the entrance to a cave. The air that came out was heavy -with the odors of chemicals, but not sharp or especially -unpleasant. Besides, in high school and college she had -done a good deal at chemistry, enough to be seized of its -fascination. She stood gazing into a big high-ceilinged -room, filled with a bewildering variety of unusual -articles—gigantic bottles, cylinders, vials, jars of glass, of stone, -of metal; huge retorts with coils of pipe, lead and -rubber; lamps and balances and mortars; tiers on tiers of -crowded shelves of glass and porcelain and iron; drying -ovens, distilling apparatus, condensers and generators, -crushers and pulverizers, cupels and cupel trays, calorimeters -and crucibles and microscopes; floor all but filled with -batteries and engines and machines of gold and platinum, -of aluminum and copper, of brass and steel and glass and -nickel. A thousand articles, in the orderly confusion that -indicates constant use.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was more and more amazed as she stared and -reflected. "He works with all these things!" thought she, -depressed for no clear reason. "I had no idea—no idea!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ventured a step farther. In a twinkling her -expression of wonder and vague pain vanished before a love -light that seemed to stream not from her face only, but -from her whole body, with those rare eyes of hers as -radiating centers. She was seeing Richard—near a window, so -standing that his long high-bred face was in profile to -her. He was tall, well above six feet; his careless -flannels revealed the strong, slender, narrow form of the -pioneers and their pure-blooded descendants. His fairish -hair was thick and wavy—"Thank Heaven, not curly!" -thought Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not interrupt. She preferred to watch him, -to let her glance caress him, all unconscious of her -presence. In one hand he was balancing a huge bottle; the -other held a long test tube. He was slowly dropping the -bottle's contents of quiet colorless liquid into the test tube, -which was half full of a liquid, also quiet and colorless. -Each drop as it touched the surface of the liquid dissolved -into black steam. It was this steam that gave off the -pungent odor. As she watched, there came a slow -tightening at her throat, at her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never saw him look like this," thought she. No, -it wasn't his serious intentness; one of the things she had -first noted about him, and best loved, was the seriousness -of his deep-set dark gray eyes—the look of the man who -"amounts to something," and would prove it before he -got through. No, it was the </span><em class="italics">kind</em><span> of seriousness. She felt -she was seeing a Richard Vaughan she did not know at all. -"But, then," she reflected, "there's a side of me he doesn't -know about either." This, however, did not satisfy her. -The man she was now seeing disquietingly suggested that -the Richard Vaughan she had been knowing and loving and -had been loved by was not the real man at all, but only -one of his moods. "I thought he just amused himself -with chemistry. Instead— Nanny is about right." A -pang shot through her; she would have recognized it as -jealousy, had she stopped to think. But at nineteen one -does not stop to think. "I do believe he cares almost as -much for this as he does for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lowered the bottle to the table. As he straightened -up, he caught sight of her. His expression changed; but -the change was not nearly enough either in degree or in -kind to satisfy her. "Hello!" cried he carelessly. "Good -morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She got ready to be kissed. But, instead of coming -toward her, he half turned away, to hold the test tube up -between his eyes and the light. "Um—mm," he grumbled, -shaking it again and again, and each time looking -disappointedly at the unchanged liquid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like all American girls of the classes that shelter their -women, she had been brought up to accept as genuine the -pretense of superhuman respect and deference the American -man—usually in all honesty—affects toward woman—until -he marries her, or for whatever reason becomes tired -and truthful. She had been confirmed in these ideas of -man as woman's incessant courtier, almost servant, by -receiving for the last five lively years the admiration, -exaggerated and ardent, which physical charm, so long as it -is potent, exacts from the male. No more than other -women of her age—or than older women—or than the men -had she penetrated the deceptive surface of things and -discovered beneath "chivalry's" smug meaningless -professions the reality, the forbearance of "strength" with -"weakness," the graciousness of superior for inferior. -Thus, such treatment as this of Dick's would have been -humiliating from a casual man, on a casual occasion. From -her husband, her lover, the man she had just been -garlanding with all the fairest flowers of her ardent young -heart—from him, and on this "first" morning, this -unconcern, which Nanny's talk enabled her to understand, was -worse than stab into feminine vanity; it was stab straight -into her inmost self, the seat of her life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dared not admit the wound—not to her own secret -thought. Bravely she struggled until her voice and manner -were under control. "I've come to take you to breakfast," -said she. It seemed to her that her tone was gratifying -evidence of triumph of strength of character over "silly -supersensitiveness—as if Dick could mean to hurt </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Breakfast," repeated he. His gaze was discontentedly -upon the bottle whose contents had acted disappointingly. -"Breakfast— Oh, yes— Don't wait on me. I -had coffee before I came down here. I'll be along in a -few minutes." He took up the bottle again, resumed the -cautious pouring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tears sprang to her eyes; her lip quivered. But -sweet reasonableness conquered again, and she perched on -a high stool near the door. She gazed round, tried to -interest herself in the certainly extraordinary exhibits on -floor and tables and shelves. She recalled the uses of the -instruments she recognized, tried to guess the uses of those -that were new to her. But her mind refused to wander -from the one object that really interested her in that room. -Perhaps ten minutes passed, she watching him, he -watching the unchanged liquid in the test tube.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been born in her father's and mother's prime. -She had been taught to use her brain. Thus, underneath -the romantic and idealizing upper strata of her character -there was the bedrock of good common sense, to resist and -to survive any and all shocks. As she sat watching her -engrossed husband her love, her fairness, and her good -sense pleaded for him, or, rather, protested against her -sensitiveness. What a dear he was! And how natural that -he should be absorbed in these experiments, after having -been away so long. What right had she to demand that his -mood should be the same as hers? What a silly child she -had shown herself, expecting him to continue to act as if -love making were the whole of life. If he were to be, and -to do exactly as she wished, would she not soon grow sick -of him, as of the other men, who had thought to win her -by inviting her to walk on them? Her eyes were sweet -and tender when Dick, happening to glance seeingly in -her direction, saw her ensconced, chin on hand, elbow on -knee. "Hello," said he half absently. "Good morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no room for doubt; he had completely forgotten -her. As her skin was not white, but of delicate pale -yet rosy bronze, it did not readily betray change of emotion. -But such a shock had he given her sensitive young heart, in -just the mood of love and longing to be most easily bruised, -that even his abstraction was penetrated. He set the bottle -down. "Didn't I speak to you—" he began, and then -remembered. "I beg your pardon," he said, contrite and -amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pride always hides a real wound. She smiled. "I'm -waiting to take you to breakfast," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked uncertainly at the bottle and the tube.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wave of remorse for her thoughts swept over her. -"Also," she went on, and she was radiant again, "I'm -waiting to be kissed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, gazed lovingly at her. "What a beauty -she is, this morning," he cried. "Like the flowers—the -roses—the finest rose that every grew—in a dream of -roses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes at once showed that his negligence was -forgotten. Their lips met in a lingering kiss. He drew -away, threw back his head, gazed at her. "Was there -ever woman so lovely and fresh and pure?" he said. With -impulsive daring she overcame her virginal shyness, flung -her arms round his neck, and kissed him. "I love you," -she murmured, blushing. "When I woke up and found -you gone—it was dreadfully lonely." She had dropped -into the somewhat babyish manner natural to any -affectionate nature in certain moods and circumstances. It -seemed especially natural to her, on account of her size -and her exuberant gayety; and she had been assuming it -with him in all its charming variations from the beginning -of their engagement because it was the manner that -pleased him best. "Next time, you'll wake me and take -me along—won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He patted her. "Bless the baby! A lot of work I'd do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to help you. I can soon learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head in smiling negative. "You're going -to be the dearest, sweetest wife a man ever had," said he. -"And always your womanly self."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," she persisted with an effort, "I can help. I'm -sure I can." There was no trace of the "baby" in her -expression now; on the contrary, her face and her voice were -those of an extremely intelligent young woman, serious -without the dreary, posed solemnity that passes current -for seriousness, but is mere humorless asininity. "I really -know something about chemistry," she went on. "I liked -it, and took the courses both at high school and at college. -Last winter I won a prize for original work." His smile -made her color. "I don't say that," she hastened to -explain, "because I think I'm a wonderful chemist, but just -to prove to you that I do know a little something—enough -to be able to help in a humble sort of way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His expression was still that of grown people when -laughing at the antics of children, and concealing -amusement behind a thin pretense of grave admiration. "Yes, -I've no doubt you're clever at it," said he. "But a refined -woman oughtn't to try to do the man sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, dear, I'm not so superfine as you seem to -think—and not altogether foolish." She glanced round the -laboratory. "You don't know how at home I feel here. What -a wonderful, beautiful equipment you have! Everything -of the best—and so well taken care of! Dick, I want to -be your—wife. As I watched you I realized I've got to -fit myself for it. That is—of course, I always knew I'd -have to do that—but now I know just what I must do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a serious child it is!" he cried, pinching her -cheek. It was delightful, this baby playing at "grown-up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed because she loved him and loved laughter; -but she persisted. "Being wife to a man means a great -deal more than looking pretty and making love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's very dear and sweet," said he, in the same -petting, patronizing way. "I'm content with you as you are. -I don't want anything more." And he set about putting -things away and locking up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quiet on her high stool, she struggled against a feeling -of resentment, of depression. Her instinct was, as -always, to hide her hurt; but it seemed to her that if she -did, it would not get well, would get worse. "Dick," she -began at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said he absently. "Come along, dear." And -he lifted her down with a kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went out, waited for him while he locked the door. -"Dick," she began again, as they walked along the path, -"I don't want to be shut out of any part of your life, least -of all out of the realest part. I want to be truly your -wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer. She glanced up at him; obviously his -thoughts were far away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She slipped her arms through his. "Tell me what -you're thinking about, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About that test I was making."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing. Is the house satisfactory? How do you -like old Nanny?" As she did not answer, he looked down -at her. "Why, what's the matter with my little -sweetheart? Such a discontented expression!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing at all," replied she, forcing a smile -and steadying her quivering lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid those two days on the train——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she interrupted eagerly. "And I guess I'm -hungry, too. </span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> very upsetting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a little forcing she kept up the semblance of good -spirits through breakfast and until he was off to the -laboratory again. Then she gave way to her mood—for it could -be only a mood. With old Nanny as guide, she went -through the house, through all its spacious solidly and -stiffly furnished rooms. At every step Nanny had -something to say of Miss Eudosia—how good Miss Eudosia -had been, how Miss Eudosia kept everything as her mother -had it before her, how particular Miss Eudosia had been. -And when it wasn't Miss Eudosia it was Colonel 'Kill—that -splendid-looking, terrible-looking old Achilles Vaughan; -as a child she had decided that the awful god the -family worshiped must look like Achilles Vaughan. Nanny -talked on and on; Courtney's spirits went down and down. -In one respect the house should have appealed to her—in -its perfect order. For she had inherited from her mother -a passion for order—an instinct that would have a neatly -kept ribbon box almost as soon as she could talk, and had -prompted her, long before she could talk distinctly, to cry -if they tried to put on her a dress the least bit mussed -or a stocking with a hole in it. But there is the order that -is of life, and there is the order that is of death. This -Vaughan order seemed to her to be of death. She felt -surrounded, hemmed in, menaced by a throng of the -Vaughan women of past generations—those women of the -old-fashioned kind, thoughtless, mindless, cool, and correct -and inane—the kind of women the Vaughan men liked—the -kind Richard liked—"No—no. He does </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> like that kind!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Assisted by Nanny and Mazie, she unpacked the trunks -into drawers and closets. When the last box was empty, -Jimmie took them down to the cellar. She was established—was -at home. She and Dick were to have the same bedroom; -he would use the big spare bedroom directly across -the hall and its bath for dressing. It was all most -convenient, most comfortable. But she could not get -interested, could not banish the feeling that she would soon be -flitting, that she was stranger, intruder here. And the last -sweet days of the honeymoon kept recurring in pictured -glimpses of their happiness of various kinds, all centering -about love. How tender he had been, how absorbed in -their romance—that wonderful romance which began -ideally in a chance meeting and love at first sight. And now, -just as she was getting over her deep-down shyness with -him, was feeling the beginnings of the courage to be -wholly her natural self, to show him her inmost thoughts, -o release the tenderness, the demonstrativeness that had -been pent up in her all her life—just as the climax of -happiness was at hand—here was this shadow, this relegating -her to the chill isolation and self-suppression and -self-concealment of a pedestaled Vaughan wife. "He acts as -if a woman were not like a man—as if I had no sense -because I'm not tall, and don't go about in a frown and -spectacles." And it depressed her still further to recall -that his attitude had been the same throughout courtship -and honeymoon—treating her as a baby, a pet, -something to protect and shield, something of which nothing -but lover's small talk was expected. She had liked it then; -it seemed to fit in with the holiday spirit. "I gave him -a false impression. It's my fault." To pretend to be -infantile for purposes of a holiday of love-making is one -thing; to have one's pretense taken as an actual and -permanent reality—that was vastly different, and wearisome, -and humiliating, and not to be permitted. "But," she -reflected, "it's altogether my fault. And the thing for me -to do is not to talk about it to him, but just quietly -to go to work and make myself his wife—fit myself for -it." A wonderful man she thought him; and it thrilled -her, this high and loving ambition to be worthy of him, -and not mere pendant and parasite as so many wives were -content to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were to go the scant half mile across the lake -in the motor boat at noon and lunch at her old home. She -was ready a few minutes before time, and started toward -the Smoke House. Halfway she stopped and turned back. -No, she could not interrupt him there again. His manner, -unconscious, more impressive than any deliberate look -or word, made her feel that the Smoke House was set in -an enchanted wood which she could not penetrate until -She smiled tenderly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At half past twelve he came on the run. "Why didn't -you telephone?" exclaimed he. "We'll be scandalously -late. I'm so sorry. When I get to work down there I -forget everything. I even forgot I was married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She busied herself with the buttons of her glove, and -the brim of her hat hid her face. And such a few hours -ago he and she were all in all to each other!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought she was forgiving him; the hurt would -soon pass. So she gave him a look that passed muster -with his unobservant eyes. "Don't worry. We'll soon -be there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They got under way, he at the motor, she watching -his back. On impulse she moved nearer. "Dick," she -said. "Don't turn round. I want to say something to -you that's very hard to say.... I feel I ought to warn -you. At college the girls called it one of my worst traits. -When anyone I care for hurts me, I don't say anything—I -even hide it. And they don't realize—and keep on -hurting—until— Oh, I've lost several friends that way. -For—the time comes— I don't let on, and it gets to be too -late—and I don't care any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean about my keeping you waiting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not that—not that alone. Not any one thing. -Not anything at all yet—but a kind of a shadow. -Just—you've made me feel as if I weren't to be part of -you—of your life. No, I don't say it right. I've felt as if I -were to be part of you, but that you weren't to be part of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began to laugh, believing that the proper way to -dispel a mood so unreal. But glancing at her he saw -she was shrinking and literally quivering with pain. His -face sobered. He reminded himself that women could not -be dealt with on a basis of reason and sense, since they -had those qualities only in rudimentary form. As his hands -were occupied, he was puzzled how to treat this his first -experience with feminine sweet unreasonableness in her. -All he could do toward pacifying was to say soothingly, as -to a sensitive child: "I understand, sweetheart. I must be -very—very careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all!" she cried, ready to weep with vexation -at her complete failure to make him understand. "I'm -not a silly, sensitive thing, always trailing my feelings for -some one to step on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dearest—of course not," said he in the same tone -as before. "If there weren't so many sail boats about, I'd -show you how penitent I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't want you to be penitent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what do you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to—I want us to be comrades."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a child it is! You girls are brought up to play -all the time. But you can't expect a man to be like that. -Of course we'll play together. I'd not have wanted to -marry you if I hadn't needed you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what am </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> to do when you can't play?" she -asked. "And I'm afraid you won't play very often. -That is, I know you won't—and I'm glad you won't—for -I'd not care as I do if you were that kind. I -didn't realize until this morning. But I do realize -now, and—Dick, you don't think of me as just to -play with?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Facing her earnestness, he would not have dared -confess the truth. "No, indeed!" said he. "Your head's -full of notions to-day. You're not at all like your sweet -loving self."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt instantly altogether in the wrong. "It's the -strangeness, I guess," she said penitently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it, exactly. But in a few days you'll be all -right—and as happy as a bird on a bough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they were about to land she mustered all her courage, -and with heightened color said: "You'll let me come -down and try to help, won't you? I'll promise not to be -in the way—not for a minute. And if I am, I'll never come -again. I can at least wash out test tubes and bring you -things you need."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you really want to come," began he, with -good-humored tolerance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you—thank you," she interrupted, eager and -radiant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not right away," he hastened to add. "Just at -present I'm clearing things up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand. You'll tell me when the time comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'll tell you."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ii"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In late July, after he had not appeared either at -dinner or at supper for four days, she said to him, "You're -becoming a stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The idea of reproaching him was not in her mind. -She had been most respectful of what she compelled -herself to regard as his rights, had been most careful not to -intrude or interrupt or in any way annoy. The remark -was simply an embarrassed attempt to open conversation—not -an easy matter with a man so absorbed and silent as -he had become. But he was feeling rather guilty; also, -he had not recovered from the failure of an elaborate -experiment from which he had expected great things in -advancing him toward his ultimate goal—the discovery of a -cheap, universal substitute for all known fuels. "You -know, my dear," said he, "in the sort of work I'm trying -to do a man can't control his hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she hastened to apologize, feeling offense in -his tone, and instantly accusing herself of lack of tact. -"I'm too anxious for you to succeed to want you ever to -think I'm expecting you. I've been busy myself—and a -lot of people have been calling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This, though bravely said, somehow did not lessen his -sense of guilt. "You're not lonely, are you?" he asked -gently. And he gave her a searching, self-reproachful look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed!" laughed she. "I'm not one of the kind -that get hysterical if they're left alone for a few minutes." Her -tone and expression were calculated to reassure, and -they did reassure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, you ought to have married a fellow who was -fond of society and had time for it. I know how you love -dancing and all that." This, with arms about her and an -expression which suggested how dreary life would have -been if she had married that more suitable other fellow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I used to like those things," said she. "But I found -they were all simply makeshifts, to pass the time until you -came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> happy—aren't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And just think!" she cried. "How happy we'll be -when our real life begins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said he vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked confused and puzzled, but she was too intent -upon her dream to note it. "When do you think you'll -get time to teach me the ropes?" asked she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a little groping he understood. He had forgotten -all about that fantastic plan of hers to potter at the -laboratory. And she had been serious—had been waiting -for him to ask her down! A glance at her face warned -him that she was far too much in earnest to be laughed at. -"Oh, I don't know exactly when," said he. "Probably -not for some time. Don't bother about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I'll not bother you about it," replied she. -"But naturally I can't help thinking. It won't be long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He detested liars and lies. Yet, looking on her as a -sort of child—and it's no harm to humor a child—he said, -"I hope not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He blushed as he said it, though his conscience was -assuring him there was absolutely nothing wrong in this -kind of playful deception with woman the whimsical, the -irrational. "Certainly not," thought he. "She'll soon -forget all about it. I don't see how she happened to -remember so long as this." Still, it was not pleasant to tell -even the whitest of white lies, facing eyes so earnest and -so trusting as were hers just then. He changed the -subject—inquired who had been calling. She did not return -to it. She was content; his long hours and his complete -absorption were proof of his eagerness to hasten the day -when they should be together. "Of course," thought she, -"he likes what he's doing—likes it for itself. But </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> -reason is 'us.'" And some day soon he would surprise -her—and they would begin to lead the life of true -lovers—the life she had dreamed and planned as a girl—the life -she had begun to realize during courtship and honeymoon—the -life of which, even in these days of aloneness -and waiting, she had occasional foretastes when overpowering -impulse for a "lighter hour" brought him back to her -for a little while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been puzzled when in those hours he sometimes -called her "temptress." The word was tenderly -spoken, but she felt an accent of what was somehow -suggestion of reproach—and of rebuke. Now she thought she -understood. He meant she stimulated in him the same deep -longings that incessantly possessed her; and when those -longings were stimulated, it was hard for him to keep his -mind on the work he was hastening with all his energy—the -work that must be done before their happiness could -begin. "I must be careful not to tempt him," thought she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From this she went on to feel she understood another -matter that had puzzled her, had at times disquieted her. -She had noticed that his moods of caressing tenderness, of -longing for the outward evidences of love seemed to be -satisfied, and to cease just when her own delight in them -was swelling to its fullness. Why should what roused her -quiet him? This had been the puzzle; now she felt she -had solved it: He had greater self-control than she; he -would not let his feelings master him, when they would -certainly interfere with the work that must be done to -clear their way of the last obstacles to perfect happiness; -so he withdrew into himself and fought down the longings -for more and ever more love that were no doubt as -strong in him as in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus she, in her faith and her inexperience, reasoned it -all out to her satisfaction and to his glory. She had not -the faintest notion of the abysmal difference between her -idea of love and his. With her the caresses had their -chief value as symbols—as the only means by which the -love within could convey news of its existence. With -Dick, the caresses were not symbols at all, not means to -an end, but the end in themselves. Of love such as she -dreamed and expected he knew nothing; for it he felt no -more need than the usual busy, ambitious man. His work, -his struggle to wrest from nature close-guarded secrets, -filled his mind and his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He soon assumed she had forgotten her fantastic whim, -and forgot it himself. She often wished he would talk -to her about his work, would not be quite so discouraging -when she timidly tried to talk with him about it. And in -spite of herself she could not but be uneasy at times over -his growing silence, his habitual absentmindedness. But -she accepted it all, as loving inexperience will accept -anything and everything—until the shock of disillusion comes. -So stupefying is habit, there were times when her dream -became vague, when she drifted along, leading, as if it -were to be permanent, the ordinary life of the modern -married woman whose husband is a busy man. She was -learning a great deal about that life from her young -married friends of the neighborhood and of Wenona. Many of -them—in fact, most of them—were husbanded much like -herself. But they were restless, unhappy, and for the best -of reasons—because they had no aim, no future. She pitied -them profoundly, felt more and more grateful for her own -happier lot. For she—Dick's wife—had a future, bright -and beautiful. Surely it could not be much longer before -he would have the way clear for the life in common, the -life together!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fell to talking, in a less light vein than she usually -permitted herself with him, about these friends of hers -to him one evening as they walked up and down the -veranda after supper. She described with some humor, -but an underlying seriousness, their lives—their amusing, -but also pitiful, efforts to kill time—their steady decline -toward inanity. "I don't see what they married for," said -she. "They really care nothing about their husbands—or -their husbands about them. The men seem to be contented. -But the women aren't, though they pretend to be—</span><em class="italics">pretend</em><span> -to their </span><em class="italics">husbands</em><span>! Isn't it all sad and horrible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed it is," he replied. He had been only half -listening, but had caught the drift of what she was saying. -"It's hard to believe decent women can be like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the men—they're worse," said she; "for they're -satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why shouldn't they be?" said Dick. "They don't -know what kind of wives they've got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't think you quite understood me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes; you said the wives were dissatisfied. They've -got good homes and contented husbands. What right have -they to be dissatisfied? What more do they want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What we've got," said she tenderly. "Love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they've got love. Didn't you say their husbands -were contented? When a man's contented it means that -he loves his wife. And a good woman always loves her -husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. He often amused her with his funny -old-style notions about women. "You can't understand -people who live and feel as they do, dear," said she. "Of -course, you and I seem to be living much like them just -now. But you know we'd never be contented if we had to -go on and on this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With not a recollection of the "whim," he stopped -short in astonishment. "What way?" he asked. "Aren't -we happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled radiantly up at him in the clear, gentle -evening light. "But not so happy as we shall be, when -you get things straightened out and take me into -partnership."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Partnership?" he demanded blankly. "What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I call it partnership. I suppose you'd call it working -for you. I suppose I shall be pretty poor at first. -But I'll surprise you before I've been down there many -weeks. I've been brushing up my chemistry, as well as I -could, with only books."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It came to him what she was talking about—and it -overwhelmed him with confusion. "Yes—certainly. -I—I supposed you'd forgotten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at him in dismay. "Forgotten!" Then -she brightened. "Oh, you're teasing me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began to be irritated. "You mustn't fret me about -that," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't even mean to speak of it," she protested, her -supersensitive dread of intrusion alert. "I know you're -doing the best you can. But I couldn't help dreaming of -the time when I'll have you back again.... Now, don't -look so distressed! Meanwhile, we'll have what we can. -And that's something—isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What queer, irrational creatures women were! To persist -in a foolish, fanciful notion such as this! Why couldn't -she play at keeping house and enjoy herself as it was -intended women should? A woman's trying to do anything -serious, a woman's thinking—it was like a parrot's -talking—an imitation, and not a good one. But the "whim" -and his "harmless deception" became the same sort of -irritation in his conscience that a grain of dust is on the -eyeball. He was forced to debate whether he should not -make a slight concession. After all, where would be the -harm in letting her come to the laboratory? She'd soon -get enough. Yes, that would be the wise course. Humor -a woman or a child in an innocent folly, and you effect a -cure. Yes—if she brought the matter up again, and no -other way out suggested, he would let her come. It amused -him to think of her, delicate as a flower, made for the -hothouse, for protection and guidance and the most careful -sheltering, trying to adapt herself to serious work -calling for thought and concentration. "But she'd be a -nuisance after a day or so. A man's sense of humor—even his -love—soon wears thin when his work's interfered with." Still, -she'd be glad enough to quit, probably after a single -morning of the kind of thing he'd give her to discourage -her. "Really, all a woman wants is the feeling she's -having her own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This decision laid the ghost. As she said no more, the -whole thing passed to the dark recesses of his memory. -One evening in late September, when he was taking a -walk alone on the veranda, she came out and joined him. -After a few silent turns she said, "Let's sit on the -steps." She made him sit a step lower than she, which brought -their eyes upon a level. The moon was shining full upon -them. The expression of her face, as she looked intently -at him, was such that he instinctively said, "What is it, -dear?" and reached for her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had given the subject of children—the possibilities, -probabilities—about as little thought as a young married -man well could. There are some women who instantly and -always suggest to men the idea motherhood; there are -others, and Courtney was of them, in connection with whom -the idea baby seems remote, even incongruous. But as she -continued to look steadily at him, without speaking, his -mind began to grope about, and somehow soon laid hold -of this idea. His expression must have told her that he -understood, for she nodded slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean—" he began in an awe-stricken voice, -but did not finish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I've suspected for some time. To-day the -doctor told me it was so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hand nestled more closely into his, and he held it -more tightly. A great awe filled him. It seemed very still -and vast, this moonlight night. He gazed out over the -lake. He could not speak. She continued to look at him. -Presently she began in a low, quiet voice, full of the -melody of those soft, deep notes that were so strange and -thrilling, coming from such slim, delicate smallness of body -and of face: "I can't remember the time when I wasn't -longing for a baby. When I was still a baby myself I used -to ask the most embarrassing questions—and they couldn't -stop me— When could I have a baby? How soon? How -many? And when I finally learned that I mustn't talk -about it, I only thought the more. I never rested till I -found out all about it. I came very near marrying the first -man that asked me because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking at her with strong disapproval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled tenderly. "I know you hate for me to be -frank and natural," she said with the gentlest raillery. -"But, please, let me—just this once. I must tell you -exactly what's in my head—my foolish, feminine head, as -your grandfather would have said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, dear. But you couldn't convince me you -weren't always innocent and pure minded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—a chemist—a scientist, talking about knowledge -being wicked! But I'll not discuss those things with you. -I never have and I never shall." She drew closer to him, -put one arm round his neck. "Now do listen, dear," she -went on. "Then—you came into my life. It's very -queer—I don't understand why—at least not clearly—but -from the moment I loved you I never thought of baby -again—except to think I didn't want one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear!" he exclaimed. He drew away to look at -her. "Courtney! That's very unnatural. You're quite -mistaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she did not know men, it seemed to her a unique -and profoundly mysterious case, this of him so -broad-minded, scandalously broadminded most Wenona people -thought, yet in the one direction a puritan of puritans. -With a wisdom deeper than she realized she said smilingly: -"Dear—</span><em class="italics">dear</em><span> Dick! I guess the reason you men think -women irrational is because you're irrational on the -subject of women yourselves. To a crazy person the whole -world seems crazy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not respond to her pleasantry. She sighed, -drew his arm round her, went on: "Well—anyhow, it's -true. And, do you know, I think that whenever a woman -really loves a man, cares for just him, she doesn't want -a baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're quite mistaken," he assured her gravely. -"It's natural for a woman to want children. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> want -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? I've never given it much thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did hope you'd say no," said she, half in jest. -"Now honestly, doesn't it seem reasonable that when two -people love each other they shouldn't want any—any -intruder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with more than a trace of severity in -his expression. "Where did you get these unnatural -ideas? I don't like you to say such things even in joke. -They're most unwomanly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt rebuked and showed it, but persisted, "You -must admit it'll interfere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Interfere with what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With the life we've been looking forward to—with -my helping you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—yes—" he stammered. Again that exasperating -ghost! What possessed her to persist in such nonsense?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know it would interfere—would put off our -happiness for a year or two. A year or two! Oh, Dick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had the child, thought he, the ghost would -be laid forever. "Well—we'll do the best we can," he -said. His tone and manner of regret were as sincere as -ever mother used in assuring her child of the reality of -Santa Claus. And Courtney believed and was reconciled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do want the baby," she now admitted. "But I want -you—love—more, oh, so much more. I'm glad your life -work is something I naturally care about. Still, I -suppose, when a woman loves a man, she cares about whatever -he is and does, and fits herself to be part of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled with patronizing tenderness, as he often -did, always evidently quite sure she'd not understand. If -we could but realize it, how our mismeasurements of others -would enable us to study as in a mirror our own limitations! -"Wait till you have the baby," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think that with me love for a baby could -ever take the place of need for love—grown-up love? -You're always making me feel as if you didn't know me at -all, Dick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed and kissed her. "You don't know yourself. -Wait till you have a baby, and you'll be content to be just a -woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm content to be that now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—let's not argue."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iii"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Except courtship and honeymoon never had she been -so happy as in the last two months before the baby came. -"Every-one is spoiling me," she said, dazzled by the -revelations of thoughtfulness and affection. Her friends, her -acquaintances, showered attentions upon her. Even her -mother, austere and cold, unbent. Her father, the shy, the -silent, betrayed where she had got her silent, shy, intense -longing for love. The two sour old-maid sisters were all -tenderness and chaste excitement. As for Dick, he actually -neglected his career. Again and again he would stop in -the midst of an experiment to dash up to the house and -inquire what he could do for her—this when there was a -private telephone at his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was intelligent about diet and exercise; so she -suffered hardly at all. As for the baby, he came into the -world positively shrieking with health. Finally, she had -none of the petty vanity that leads many a first-time mother -into fancying and acting as if maternity were a unique -achievement, original with herself. Thus the agitation -quickly died away, and life resumed its former course, -except that she had a baby to take care of. At first it was -great fun. Dick helped her, forgot his chemistry, seemed -in the way to become a father of unprecedented devotion. -But this did not last long. He loved playthings and -played with them; but the call of his career was the strong -force in his life, and he went back to the laboratory. She -might have given the baby over to a nurse, as all the other -women were doing. But it seemed to her that, as she was -responsible for the coming of this frisky helplessness, she -could not do less than guard him until he was able to look -out for himself. "When he can talk and tell me exactly -how's he treated when I'm not around," said she, "why, -perhaps I'll trust him to a nurse—if he needs one. But -until then I'll be nurse myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many and many a time in the next eighteen months she -wished she had not committed herself openly and -positively. She loved her baby as much as any mother -could—and a good-humored lovable baby he was, fat and -handsome, and showing signs of being well bred while still a -speechless animal. But, except in romances and make-believe -life, the deepest love wearies of sacrifices, though it -gladly makes them. This baby—Benedict they named him, -but he changed it to Winchie as soon as he could—this -baby made a slave of her. She understood why so many -women retrograde after the birth of the first child. The -temptation to go to seed is powerful enough in the most -favorable circumstances, once a woman has caught a -husband and secured a living for life. A baby, she soon saw, -made that temptation tenfold stronger. She wondered -what it was in her that compelled her to fight unyieldingly -against being demoralized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick was deep in a series of experiments that forbade -him a thought for anything else. He did occasionally -spend a few moments in mechanical dalliance with his two -playthings; but that interrupted his thoughts little if at all. -By the slow, unnoted day-to-day action that plays the only -really important part in human intimacies of all kinds, she -had grown too shy and strange with him to ask his help -or even to think of expecting it. She did not judge -him—at least, not consciously. She assumed he was doing the -best he could, the best anyone could, the best possible. -To have complained, even in thought, would have seemed -to her as futile as railing against any fundamental of -life—against being unable to fly instead of walk. She made -occupation for herself, as will presently appear. But, after -all, it was Winchie who saved her. But for him she, with -no taste for "chasing about," would have withdrawn within -herself, would have become silent, cold, ever more and -more like her mother, with barren cynicism in place of -Mrs. Benedict's equally barren religiosity. Winchie's -spirits of overflowing health, his newcomer's delight in -life were infectious and stimulating. In keeping him in -perfect health—outdoors, winter and summer, and always -active, she made her own health so perfect that the -cheerful and hopeful side of things was rarely so much as -obscured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One evening after supper Richard, moved by the -intermittent impulse to amuse himself, sought her in her -sitting room, where she was reading. She always sat there -in the evenings because she could hear Winchie if he -became restless. He never did, but that fact no more freed -her to go off duty than the absence of burglars the -policeman. Dick gave her the kind of kiss that was always his -signal for a "lighter hour." She merely glanced up, gave -him the smile that is a matrimonial convention like "my -dear," and went on with her book. Theretofore, whenever -he had shown the least desire to take an hour off from that -career of his, she had instantly responded. She assumed -this readiness meant love; in fact, love had no part in it. -She responded for two reasons, both unsuspected by her: -because she did not know him well enough to have moods -with him and to show them, and because refusal would have -been admission of the truth of indifference to him which -she had not yet discovered. That evening, for the first -time, she did not respond. It was unconscious on her part, -unnoted by him; yet it was the most significant event in -their married life since the wedding ceremony two years -and a half before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood behind her and began gliding his fingers over -the soft down at the nape of her neck. It has become -second nature to women to repress their active emotions, no -matter how strong, and to wait upon the man—an evidence -of inferior status that is crudely but sufficiently disguised -as "womanly delicacy and reserve." In response to the -signal of those caressing fingers Courtney mechanically put -up her hand and patted his. Her gesture was genuinely -affectionate—but there had been a time when it would not -have been mechanical. She did not lift her eyes from the -page.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a good love story?" asked he. "As good as ours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tender little smile of half absent appreciation played -round her lips. But—her glance remained upon her reading. -"It isn't a novel," replied she. "It's a treatise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A treatise?" mocked he. "Gracious me! What a -wise fairy it is! Put it away, and let's go on the balcony. -There'll not be many more sit-out nights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved to pick her up in his arms. But she smilingly -pushed him away. "I want to finish this chapter," -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. I'll go out and smoke. Don't be long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he sauntered through the window door. After -perhaps a quarter of an hour she joined him in the -hammock. Matrimony is a curious fabric of set phrases, set -thoughts, and set actions. It was their habit, in such -circumstances, for her to snuggle up to him and for him to -put his arm round her. The habit was on this occasion -observed. It was her habit to assume that she was -happy—and she now so assumed. He began the conversation. -"I've been watching you as I sat here," said he lazily. -"What are all those books on the table? They look -serious—businesslike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's not talk about anything serious. You always -laugh at me or get absent-minded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you seemed so absorbed. What was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've been doing a little reading and thinking and -studying for the past year. You see, when a woman takes -care of a baby, she's got to look out or she'll become one -herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you are a baby." And there followed the usual -caresses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a real baby," said she. "We both act like -children at times—very little children. But we'd not -care for each other as we do if either of us were -really infantile. It takes a grown person to play baby -attractively."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Baby," he insisted fondly. He was smiling with the -masculinely patronizing tolerance to which she had grown -so used that she never noted it. He appreciated that she -was clever—with the woman sort of cleverness—bright, -witty, sometimes saying remarkably keen things. But, -being a man, he knew that man mind and woman mind are -entirely different—never so different as when woman mind -seems to be like man mind—just as purely instinctive -actions of animals seem to display profound reasoning power. -"And what was the baby wrinkling its brow over, in there? -The care and feeding of infants?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me, no," replied she with perfect good humor. -"I went into that before Winchie came. You think it's -all a joke—my reading and studying. But the real joke -is your thinking so. You must remember I can't afford to -let myself go, as you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been chiefly absorbed in caresses and caressing -thoughts. At this last remark he laughed. "Now, what -does that mean?" he inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've given up everything for chemistry. Haven't -you noticed that we can hardly talk to each other—that -you can hardly talk to anybody?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never did have much talent for small talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I didn't mean small talk. You care only for -chemistry, know only chemistry. You never did know or -care much about literature or art or music or any of the -worth-while things except just your own specialty. And -you can afford to be that way. It's your career, and also -you're not a woman and a mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had stopped caressing her. "I confess I don't -understand," said he stiffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A man can afford to be narrow—not to know life or -the world. But a mother—if she's the right sort—has to -try to know everything. She's got to bring up children—and -how can she hope to teach and train successfully if she -doesn't know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't agree with you," said he, a certain curtness in -his voice. "A woman must be pure, innocent, womanly—as -you are. Nature didn't make her to be learned or wise—to -think. She has her instincts to keep her straight, and a -father or a husband——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick—Dick!" she cried, patting him on the cheek. -"What an old fogey it is! You talk like—like an ordinary -man. How bored you'd be if you had that kind of wife—one -who couldn't be comrade and companion, and didn't -want to be—one who was merely a mistress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan was sitting bolt upright now. "Those books -in there— Courtney, you're not reading impure, -upsetting books?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed delightedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are those books?" he insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're—now, Dickey dear, please don't be shocked—they're -on landscape gardening and interior decoration." She -looked up at him mischievously in the starlight. "Are -they womanly enough to suit you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed," said he heartily. "But I might have -known you'd not read anything a good woman oughtn't. I -love you as you are—and I'd hate to see you changed, my -spotless little angel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She submitted to his caresses. And presently, in that -brain which he would have thought it absurd to look into -except for the very lightest kind of amusement, there formed -the first really disloyal thought she had ever permitted to be -born. The thought was: "Dick certainly does take himself -terribly seriously. If it weren't Dick, I'd say he was -getting to be a prig." She was instantly shocked at herself, as -one always is at the first impulse to doubt the idol one has -set up for blind worship. She felt there was but one way -to prevent the recurrence of such perilous blasphemy. -After a brief silence she said in a constrained voice: "Dick, -I was not a stupid, incurious fool as a girl, and I went to -college, and I'm a wife and a mother. If by innocence -you mean ignorance, I'm anything but innocent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw that he was highly amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women," she went on earnestly, "always tell each -other that before men it's wise to pretend to be ignorant -and too refined to know life, and to be shocked at everything. -They say it pleases men. But I'm sure you're not -that sort of man. Anyhow, I can't be a hypocrite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right, dear," said he, nodding approvingly, the -amused smile lingering. "Go on with your interior -decoration and landscape gardening. You can't learn too -much about them." He was leaning back again, secure, -comfortable, happy, enjoying the sensation of caressing -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave it up, as she always did when she found herself -being ruffled by that strange antiquated prejudice of -his. It would yield in time. Besides, what did it really -matter?—since they loved each other, and would be happy -once their real life got under way. "I'd have taken up -chemistry," she continued, "but one can't go far alone in -that, with only books. And you wouldn't help me. I'm -afraid you'll find me very rusty when I come down to the -laboratory next spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lips were open to inquire what she meant, when he -was unpleasantly spared the necessity. Out of a dark -recess of memory sprang the ghost—the "whim." He was -astounded, irritated, alarmed. He had supposed he had -heard the last of that silly notion about helping him; she -hadn't spoken of it in nearly two years. Now—here it -was again!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dick," she was saying, her hand clasping his, "I've -appreciated your not speaking of it, or even talking about -what you were doing. If you had, the delay'd have been -much harder to bear. For, as long as Winchie needs me, -I simply can't come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, dear," said he, much relieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a dreadfully long delay, isn't it?" she went on, -dreamily gazing up into the great quiet sky. "The more -I see of married people, and the more I think about married -life, the clearer I see that two must have a common interest, -a common career, or they drift apart, and usually the -woman sinks down and down into a gadabout or a fat -frump or a professional minder of other people's -business—a gossip or a charity worker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If she had been looking, even in that faint light she -could have seen his expression of gathering displeasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or else," she went on, "she seeks love elsewhere. -Isn't it strange, Dick, how in unhappy marriages the -so-called good women are the bad ones, and the so-called -bad ones good? I mean, when a weak woman finds herself -married wrong she accepts it and gently rots, and people -say she's a good soul, when she's really degrading -herself and rotting everybody round her. While a strong -woman—one that's worth while—refuses to be crushed, and -people call her bad. But then I've begun to think life's -like one of those exhibitions where some cut-up slips -round and changes the labels so that everything's named -wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was talking along lightly, talking what seemed to -her the plainest common sense, and was all unconscious that -she had brought him and herself where both were almost -peering into the abyss between them. He was sitting up, -was getting ready to deliver himself. Her next remark -checked him. "Thank Heaven, Dick, you and I are going -to have the interest that makes two lives one—makes it -impossible to grow apart. It seems to me I can't wait for -Winchie to release me so that I may come and work with -you. Aren't you glad I really, naturally, like chemistry, -and already know something about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced, and instead of speaking, put his cigar -between his opened lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned her head affectionately against his arm. "I -feel close to you to-night—feel that we're in perfect -sympathy. Sometimes—I—I don't feel quite that way. Of -course I know it's all right, but I get—afraid. It's such -a long, long delay—and your work absorbs you—and we -almost never talk as we're talking to-night. There have -been times when—-I've almost—been afraid </span><em class="italics">we</em><span> were -drifting apart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense!" he cried sharply. "How could -that be? Do you suppose I don't know you're a good -woman? You talk foolishly at times—things you've picked -up from loose people. But you are a lady and a good -woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw he was for some unknown reason irritated. -She swiftly changed the subject. "Anyhow, dearest, we -shan't be in danger much longer. We're nearly to the end -of the life we've been leading ever since we got back from -our wedding trip. Just think—ever since then! How time -has gone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stirred uncomfortably, ventured: "We've been -happy, and, even if things were to go on just as they are, -we'd continue to be happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, you've had your work and I've had Winchie, -and once in a while we have each other. But most -of the happiness has been in looking forward, hasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She assumed that his silence was assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But don't think, dear," she said, "that I've been -content just to wait. As soon as I saw it was going to be a -long time before I could come to the laboratory——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose abruptly, under the pretense of lighting a fresh -cigar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—I made another occupation for myself. It'll be -next spring at the earliest before I can come to you. And -even then I'll be able to spend only part of the day. -Winchie'll have to be looked after when he's not at the -kindergarten. Now that he's talking and understanding, -it's more necessary than ever to watch over him. I've had -to watch only his body. Now it's both his body and his -mind; for, if any harm came to either, it'd be our fault, -wouldn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no doubt of that," said Dick with strong emphasis, -as he seated himself in a chair opposite her. He -thought this remark of hers opened the way out of his -perplexity. "I don't see how you can come to the laboratory -at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. It's not so bad as that. If it were, I don't -know what I'd do. It'd be choice between losing you and -neglecting him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trash!" exclaimed Dick impatiently. There seemed -something essentially immoral in her whole attitude, an -odor of immorality exuding from everything she said. It -exasperated him that he could not locate it and use it as -the text for the lecture he felt she greatly needed. "Your -good sense must tell you there's not the slightest danger of -your losing me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed with raillery. "Oh, I know you're far too -busy with your chemistry to wander. But that isn't what -I meant. You understand." Her eyes shone upon him. -"Sometimes—when we're holding each other tight and -your lips are on mine—I can scarcely keep from crying. -It seems to me we're like two held apart and trying to be -one—and trying in vain. It's as if we touched only at the -surface, and our bodies were keeping us from each other. -But all that will soon end now, and we'll be really one. -Closer and closer, day by day——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat on his lap, and he clasped her in his arms. He -felt ashamed somehow, and in awe of this emotion that was -beyond him. "How wonderful a pure woman is!" he -thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a pause she sat up, went back to the hammock, -seated herself, leaning toward him. "But I started to -tell you my plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What plans?" he asked, in high good humor with her -again and overflowing with "lighter-hour" tenderness. -"Tell me quick and we'll go in. It's getting late." He -moved to seat himself beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said, laughingly. "Sit where you are. I -want you to listen. It isn't often I can get you to listen. -As I said, I've got to have something worth while to fill -in as I look after Winchie when he's not at kindergarten. -I've been getting ready for a year, and it has given me -occupation when he was sleeping or playing, for I taught -him to amuse himself and not to look to me for everything. -That was good for him and saved me. Well, I studied -gardening and interior decoration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a fuss you do make," said he, amused. "Why -not just settle down and be a plain woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shame on you! Tempting me to go to pieces."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll not improve on the good old-fashioned woman, -my dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You deserve to be married to one of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," declared he. "Your whims don't deceive me. -I know you. Let's go in, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head in smiling reproach. "Then you -don't care to hear my plans?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. What are they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got everything ready to make those changes we -discussed on our honeymoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really!" exclaimed he, seeing that enthusiasm was -expected, though he hadn't the remotest idea what she was -talking about.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I'm going slowly at first, as I want to be -sure, and mustn't be extravagant. I've been very careful. -I've made drawings and even water colors, for I thought -I ought to see how things would look."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was puzzled and alarmed. "I don't believe I know -which scheme you mean," he said. "We discussed so many -things on that trip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean, to change the house and grounds," explained -she with bright enthusiasm. "They'll not be ugly and stiff -and cold looking much longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started up. "Courtney, what are you talking -about?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Dick! Don't you remember? I told you some -of my ideas on gardens and interiors, and you said——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what careless, unthinking remark I may -have dropped," interrupted he angrily. "I certainly never -intended to let you tear things up and make a mess." He -walked up and down. "What possesses you anyhow?" he -cried. "Why can't you behave yourself like a woman? I -never heard of such nonsense! I want you to stop -meddling in things that are beyond you. I want you to do -your duty as a wife and a mother. I want you to stop -annoying me. I didn't marry a blue-stocking, an unsexed -thinking woman. I married a sweet, loving wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat on the edge of the hammock, perfectly still. It -was as if he had struck her unconscious so suddenly that -she had not yet fallen over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What devil keeps nagging at you?" he demanded, -pausing in his angry stride to face her. "It must be some -woman's having a bad influence on you. I'll not have it. -I'll not have my home upset and my wife spoiled. Who is -it, Courtney?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answer me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's myself," replied she in a quiet, dumb way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not yourself. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> are womanly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to have something to do—something worth -while—or I can't live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Attend to your house and your baby, like all true -women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't enough," replied she in the same monotonous, -stupefied way. "It isn't enough for me, any more than it'd -be for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense," said he, with the man's feeling that he -had thereby answered her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She said dazedly: "You didn't mean it. No, you didn't -mean it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mean what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All my plans—my year's work—and such a beautiful -house and place I'll make." She started up, clasped her -hands round his arm. "O Dick—don't be narrow—and -so distrustful of me. I know I can do it. Let me show -you my plans—my sketches——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hands, and said with gentle, firm earnestness, -for he was ashamed of having lost his temper with -a woman: "Courtney, I cannot have it. I will not let you -disturb the place my grandfather gave his best thought to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't like it, dear," she pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I respect my grandfather's memory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But on our wedding trip you said——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, don't argue with me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's because you think I couldn't do it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you couldn't—if you must have the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me show you my sketches and paintings," she -pleaded, in a queer kind of quiet hysteria. "Let me -explain my plans. I'm sure you'll——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Courtney! I've told you my decision. I want -to hear no more about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up into his face searchingly. He was like -the portrait of his unbending grandfather that made the -library uncomfortable. Her arms fell to her sides. She -went to the balcony rail, gazed out into the black masses -of foliage. Taken completely by surprise, she could not -at once realize any part, much less all, of what those words -of his involved; but she felt in her heart the chill of a -great fear—the fear of what she would think, of what she -would know, when she did realize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice interrupted. "While you're on the unpleasant -subject of these notions of yours," he said, with an -attempt at lightness in his embarrassed tone, "we might as -well finish it—get it out of the way forever. I want you -to stop thinking about the laboratory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned, swift as a swallow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I admit I've been at fault—encouraging you to -imagine I'd consent. But I thought you'd forget about it. -Apparently you haven't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I repeat, I'm sorry I misled you. It seemed to me -a trifling deception."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not speak, did not move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you think it over, you'll see that I'm -right—that we're much happier as we are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a long silence, which somehow alarmed him, -though he told himself such a feeling was absurd, she -crossed the balcony to the window. As she paused there, -not looking toward him, the profile of those sweet, irregular -features of hers stood out clearly. That expression, -though it was quiet, increased his absurd alarm. "It's -getting late," she said, and her tone was gentle, apologetic. -"I think I'll go in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you angry, Courtney?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied. "I don't think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why are you silent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she said slowly. "I seem to have -stopped inside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went and put his arms round her. She was passive -as a doll. "Why, you're quite cold, child!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go in. Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll join you in a few minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered. "No," she said. "Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was somewhat disconcerted. Then he reflected that -she could hardly be expected to give up her whims without -a little struggling. "It shows how sweet and good she -is," thought he, "that she took it so quietly." And he went -to bed in the room across the hall—the room he had been -occupying most of the time since three months before -Winchie came. As he fell asleep he felt that he had laid -"the ghost" and had settled all his domestic affairs upon -the proper basis. He slept, but she lay awake the whole -night, watching, tearless, beside her dead.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iv"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Next morning, after her usual breakfast alone, she took -Winchie and went across in the motor boat to her father's. -If she had been led blindfold into that house she would -have known, from the instant of the opening of the door, -that she was at home. Every home has its individual odor. -Hers had a clean, comfortable perfume suggestive of -lavender. She inhaled it deeply now as she paused a moment -in the front hall—inhaled it with a sudden sense of peace, -of sorrow shut out securely. She left the baby in the -sitting room with her sister Lal, and sought out her mother -in the pleasant old-fashioned back parlor with its outlook -on the hollyhocks and sunflowers of the kitchen garden. -Mrs. Benedict, a model of judicial sternness, as her -husband was of judicial gentleness, sat reading a pious book -by the open window. She glanced up as her daughter -entered, and prepared her cold-looking cheek for the -conventional salute. But Courtney was in no mood for conventions. -She seated herself on the roll of the horsehair sofa. -"Mother," she said, "I want to talk to you about Richard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tone was a forewarning—an ominous forewarning -because it was calm. Mrs. Benedict, for all her resolute -unworldliness, had been unable to live sixty-seven years -without there having been forced upon her an amount of -wisdom sufficient to store to bursting the mind of any -woman half her age. She closed the heavy-looking book -in her lap, leaving her glasses to mark the place. "I don't -think I need tell a daughter of mine that she cannot -discuss her husband with anyone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney flushed. "That's just it," replied she. "He -is no longer my husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was astonished at her mother's composure. An -announcement about the weather could not have been less -excitedly received. She did not realize how plainly she -was showing, in her changed countenance, in stern eyes -and resolute chin, the evidences a mother could hardly -fail to read—evidences of a mood a sensible mother would -not aggravate by agitation. "I cannot live with him," she -went on. "I've brought Winchie and come home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her words startled herself. In this imperturbable, severely -sensible presence they sounded hysterical, theatrical, -though she had thought out the idea they conveyed with -what she felt sure was the utmost deliberation. Her -mother's gray-green eyes looked at her—simply looked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you don't believe in divorce, mother. But he -and I have never been really married. He's entirely -different from the man I loved. And he— What he feels -for me isn't love at all. He doesn't know me—and doesn't -want to know me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he sent you away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. </span><em class="italics">He's</em><span> satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Benedict folded her ladylike hands upon the pious -book, said coldly and calmly: "Then you will go back to -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never. I refuse to live with a man who classes me -with the lower animals. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her mother's stern, calm voice interrupted. "Don't say -things you will have to take back. You will return because -there is no place else for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother! Do you refuse to take me and Winchie? -Oh, you don't understand. You—who believe in -religion—you couldn't let me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your father," interrupted her mother in the same cold, -placid way, "is not to be made judge again. We shall -have to give up this house and retire to the farm. We have -nothing but the farm. It will take every cent we can rake -and scrape to pay the insurance premiums. The insurance -premiums must be paid. The insurance is for your sisters. -They have no husbands." And with these few bald statements -she stopped, for she knew that under her daughter's -youthful idealism there was the solid rock of common sense, -that behind her impetuosity there was her father's own -instinct for justice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The farm," said Courtney, stunned. "The farm." Twenty -miles back in the wilderness—a living death—burial -alive. "Oh, mother!" And the girl flung herself -down beside the old woman and clasped her round the -waist. "You shan't go there! I'll go back to Richard -and we'll see that you and father and Lal and Ann stay -on here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her mother was as rigid as the old-fashioned straight-back -chair in which she sat. The blood burned brightly in -the center of each of her white cheeks, but her voice was -distinctly softer as she said: "You will go back. But we -accept nothing from anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney hung her head. "Of course not," she said, -hurried and confused. "I spoke on impulse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better sit in a chair," said Mrs. Benedict. "You -are rumpling your dress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Courtney was not hurt. She had an instinct why -her mother wished her to sit at a distance. "Very well, -mother," said she meekly, and obeyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a pause Mrs. Benedict spoke: "I was not -surprised when you told me. I suppose there is not one -woman in ten thousand who doesn't at least once in the -first five years of her married life resolve to leave her -husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's different with me. I must have something—and -I have nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have your home and Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That house—those prim, dressed-up looking grounds—they've -always oppressed me. And I hate them—now -that—" She checked herself. How futile to relate and -to rail. "As for Winchie, he's not enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be others presently."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney gave her mother a horrified look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do your duty as a wife, and the children will -be your reward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney could not discuss this; discussion would be -both useless and painful. "There may be some women who -could be content with looking after a house and the wants -of children," said she. "But I'm not one of them, and I -never saw or heard of a worth-while woman who was. -How am I to spend the time? I'm like you—I don't care -for running about doing inane things. I can't just read -and read, with no purpose, no sympathy. It seems to me -I could do almost anything with love—almost nothing -without it.... Brought up and educated like a man, and then -condemned to the old-fashioned life for women—a life no -man would endure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her mother was looking out through the window, a -strange expression about her stern mouth—the expression -of one who, old and in a far, cold land, thinks of home and -youth when the sun warmed the blood and the heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I do if I go back?" repeated Courtney. -"But why ask that? I've simply got to go back. As you -say, there's no place else for me." A flush of shame -overspread her cheeks. "Oh, it's so degrading!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget Winchie," said her mother, and her tone -was gentle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I thought of that excuse. But I was ashamed -to speak it. It seemed like hypocrisy. Of course, I've got -to go back for his sake. But if I hadn't him I'd go back -just the same. Mother, you ought to have had me educated -more or else less. If I knew less I could be content with -the sort of life women used to think was the summit of -earthly bliss. If I knew more I could make my own life. -I could be independent. I begin to understand why women -are restless nowadays. We're neither the one thing nor -the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up to a certain point Mrs. Benedict could understand -her daughter, could sympathize. She could even have -supplemented Courtney's forebodings as to the future with -drearier actualities of experience. But beyond that point -the two women were hopelessly apart. "You are warring -with God," she rebuked. "He has ordained woman's -position." And to her mind that settled everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't God," replied Courtney. "It's just ignorance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is God," declared her mother, in the fanatic tone -that told Courtney her mind was closed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mother and daughter belonged to two different -generations—the two that are perhaps further apart than any -two in all human history. Courtney saw how far apart -she and her mother were, thought she understood why her -mother could sympathize with her restlessness in woman's -ancient bondage, but could only say "sacrilege" when the -younger and better educated woman went on from vague -restlessness to open revolt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God has seen fit to make the lot of woman hard," -said the mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is God," cried the daughter, "then the less -said about Him the better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney, your sinful heart will bring you to grief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it a sin to think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sometimes believe it is—for a woman," replied the -mother, with the kind of bitter irony into which the most -reverent devotee is sometimes goaded by the whimsical -cruelties of his deity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney had long since learned to be unargumentative -before her mother's somber and savage religion, so logical -yet so inhuman. She had dimly felt that if she ever -investigated religion, the misery of the world would compel her -to choose between believing in her mother's devil god and -believing nothing. So she left religion aside in her scheme -of life, like so many of the men and women of her -generation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to have had more education or less," she -repeated. "I ought to have had more, for it wouldn't have -been fair to give me less than the rest of the girls have."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fancied it was her formal education of the college -that had made her think and feel as she did. In fact, that -had little, perhaps nothing, to do with it; for colleges, -except the as yet few scientific schools—stupefy or stunt -more minds than they stimulate. She was simply a child -of her own generation, and the forces that were stirring -her to restlessness were part of its universal atmosphere—the -atmosphere all who live in it must breathe, the "spirit -of the time" that makes the very yokel with his eyes upon -the clod see things in it his yokel father never saw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knew her mother would gladly help her, but she -realized she might as hopefully appeal to Winchie. All -her mother could say would be: "Yes, it is sad. But the -only thing to do is to return and pretend to be the -old-fashioned wife, and perhaps custom will make the harness -cease to gall." Well, perhaps her mother was right; -perhaps there was no solution, no self-respecting hopeful -solution. Certainly she could not support herself, except in -some menial and meager way that would more surely kill -all that was aspiring in her than would submission to the -lot which universal custom made abject only in theory. She -could not support herself—and there was Winchie, too. -Winchie had his rights—rights to the advantages his -father's position and fortune gave. Dick had made it clear -that he did not and would not have the kind of love, the -kind of relationship, she believed in. She must go on his -terms or not at all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ended the long silence, during which her mother -sat motionless in an attitude of patient waiting for the -inevitable. "I will go," she said. "And I will try to be -to him the kind of wife he wants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Benedict looked at her daughter; there were tears -of pride in her eyes. "That is right," she said, and they -talked of it no more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But on the way back in the motor boat, and for the rest -of that day, and for a good part of many a day and many -a night thereafter, Courtney Vaughan's mind was stormily -busy. It teemed with the thoughts that in this age of -the break-up of the old-fashioned institution of the family -force themselves early or late upon every woman endowed -with the intelligence to have, or to dream of, self-respect.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Thenceforth Dick Vaughan, if he had thought about -it at all, would have congratulated himself on his wise and -thorough adjustment of his threatened domestic affairs. But -he gave no more thought to it than does the next human -being. We do not annoy ourselves with what is going on in -the heads of those around us. We look only at results. And -usually this plan works well; for, no matter what the -average human being may have in mind, the habit of a routine of -action ultimately determines his or her real self. Once in -a while, however, circumstances interfere, encourage the -latent revolt against action's routine apparently so placidly -pursued. But this is rare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The weeks, the months went by; and Courtney seemed, -and thought herself, a typical "settled" wife and mother. -That is, as "settled" as an intelligent, energetic, and -young woman, restless in mind and body, could be. She -did not attempt to come to a definite verbal understanding -with him. What would be the use? There was nothing to -change except herself. There was nothing to explain. -She understood him. He did not understand her, did not -wish to, could not on account of his prejudices, however -carefully she might explain. "No," thought she, "the -only thing is for me to accept my position as woman and -adapt myself to it, since I haven't the right, or the -courage, or the whatever it is I lack, to do as I'd like." The -only outward difference in their relations was that she -rarely talked with him, and when he was about, fell into -his habit of abstraction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That winter he became extremely irregular about -coming to dinner, and as the days lengthened with the spring -he often worked on through supper time also. In late -May or early June he began to note that when he did come -up to the house for supper, his wife was sometimes there -and sometimes not. Gradually her absence made an -impression on him, and her always answering his inquiry -with, "I was over at the club." As that meant the Outing -Club, established and supported and frequented by the -young people of Wenona and its suburbs, he was entirely -satisfied. This, until about midsummer. One evening, -when she returned in the dusk from supper at the club, -she found him seated on the bench at the landing stage, -smoking moodily. He was scantily civil to Shirley -Drummond, who had brought her in the club launch. When -Shirley was well on the way back to the north shore, -Courtney, who had seated herself beside her husband, spoke of -the heat and unwound the chiffon scarf about her bare neck -and shoulders. Dick glanced round. In some moods he -would not have seen at all. In other moods those slender -shoulders, that graceful throat, and the small head with -its lightly borne masses of auburn hair would have appealed -to his pride and joy of possession. But things had gone -wrong at "the shop," and he was in the mood that could -readily either turn him to her for the consolation of a -"lighter hour" or set him off in a rage. He frowned upon -the exposed shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you get that dress?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard simply the question. Her thoughts were on -the events of the evening at the club. "Had it made here," -said she, unconscious of his mood. "It's something like -one I saw in a fashion picture from Paris. Like it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To her amazement he replied angrily: "I do not. I've -never seen a dress I disapproved of so thoroughly. Don't -wear it again, and please be careful how you adopt a -fashion you get that way. French fashions are set by a class -of women I couldn't speak to you about. Respectable -women have to alter them greatly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what's the matter with the dress?" exclaimed -she. "Everyone admired it at the club."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't decent," replied he. "I know you are so -innocent that you don't think of those things. But it's my -duty to protect you. I won't have men commenting on my -wife's person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Dick," protested she, "this isn't a low-cut dress. -It's higher than those I usually wear. It has bands across -the shoulders and a real back——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then change all your dresses. You must not make -yourself conspicuous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Conspicuous! The other women wear much lower-cut -dresses than I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know about such things," said he peremptorily. -"I don't believe in low-neck dresses anyhow. What -business has a good woman flaunting her charms—rousing -in other men thoughts she ought to rouse in her husband -only?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think it's all a matter of custom?" she said -persuasively. She was not convinced, or even shaken. But -she admired the shrewdness of his argument. The reason -she had never grown to dislike him was that even in his -prejudices he was always plausible, and not in his -narrowest narrowness was he ever petty. "Now really, Dick, -if that were carried out logically, a woman'd have to cover -her face and not speak, for often it's a woman's voice that -charms a man"—with a little laugh—"and once in a long -while what she says."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would carry it out logically," replied he promptly, -"if I had my way. That reminds me. You're away from -home very often these days, I notice. You're over at the -club a great deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The weather's been so fine, everybody goes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no objection to your going occasionally. But -after all the place for a good woman is at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought so too, as a general principle; home -undoubtedly was the place for a good woman, or any sort -of woman, or for a man; that was to her mind the meaning -of home—the most attractive, the most magnetic spot -on earth. However, the Vaughan place was not "home." She -could not discuss this with him, so she simply -answered, "But I get bored—here alone—and with nothing -to do. And nobody'll come at this time of year, with -something on at the club every day and evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't even stay home to meals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither do you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I haven't Winchie to look after."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He plays with the other children at the kindergarten. -And Miss Brockholst can keep a child amused as I couldn't. -When I stay out to supper I see that Nanny or Lizzie -brings him home and puts him to bed. And I'm not out to -supper often."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like it," said Dick imperiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to come with me," rejoined she. "But you -never will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no time for foolishness. And I'm sure you haven't -either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ought I to do with myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What other good women do. Our mothers didn't hang -about clubs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But these aren't pioneer times. Things are -entirely different nowadays. That was why—" She did not -finish. She did not wish to remind him how he had -refused to let her either share his life or make a life of her -own. She refrained because the subject might be unpleasant -to him. It was no longer unpleasant to her; she -now had not the least desire to share his life, was in a way -content to drift aimlessly along with the rest of the aimless -women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, many of the women are different nowadays," -said he. "The more reason for my wife's conducting -herself as a woman should."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flushed with sudden anger. "Why can't you -accept a woman as a human being?" exclaimed she. "Oh, -you men—tempting—compelling—us to be hypocrites—and -making our natural impulses rot into vices because -they have to be hid away in the dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will not quarrel," said he, in the calm superior -tone he always took when their talk touched on the two -sexes. "I simply say I will not tolerate my wife's being -a club lounger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To have answered would have been to say what must -precipitate a furious and futile quarrel. She kept silent, -with less effort than many women would have to make in -the circumstances. She had had the conventional feminine -training in self-suppression, that so often gives women the -seeming of duplicity and only too often imperceptibly leads -them into forming the habit of duplicity. She had also had -special training in self-concealment through having been -brought up austerely. She kept silent, and made up her -mind to obey. She had heard much talk among the women -at the club about the "rights of a wife"; but it had not -convinced her. She could not see that she, or any other -of the women married as was she, contributed to the family -anything that entitled her to oppose the husband's will as -to how it should be conducted. And she would have -scorned to get by cajolery what she could not have got -honestly. She was thus the good wife, not through fear of -him, for she was not a coward and he was not the sort of -small tyrant that makes the women and the children -tremble; nor was it because she was faithful to her marriage -vows, for she never thought of them. Her submissiveness -was entirely due to the agreement she had tacitly signed -the day she went back to him, after the talk with her -mother. In return for shelter and support she would be, -so far as she could, the kind of wife he wanted.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She kept away from the club, stayed at home; and soon -the telephone bell was ringing, and pleading voices were -giving the flattering proof that in her abrupt divorce from -the social life of the town the sense of loss was by no means -altogether on her side. And presently over came Sarah -Carpenter escorted by her big handsome brother, Shirley -Drummond, "as a committee of two," so Sarah put it, "to -investigate and report on your cruel and inhuman -treatment of us." It was dull, frightfully dull, at the club -house, she went on to explain. They did nothing but sit -round and try to guess why Courtney Vaughan had dropped -them. "And have you forgotten the flower show you were -planning? and the play you were going to organize? and -the Venetian fête?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that was just talk," replied Courtney. "It's far -too hot. I'm resting, and looking after my boy. I'll be -over some afternoon soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sarah pleaded and coaxed. Shirley took no part, but -sat on the veranda rail, his long legs swinging, his eyes on -the interior of the straw hat he was turning round and -round between his hands. When Sarah realized that there -was unalterable resolution under Courtney's light and gay -laughing off of her entreaties, she bade Shirley wait there -for her and went to call on Molly Donaldson. Courtney -looked admiringly after Sarah's long willowy figure and -striking costume—sunshade and hat, dress and stockings -and ties, all of various cool, harmonious shades -of red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your sister always was pretty," said Courtney. "But -since she's married it seems to me she gets prettier all the -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marriage does bring out those women that don't go to -pieces," said he. "I guess it's because they get the courage -to be more like themselves. Girls are such hypocrites—always -posing. You were the only one I ever liked. You -weren't a hypocrite. Where you didn't dare be yourself -you simply kept quiet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like your impudence—attacking women for being -what you men compel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe so," said he absently. "But I didn't come over -here in the hot sun to talk generalities. Look here, -Courtney, there's something I've got to say to you." His -good-humored commonplace face was even redder than the heat -and his bulk—for he wasn't a thin man—warranted. His -voice was low and confused, yet suggested a man talking -against a mob and determined to be heard. "I've got to -tell you that I care for you—and have ever since we used -to walk from high school together—whenever some other -fellow didn't slip in ahead of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, puzzled, rapidly reviewed her conduct toward -Shirley the past two months—since he came home from -Harvard Law School. She recalled nothing that could -have given him encouragement to this speech. "I should -hope you did like me," she said carelessly. "Of course, -we're good friends, as always." She rose. "Let's go over -to Donaldson's." Her tone and manner contained the subtle -warning to desist that reaches through the thickest skin -into the dullest brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know what I mean," said Shirley doggedly. -"Now listen to me while I make a proposition. You're -a sensible, up-to-date woman, and this is the twentieth -century, not the dark ages. I'm not as clever as some, -but neither am I as much the muttonhead as maybe you -think. Anyhow, I appreciate you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drop it," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to get a divorce and marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke as tranquilly as if they were at a dance and -he were asking her for the next two-step. She stared. -"Well, I never did!" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you're surprised," said he. "I've thought about -it so much that I've got used to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is something new—a woman getting proposals -after she's married, just as if she wasn't." She was -laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" retorted he, unruffled. "Nobody looks -on marriage as the finish any more. I don't think you love -me—not for a minute. You've got better brains than I -have—a lot better, for I'll admit I'm pretty slow. But -you've tried brains and you see they don't amount to much -when it comes down to solid living. You don't love me -now. But, Courtney, if you'll marry me, I'll guarantee to -treat you and the youngster so that you'll simply </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> to -love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was slowly recovering from her utter amazement, -when he spoke those last words in his simple, honest way -with his love in his voice, in his eyes—love that makes -bright the dullest face, quickens into bloom the barrenest -fancy, puts sweet music in the most tedious voice. Her -words of rebuke dropped back unsaid, her throat choked -up and tears welled into her eyes. While she was still -trying to control this sudden treachery of her hungry heart, -he went on: "I was away to college when I heard you -were engaged. I cut exams, and everything and rustled -out here. But I saw you were dead in love. It nearly -knocked me out. Then it occurred to me that marrying's -only a trial go and that in a few years I might get you and -you'd be all the better for the experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What he said did not shock her. But she was shocked -that she was not shocked. Still, it isn't easy to meet a -wholly new form of attack; and less easy is it to be stiff -and stern with a person one has known always and liked -always—a person one knows to be through and through -sincere and profoundly respectful. "Shirley," said she, -"you mean well and you are slow—so, you don't realize -that what you've said is perfectly outrageous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" demanded he. "Is it an insult to a woman -to tell her you love her? Is it a crime to let her know that, -if she isn't suited, there's some one waiting to try to help -her get suited? Where's the outrage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know just where," admitted she. "But I -feel that it is an outrage—that you've taken advantage of -our friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, I've shown I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> your friend; ready -to stand by you. I haven't laid a finger on you, and, so -help me God, Courtney, I couldn't try. I'm that old fogey, -at least. And I haven't tried to wheedle or win you—have -I? I just made a plain statement that if you want me, -I'm waiting—and eager. I've seen how things are with -you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've seen nothing of the kind!" Her pride and -her loyalty were in arms now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with eyes that were as honest as an -open sky. "You don't love your husband, nor he you," -he said. "If you did, you'd not see as little of each other -as you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shirley, it's cowardly to say those things," she began -angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'd say 'em to him, if it wasn't that I'm afraid -you'd have to suffer for it. You needn't get mad. I've -been so damn miserable this past week, not seeing you, -that I don't care what happens to me. I know why you -don't come over any more. He's shut you up here. I saw -it in his face that night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was about time he stopped me, I see," said she -quickly. "Evidently he understood better than I did. But -you mustn't go away thinking I'm obeying a jailer. Do -you suppose I'd stay here at the request of a man unless -I cared for him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," replied he. "A right sort woman'll put -up with most anything to avoid a row. You needn't try -to fool me, Courtney. I know—everyone knows—the -truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth!" cried Courtney. "How dare you sit -there insulting me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Courtney!" begged he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go join your sister and take her back without -coming here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt she ought to leave him; but her hungry heart -would not let her go. She lingered, looking at him angrily, -watching the utter love in his countenance—and enjoying -it. He slowly dropped from the veranda rail and faced -her. His look was that same mingling of gentle and fierce -qualities that makes a bulldog's face fascinating. "If -I've said anything I shouldn't, I beg your pardon," said -he. "But I stick to my proposition. You can take it or -leave it—now, or next year—or whenever you like. It's you -or nobody for me." He put out his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped her hands behind her. But she had to lower -her head that he might not see—"and misunderstand"—her -swimming eyes, her trembling lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please shake hands," he begged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That hurts," said he shakily, and she turned hastily -away. "But," he added, "I'm used to hurts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lingered, embarrassed. At length, with a huge sigh, -he descended from the veranda and plodded across the lawn -toward the hedge. She darted upstairs and shut herself -in her room and cried, lying on the bed face down. She -felt guilty; would not the right sort of woman have been -able to meet such talk from a man, even a Shirley Drummond, -with effective fiery resentment? But she knew it -was not her guilt that she was weeping for. No, her tears -were flowing from the wounds in her heart—the wounds -she had thought healed. She had not the faintest feeling -in the least akin to love for Shirley Drummond. She never -could love him. She had always avoided him as far as her -instinct against hurting people's feelings permitted. His -grotesque proposal, in itself, appealed only to her sense of -humor. But at the mere sound of loving words, words of -considerate tenderness, how her whole being vibrated! It -terrified her, this heart of hers suddenly and fiercely -insurgent.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The next evening after supper she interrupted Dick in -the library. "Richard," she said gravely, "I want you to -come upstairs with me a few minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said he. "Directly." And he worked -on—and would have continued to work until bedtime had -she not insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Right away, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced up. Her eyes prevented him from returning -to his calculations. "All right," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her sitting room was changed into a painting and drawing -exhibition. On the walls, on tables, on sofas and chairs, -and leaning against the baseboard were pictures and plans -of interiors and of gardens, many in colors, more in black -and white, most of all in ground-plan drawings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were right about my going to the club too much," -replied she. "I shall stay at home more. But I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> have -something to occupy me. These are my plans for making -over the house and grounds. Please don't try to stop me. -I am going to explain it all to you, and I ask you to be -considerate and polite enough to listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her manner was compelling; the exhibit was interesting. -And he looked and listened as she talked, rapidly, -intensely, yet clearly and calmly, describing the whole -scheme in minutest detail, not forgetting expense which -she demonstrated would be small. He asked several -questions—enough to show that he was giving his attention. -When she finished she was trembling all over. He continued -to inspect the water colors that showed how things would -look when the changes had been made. After a while he -smiled and nodded at her. "Very clever," he said. -"Really, I had no idea you could do anything like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her mouth and throat were dry; her eyes gleamed. -She was giving out the force that flows from a soul in -desperate earnest—the force that sweeps away any opposition -not already aggressive, before it has a chance to gather. -"I may try it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's another matter," reflected he aloud. "I -ought to say no, for I'm sure you'll be disappointed and -your mistakes'll have to be covered up." Now that he was -reminded of it he was ashamed of the curt ill-humored way -he had issued his orders about her going to the club. -"But you can only learn by trying. So, I've no objections -to your making a start." He laid his hands on her -shoulders. "A little at a time—remember!" he cautioned. "A -</span><em class="italics">very</em><span> little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that unconsciousness of her being intelligent -enough to see his thoughts in his expression—an -unconsciousness to which she had long since got used, but never -hardened—he was showing that he wished to refuse her, -but that, being taken by surprise, he in his kindness of -heart could not frame a pretext. His manner took from her -all desire or ability to thank him. "I'll be careful," said -she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smile in his eyes was like a parent's at a precocious -child. He kissed her, patted her cheek, went back to his -work. He had read the anthropologies, all written by -men. Anthropology being out of his line, he accepted as -exact science the prejudice and baseless assertion and -misleading "statistics" there set down as "laws." Nature -had made man active, woman passive; thus, action in woman -was contrary to nature, was inevitably abortive and -whimsical, was never, except by rare accident, valuable. "She's -clever," thought he, by way of finis to the subject. "But -she'll soon tire of this thing and drop it. Well, I suppose -a few more years'll wash away the smatter she got at -college, and this restlessness of hers will yield to nature, -and she'll be content and happy in her womanhood. A few -more children would have an excellent effect. She's -suffering from the storing up of the energy that ought to have -outlet in childbearing. As grandfather often said, it's a -dreadful mistake, educating women beyond their sphere. -But it hasn't done the dear child any permanent harm. -She's far too womanly."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="v"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By the time Winchie was four years old—and in looks -and health, in truthfulness and self-reliance a credit to -her—she had about completed the transformation of house -and grounds. The Vaughan place was no longer an example -of those distressing attempts to divorce beauty from -its supreme quality, use, that are the delight of the -unfortunates whose esthetic faculty has been paralyzed by -the mediæval monastic education still blighting the modern -world. It was, throughout, beauty applied to use, use -achieved in beauty. She had no theory in doing this; she -followed the leadings of a courageous and unspoiled taste -which was thoroughly practical, as practical as that of the -artists of the age of Pericles, a taste which abhorred the -bizarre and the blatant. The results would not have -pleased Colonel Achilles; they would not have stirred the -enthusiasm of anyone who has been enslaved by false -education to admire only what has been approved by -tradition. But charm no one could have denied. Winter and -summer the house, livable and restful in every corner, -bloomed within—for over no other part of nature is man's -dominion so complete as over the plant kingdom. From -early spring through the last warm days of autumn the -grounds were delightful to behold; it was as if summer -were living there freely and at ease, with no restraint -upon her except keeping her clear of the restraint of her -own profuse and careless litter. In winter the lawns and -clumps and hedges were by no means dead or filled only -with evergreen's mortuary suggestions; there are many -plants that bloom with bright berries and leaves in the -midst of snow and ice, and Courtney knew about them. -Winter indoors seemed a millennium in which winter and -summer lived amicably together. There were snows and -icy storms without, huge open fires within; the windows -were gay with blossoming plants, and from a conservatory -she built and stocked at surprisingly small cost there -came cut flowers for vases and bowls as well as plants that -replaced those which had done service and needed rest. -Courtney was one of those for whom things grow; her own -vivid life seemed to radiate throughout her surroundings -and infect all things with the passion to live vividly. With -the flowers, as with Winchie, she was patient, intelligent, -understanding—never expecting too much, always encouraging -to the least disposition to develop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this wonder of transformation was not wrought in -a day, nor by dreaming. It came as the result of tireless -and incessant labor of brain and hand. She had dreamed -her dream; she was determined that it should be realized. -Failure did not daunt her; it taught her. Nor was she -halted by her sense, rather than experience, of a latent -reluctance in Richard about giving her money he wanted -for the laboratory; for, as his work there expanded, its -expenses grew rapidly heavier. She did not ask him for -the money; she did not let him know she needed it; she -got along without it. In such work as she was doing it -takes a vast deal of thought, of planning and contriving, -to take the place of money. She did that necessary -thinking. When she could get a little money, she spent it to -amazing advantage; when she could not, she went on without -it. Some of her most satisfying results came through -the work made necessary by lack of money. Very powerful, -too, was the influence of this upon her character—in -developing self-reliance and self-respect which come only -through successful independent action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, after nearly three years of days of toil that was -also play, since she loved it, she saw, but a short distance -ahead, a time when she would have little to do beyond -taking care that Jimmie and Bill kept the grounds up, and -that Nanny and Mazie and Lizzie did their work properly -in the house. There would be minor changes, new -features; but the task as a task was almost done. And, -in spite of Nanny's opposition, she had put the household -on a systematic basis, so that with a little daily attention -every part of the routine went smoothly, each servant -doing his or her share of the work in the same way always -and at the same time. She was about to have many hours -each day liberated—and this, in a quiet place, where time -refuses to take wings, but insists upon being definitely -employed every moment of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What should she do next? She had grown through her -work. She had educated her originality and her instinctive -good taste, had educated them so intelligently that -originality had not lost its courage nor good taste its breadth. -It had not "settled" her to make a home, as it "settles" -a human or lower animal that acts largely from instinct -and example and that conceives a home to be chiefly a place -to eat and sleep. On the contrary, it had unsettled her -the more. Her character had not changed. Character -never does change; it simply develops, responding to its -environment like any other growing thing. Her character -had developed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What next? What should she do to occupy hand and -brain, now grown far more skillful? What should she do -with heart? It was now grown far bolder in its dreams -and longings; and from time to time it was giving ever -more imperious notice that not much longer would it be -content with solicitude about a child and makeshift -interest in interior decoration and landscape gardening, but -would demand its right to the fullness of experience. She -temporized with these ominous threatenings. She hoped -there would be more children—for children would -compel her. From Richard, the absorbed, the well pleased -with his "settled, womanly wife," she expected nothing—and -wished nothing. The routine of matrimony had become -as unconscious as breathing or winking. Her sense -of moral obligation to him was also automatic; she felt -its restraint not definitely as the wife of a certain Richard -Vaughan, but generally as a woman of the married estate. -She knew little about him beyond what he thought of her, -of marriage—and that knowledge killed all further -interest in him. He knew nothing whatever about her beyond -the surface—her physical charm, enhanced by good taste -in dress. The comfort of his home and its order, the -surprising success of her "tinkerings" with house and -grounds made small impression upon him. The changes -had come about gradually; and he was absorbed at the -Smoke House. Before the next change was made he had -got used to the one preceding, and had come to regard it -as something that had always existed. And she was not -one of those who see to it that they get full credit by -preceding, accompanying, and following every act with blast -of trumpets. She did things because she liked to do them, -just as she learned because she liked to know. She worked -without friction or bluster. Also, having dismissed him -from her inner, her real life, as he had dismissed her from -his, it never occurred to her to talk to him about -herself—and her work was herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What next? She often asked the question as she -paused to look about her and saw so short a distance ahead -the end of her task. But she was not troubled because -she could not answer the question. She waited with a -certain confident tranquillity until an answer should be -imperative. Meanwhile— One look at her was enough -to convince that her lot had been better than the lot of the -gay, discontented young married women of Wenona society -who pitied her because of her solitude. They did not -realize that not only were they unhappy, but also were -without the capacity to enjoy happiness if it should offer, -had lost the capacity as utterly as a deaf man the capacity -to enjoy music. One may abuse intellect or heart with -impunity no more than body. Transgression and punishment -are simply cause and effect. There were times when -Courtney wished she could be gayer; but at least she was -never bored, never did the things that do not amuse in -the doing, and have an aftermath of disgust. She had -an intense, ever intenser desire to live life to its -uttermost limits of interest and joy; but that did not seem to -her to mean changing her clothes many times a day, -rushing from house to house, from party to party, gossiping, -eating indigestible sauces and desserts, and playing bridge. -She knew what she did not want. She did not know what -she wanted—did not dare inquire. She feared life was a -good deal of a cheat—not altogether a cheat, not by any -means—but still a raiser of longings it had no way to -satisfy, of expectations it had no way to fulfill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fancied herself little changed since her marriage. -And she was hardly changed at all physically. But in -mind she was a woman full grown—a rarity indeed in our -civilization which tends to make odalisques and parasites -out of the women it does not crush under toil. She was -ready for a strong part in life, should opportunity offer. -Meanwhile, she was living her placid routine with the -originality and interest with which intelligence can invest -the humblest, the most usual acts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wrote in her commonplace book this sentence:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love is a tune we whistle in the dark of our -aloneness to keep up our courage."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In Winchie's fourth year, in the spring, Judge Benedict -had an illness so severe that Courtney went to the -farm, taking Winchie with her to stay until the crisis -passed. It was nearly three weeks before decision for life -was rendered and she could return home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been gone during what ought to have been -her busiest season. She rather expected to find the place -in some confusion. Instead, so far advanced toward -completion were her plans, and so thoroughly had she trained -Jimmie and his son Bill and the house servants, everything -was well under way. All her instructions, both those given -before she left and those written to Jimmie from her -father's—had been carried out exactly. They had worked -as hard as if she had been there, had done it because they -loved her—for only love can arouse and inspire the -sluggish energies of those who serve. The lawns were trim -and freshly green, the walks were covered with new -tan-bark; and its red brown harmonized with the colors of lawn -and trees as its odor harmonized with the odors from the -grass and the foliage, from the brilliant flowers in great -beds at either side of the house. All the windows were gay -with boxes of blooming plants. Railings of verandas and -balconies were draped with mats of budding creepers. -The gardens—the beds in the lawns and along the -verandas—the edges of walks and drives—the thickets and -trellises—all were blossoming and odorous. Lovely -contrasts of light and shade, delicious perfumes, birds -flashing to and fro, singing in the trees and bushes—the -Vaughan place illustrated what Pope meant when he called -landscape gardening nature plus a soul. The soul that -had given form to nature's color and perfume was Courtney's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the carriage drove down the deeply shaded main -drive from highway to drive-front porch, she gazed round -with a creator's pride and joy and love. She had two -children—Winchie and this lovely place. All the -servants gathered to welcome her—all except old Nanny, who -had never forgiven and who resented the changes as -sacrilege. They watched eagerly for signs of approval. Her -expression, as she looked at what they had done, then at -them, the unsteady voice in which she said "Beautiful—beautiful" -went straight to their hearts. Within the house, -everywhere open wide to June's enchantment, there was -evidence of the same creative impulse—order without -stiffness, art without any trace of art's labor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie would go straightway to look at his rabbits; -she went upstairs alone to bathe and change after the -dusty journey, telling Lizzie to bring him as soon as he -had satisfied himself that his rabbits were all right. The -door of the bedroom immediately across the hall from hers -stood open, and with the thorough housekeeper's instinct -she glanced in. It was the room Dick usually occupied. -Instead of Dick's belongings she saw, spread about, toilet -articles and clothing strange to her. She entered. On the -bureau she instantly noted a pair of tasteful silver and -ebony brushes; the monogram was "B.G." She opened -a drawer; neckties, more attractive than any she had ever -seen, filled two compartments to overflowing with their -patterned silks and linens. In the third compartment -several dozen line handkerchiefs; the monogram on them was -again "B.G."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened the nearest closet. On forms hung perhaps -a dozen coats; she recognized the cut and materials as -foreign. Beneath was a long row of boots, shoes, pumps, -slippers, all of the kind a woman of taste at once knows -and appreciates. As she was closing the door there swung -out from the hook high up a suit of beautiful striped linen -pajamas monogramed in gray and faintly perfumed with -lavendar. She went on into the adjoining front room—the -room Dick had used as a study. Obviously, he no longer -used it. The books of fiction and poetry—the big silver -cigarette box—the gaudily trimmed silk dressing gown -flung carelessly on a chair—none of these belonged to him -or suggested his studious and rather Spartan temperament.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the hall she saw Lizzie just come with Winchie. -"Who's in these rooms?" asked she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Gallatin," replied Lizzie. "Mr. Vaughan put -him in here and moved down to the suite at the Smoke -House."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lizzie's tone indicated that she was assuming Courtney -knew all about Mr. Gallatin. That tone put her on guard. -"When did he come?" asked she, feeling her way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two weeks ago yesterday. He's very nice. He's as -particular as you about his things, but it's a pleasure to -look after them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had Richard forgotten to tell her he expected this -Mr. Gallatin? Or had she, fallen long since into his -absent-minded habit, failed to hear as he told her? Was it a -chance visit from some college or scientific acquaintance? -The character of the stranger's installation—the quantity -of clothing—did not speak for a brief chance visit. The -quality of the clothing, the taste, the care, the worldly -interest and knowledge it suggested, were all against the -idea of "B.G.'s" being a devotee of science. At least, -if there were such scientists, this was the first she had -known of it. After she had changed for the evening, and -had given Winchie his supper and sent him to bed, she -went into the stranger's quarters again. These personal -belongings of his attracted her; they so clearly revealed -taste and refinement, a refinement unusual in a man; they -so strongly hinted a personality more in sympathy with -her own passionate joy in life than with Richard's intellectual -abstractions. In the early days of their married life -Richard had been rather particular about himself; but he -had got more and more indifferent, no longer shaved every -day, was at times distinctly slovenly. "B.G. is a -bachelor," thought she. "Married men—except those that are -at heart bachelors—soon lose this sort of gloss." Usually -she had not the faintest interest in anything concerning -Richard. But this man interested her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in the sitting room downstairs, playing and -singing in an undertone when Richard came. "Hello," -said he. And he kissed the cheek she turned to a reachable -angle. His manner was as casual as hers. It was their -habitual manner, and long had been. The difference -between his habit and hers was that his yielded from time to -time to the intermittent gusts of desire, while hers remained -always tranquilly cool. "Your father's quite all right -again?" was his careless first question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so. I think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not merely looking at her now, he was seeing -her. His eyes lighted up and into his voice came the -wooing note. "Glad you've not dropped into my sloppy ways," -said he. He was admiring her pale-green chiffon dress -that left the slender column of her throat bare and her -forearms, but almost concealed her shoulders. "Gallatin -won't think we're altogether barbarians here. He dresses -for supper. He's at it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes showed that he was not thinking at all of -Gallatin, but of her—thoughts which did not leave her -entirely indifferent, but gave her an unwonted sense of vague -distaste, after her long absence and complete freedom. -As he moved toward her she said: "There's time for you -to dress. And you need a shave badly. Is he from the -East?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Philadelphia by way of Pittsburg. He's been -doing a little chemistry in his amateurish way in the mills -there. I'd not have him about if I didn't need his money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick was coming on toward her again. "The bell will -ring in ten minutes," she reminded him. Perhaps through -perverseness, the impulse to evade was a little stronger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he came, put his arms round her, kissed her again, -this time with undivided attention. She lost the impulse -to evade, submitted, smiled amicably, and, to extricate -herself, rose. The lines of her dress brought out the -perfection of her small, slim figure; its color harmonized with -her deep-sea eyes and with the delicate bronze of her skin. -"What a beauty you are!" he exclaimed. "No wonder -I'm so proud of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Usually she was indifferent, without being conscious of -it; this evening of her return from freedom to married life -she felt her indifference. She said coldly, "If you're going -to dress——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A shave'll be enough," protested Dick. "Your -finery'll more than make up for my absence of it. Bachelors -like Gallatin have to sleek themselves up. They've -still got their brides to win."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to be extra civil to Gallatin. He's likely -to get bored in this quiet place after a few months. He's -rather gay, I imagine. At least he used to be. And I don't -want him to pull out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After a few months," repeated Courtney, interested. -"Why, how long is he to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A year or so—perhaps longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here in the house!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't put him down at the laboratory, so near my -secrets. I'm not going to let him in on everything. That's -part of our bargain. We're partners, you understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here in the house!" exclaimed Courtney again. The -very idea of an outsider as spectator at what was going -on there made her acutely conscious of it, all in an -instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you'll like him—at least, you must for my sake. -He doesn't amount to much, but he's agreeable—well -mannered—good family—entertaining in a light way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There goes the bell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick rushed away to shave. He had been gone but a -few moments when Courtney was roused from her agitated -reverie by the sense of some one in the room. Near the -threshold stood the newcomer, who was to be a factor in -her intimate life, a spectator of it, whether she willed or -no, for "a year or so—perhaps longer." He was a blond -young man, fair and smooth of skin, his hair almost golden. -He certainly was not handsome; only his coloring and a -pair of frank gray eyes saved him from downright homeliness. -As their eyes met, his heavy, conventional face was -suddenly transformed by as charming a smile as she had -ever seen. He was of about the medium height, his figure -neither powerful nor weak. He wore a dinner suit of dark -gray, fashionably draped upon him, pumps, gray socks -that matched his gray silk tie, a plaited French shirt, an -unusually tall, perfectly fitting collar. If he had not been -so well and so tastefully dressed, he would have attracted -no attention anywhere—unless he had smiled. That smile -meant a frank nature, a kind and generous heart—rarities -to make their possessor distinguished in whatever company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, with woman's swift grasp of surface details, -noted all this and more while she was advancing with -extended hand and saying, "Mr. Gallatin, is it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was obviously confused and embarrassed. Her natural, -self-unconscious manner encouraged him candidly to -explain. "I feel very shy," said he, speaking with a strong -Eastern accent, "and very guilty. Shy because, before I -came, I had somehow got the impression Vaughan was not -married—and that we were to keep bachelor hall. I was -astonished to find he had a wife." His eyes added -without impertinence that he was amazed and dazzled now that -he saw the wife. "I feel guilty," he went on, "because I -seem to be thrusting myself in upon you. But Vaughan -assured me I'd not be intruding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't trouble yourself about that," said she. -She liked his accent; it was pleasant as a novelty, and -rather amusing. She liked his manners. They were of -the best type of conventional manners, the type affected -by fashionable people everywhere, the type that is excelled -only by the kind of manners of which it is an artful and -insincere imitation—the simple manners of those rare -self-unconscious people who have the courage—or, rather, the -lack of fear—to be natural and spontaneous. "We'll not -wait for Richard," she said, as the supper bell rang. "He's -got a great deal to do before he can come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had just finished the sentence when he entered, -exactly as he was when he went out. "I forgot I'd taken all -my razors down to the laboratory," he explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During supper he and Gallatin talked chemistry; that -is, he talked and Gallatin listened—listened and ate. -Courtney noted—with increased liking for him—that he -had a vigorous appetite and that he liked the things they -had to eat. But her thoughts soon wandered away to -her gardening, to retouching her plans for bringing the -grounds a little nearer her ideal than they had been the -summer before. When the men lighted cigars, she went -to the veranda to stroll up and down in the moonlight. She -forgot everything unpleasant in the delight of being home -again. As she looked about her, her heart was singing -the nightingale's song. She was startled—and her heart's -song was stopped—by the newcomer's voice. "Vaughan's -gone to the library," said Gallatin. "Do you mind if I -walk with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did mind very much indeed. She had somehow -lost interest in him as soon as he ceased to be the mystery -B.G. She liked him well enough, admired his manners, -his really delicate tact in what must have been for him an -extremely difficult position. But she had got the -impression that Dick was right in estimating him as a -"don't-amount-to-much." And just now he was distinctly a -kill-joy. However, she acquiesced courteously, though with -no unnecessary cordiality. She felt that now was the time -to get him in the habit of respecting her privacy; she could -establish a barrier now, where an attempt to establish it -later on would offend him. At best, the barrier would be -a poor enough makeshift; he would be bound to see, to -make her feel uncomfortable about things she had been able -to keep unconscious of or indifferent to. Still, she was far -too generous to blame him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you have much spare time?" she asked, her manner -more cordial than if she had not been wishing him out -of the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A great deal. Vaughan realizes I'm only an amateur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take you over to the club and introduce you. -You'll find some very agreeable people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you. It has been rather dull these two -weeks—especially of evenings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how you had the courage to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to," said he, in the curt way in which a young -man gives himself the pleasure of hinting a secret he -cannot with good taste give himself the pleasure of telling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced across the lake at the twinkling lamps of -the town. "The women over there will fill every minute -you give them," said she. "You see, most of our men are -busy all day and tired in the evening. You'll be a lion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds attractive. I'm amazed at the West. I -had no idea civilization was so advanced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The implied condescension in this amused her. But -she merely said: "Oh, I guess the same sort of people are -much alike the world over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The conversation languished through a to her tiresome -discussion of differences of accent, dress, manners, and such -trifles until he happened to say: "This place of yours here -was a revelation to me. I've been talking to Vaughan -about it—admiring it. He tells me his grandfather's -responsible for it. He must have been an extraordinary man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was," said Courtney, in a queer voice. She glanced -out over her creation and the blood burned in her cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd certainly be proud of the way you keep it up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her sense of humor had come to the rescue; besides, -vanity was not a dominating emotion with her who had too -much else to think about to have much time for thought of -self. "I'm fond of gardening," was her placid -noncommittal reply to his compliment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Vaughan's grandfather must have been a wonder," -Gallatin went on reflectively. He had paused, was -leaning on the rail, looking out over the lawns and -gardens. "I don't mind confessing to you—if you'll not tell -your husband—that I'm a chemist only by profession, with -landscape gardening as my real passion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney glanced at him with interested eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know a little something about it," he continued. -"I learned long ago in a general way that a personality -is always revealed in any work, and I at once looked for -the personality in this place. That old man must have been -an artist.... I can't reconcile these grounds with the -portrait of him in the library."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was smiling to herself. A thrill of pride and -pleasure was running through her. She began to like Basil -Gallatin, to feel that he was by no means commonplace, but -a man of breadth and artistic instinct, something at least -of the man of the big world, not merely the man of the -little world of well-cut manners and clothes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That portrait is of a stern, narrow man—strong but -conventional," he went on, confirming her more sympathetic -judgment of him. "This place—the house as well as the -grounds—shows a very different individuality. It's -feminine and sensuous and poetical. Yes, it's distinctly -feminine—and delightfully disdainful of the conventional—of -everything and anything 'cut and dried.' I don't mean -the details—the things you're probably responsible -for—and they're very charming. But I mean the whole -conception—so free, so daring, and so lovely. Yet Vaughan tells -me that the old gentleman made the plans himself and -superintended their carrying out. It's very curious. Don't -you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't thought about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not interested?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your tone. I suppose a man is tedious when he gets -on his hobby. I noticed you were bored when we were -talking chemistry at supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't bored. I simply wasn't listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't like chemistry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. But my enthusiasm cooled as I got interested -in other things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the conversation languished. She suspected that -his opinion of her was rapidly declining. But some -instinct withheld her from making any effort whatever -to rehabilitate herself. Finally he said: "Well, I guess -I've disturbed you long enough. I'll go to my room and -read."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going up myself after I've had a little talk with -Nanny about the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as he disappeared, she dismissed him from mind -with a few pleasant and friendly thoughts—"he may not -have any great amount of brains or force, but he certainly -has good taste. He will be a distinct addition." When -she ascended to her sitting room, perhaps an hour later, she -halted on the threshold, coloring with anger. Dick was -seated at her center table reading a newspaper; Gallatin -was inspecting the books in one of her cases. Dick saw -her and said: "Come in. Don't mind us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, struggling against her anger at this climax -to the impudent intrusion upon her privacy, remained upon -the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick's eyes had dropped to his paper. "Gallatin," he -went on, "was complaining that the books in the library -were too old and solemn. So I brought him here. I knew -you'd laid in a stock of the frivolous kinds that grandfather -wouldn't have tolerated. Finding what you want, old man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Dick's speaking warned him that Courtney had -come, Gallatin had startled guiltily and had hastily put -away the book he was examining. But he didn't turn -round until Richard directly addressed him. His face was -red and his eyes were down. "I feel sleepy," said he -awkwardly. "I'll look again some other time if -Mrs. Vaughan will let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Courtney, cold as a flower blooming -in the heart of a block of ice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The case into which Gallatin had been delving was -filled with works on landscape gardening and interior -decoration—modern works. As he almost stumbled from the -room he cast a further glance round at the walls—walls -covered with the original plans, sketches, and paintings -Courtney had made for her revolution in house and grounds—very -modern-looking drawings all, and unmistakably feminine. -She knew that the newcomer had her secret—all -of it—not merely the secret of her authorship, but also, -through it, the secret of this loveless married life in which -the husband had not the remotest idea who his wife was -or what she had done. In passing her on his way out, -Gallatin visibly shrank and grew as white as he had been -red. She went to the window to compose herself, for her -blood was boiling in the greatest rage of her life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard went to close the door after Gallatin, then -turned on her. "My dear," said he in his "grandfather" -tone, which sometimes amused and sometimes angered her, -"you are so cold by nature that you don't realize it, but -you were almost insulting to Gallatin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so!" cried she, facing him. "How dared -you bring him in here without my permission? There are -not many women who would have accepted quietly your -bringing him to this house to live without a word to me. -I wish you to understand you cannot thrust him upon my -privacy. I don't allow anyone in this room without my -consent. It must not occur again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now—now—my dear," said Dick soothingly. "All -that is very unreasonable. Of course, I have the right to -do as I please in my own house, and you're too good and -too sensible a wife to dispute it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do dispute it!" she cried, her bosom heaving. -"This room is—</span><em class="italics">me</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a tempest in a teapot! Child, what has made -you take such a sudden dislike to him—and so violent? He -isn't worth it—an amiable, well-meaning, commonplace -chap. Really, you mustn't act this way. I've told you I -need him, and you must be polite to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The impertinent, prying——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I brought him here, Courtney," he interrupted, -magisterially. "And I repeat, I had the right to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like most people of sweet and even temperament, she -lost all control of herself in this unprecedented rage, where -those in the habit of raging learn a sort of etiquette of bad -temper. "You had not the right!" she declared, her eyes -blazing into his. "And if you ever do such a thing again, -I'll make it impossible for him to remain here. Do you -understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not quarrel," said Richard with gentle superiority, -"especially not with women—with my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not? You call it chivalry. I call it -contempt. And I detest it. If you could appreciate how -absurd you are, with your antiquated notions of superior and -inferior sex, of rights and duties, and all such nonsense!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard was in full armor of masculine patience against -feminine folly. "You are beside yourself, my dear. I'll -leave you until you are calm and courteous." And he added, -as if he were meting out severe but just punishment, "I -shall occupy the spare room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney gave a strange laugh. He turned away, went -into her bedroom. Presently he reappeared exclaiming: -"Why, where are my pajamas? I told Lizzie to put them -in there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's smile was of the same quality of strangeness -as her laugh of the moment before. "They are in the -spare room," said she. "I put them there before I came -in here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked puzzled, vaguely discomfited. "Oh—very -well." He glanced inquiringly at her, decided against the -trivial question he had been about to ask. "Good night." He -was again puzzled when what he heard about the location -of the pajamas was recalled and made vivid by the -sight of them on the turned-down bed in the spare room. -But for an instant only. He dismissed the trifle and went -to bed and to sleep. Husbands do not bother their heads -about the petty feminine eccentricities of wives. The -mystery of these transposed pajamas was too petty to detain a -masculine mind.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vi"><span class="bold large">VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She did not go down to breakfast next morning until -Richard and his guest would surely be gone. Her anger -against the guest had evaporated because it was clearly -unjust. Her anger against Richard was subsiding because -it was clearly futile—and also because she hadn't it in her -to foster harsh feeling. But there remained a dislike and -dread of Gallatin because he had her secret. She could -not think with composure of facing him, intolerably her -partner in a secret she was ashamed of, was hiding from -her husband, was trying to hide from herself. She would -be unable to look at him, to remember his existence even, -without at the same time having it thrust at her that her -married life was a sham, a hypocrisy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour before dinner Richard came to her in the -big greenhouse she had built back of the library. As the -day was warm, all its doors and sashes were open. Richard -sent Jimmie's son Bill away and said with agitated -abruptness: "Courtney, Gallatin seems determined to take -rooms over at the hotel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad of that," replied she. "It's much better." She -had not paused in her delicate task of extricating plants -from their winter bed and arranging them in a basket for -taking into the garden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's the first step toward going away. He'll -never put up with the hotel's discomforts." Her indifference, -her inattention made him impatient. "My dear, -you don't understand. I need him. I've branched out on -the strength of the capital he's supplying and has -promised to supply. If he leaves, I'll be in a hole. We'll have -to cut down in every direction, for I simply can't abandon -my new plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like him," said Courtney. She had abruptly -stopped work, was leaning against the frame facing him. -"I want him out of the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick took the tone of gentle, forbearing remonstrance. -"It's too late to change him to the Smoke House. He -feels your dislike—is eager to get away. If there were -any ground for dislike, I'd say nothing. As it is, I— I -don't like to assert authority, but your frivolous whimsicality -makes it necessary. I want you at once to convince -him that you wish him to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't." Her voice showed that those brief -words were all she could trust to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do, since I wish it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I consider what you wish? When have -you considered what I wish?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When have I been inconsiderate of what was for -your good?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent—silenced, he thought. His handsome -face and his voice were gentle; but underneath there was -sternness in both as he said: "You'll not oppose me in this. -It'd be a very severe strain upon my love for you, if I -found you so contemptuous of my interests. I'm sure -you'll not risk that strain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw into what an impossible position her anger -had hurried her. Usually women, through playing upon -the husband's passions and weaknesses generally, get -enough control over him to be able to maintain—with only -an occasional slight lapse—the pleasant fiction that they -are of full human rank. They take care to avoid such -crises as was this. Courtney, by long keeping away from -the bars of her cage, had been lured into believing her -pretense that they were not there. She now found herself -bleeding and exhausted against them. "Very well," said -she, after a moment's silence. It had taken her quick mind -only a moment to see the alternatives—submission or a -clash in which she could not but be defeated. "I'll try -to get him to stay." Her voice was low and broken, but -not from anger. Deeper than the sense of Richard's -tyranny burned the humiliating sense of her servitude. -In fact, her own plight so mortified her that she had no -emotional capacity for raging against him as the author of -it. She felt, as always in these sex conflicts, that the fault -was not his, but fate's; he was simply playing his part as -man, she her part as woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good girl," cried her approving husband, -kissing her brow. It did not occur to him, the deep-down -reason of sordidness that enabled him to compel; but she -could think of nothing else. "Be sweet to him," Dick -went on, in an amiable, petting tone. "And you may rest -assured, dear, I'll get rid of him as soon as I can. I don't -like intruders into our happiness any more than you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her cheeks flushed, and she turned again to the frame, -to resume her digging. Her whole body to her finger tips -was in a tremor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through dinner she was silent and cold; Gallatin hardly -lifted his gaze from his plate. Whenever Richard could -catch her eye, he frowned and glanced significantly at -Gallatin. But her eyes met his hints with a vacant look -that made him twitch in his chair with nervousness and -exasperation. As soon as Gallatin in politeness could, he -excused himself and left the family of three alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard, unmindful of Winchie, burst out, "What's the -meaning of this?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must let me humble myself in my own way," said -Courtney coldly. "Come, Winchie." And the two went -out on the lawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Gallatin a few minutes later issued from the front -door with Richard, she called: "Oh, Mr. Gallatin, I want -to speak to you a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He halted. The color flared into his face. Richard -said, "I'll go on. You needn't hurry," and strode along -the path into the eastern shrubbery. Gallatin hesitatingly -crossed the grass. Winchie, who had on first sight taken -an instinctive dislike to him, held a fold of Courtney's -walking skirt and glowered like a small but very fierce -storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to the veranda, Winchie," said his mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy released his hold and reluctantly obeyed. -Gallatin stood before her like a prisoner arraigned for -sentence. "Richard tells me you're talking of moving to the -hotel over in town," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'm going to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you feel I want you out of the house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think a man in my position couldn't help being an -intruder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fair skin paled. "I thank you," said he, "but I -must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to stay. I ask you to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's very kind. I appreciate it. But I really -must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did wish you to go. But now I sincerely wish you -to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their eyes met. She was as pale as her bronze complexion -permitted. She went on, her deep, clear voice -steady, "If you go, you'll put me in a very painful position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin looked at her, flushed, looked hastily away. -In a voice of intense embarrassment he said: "I've -another reason for wishing to go. It's even stronger than the -knowledge that you're—very naturally—displeased at my -being forced upon you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Courtney, baffled. Then, "Please tell -Richard what it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot." His gaze was on the ground now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow Courtney was liking him better. As he -glanced up, her eyes met his. "Be frank with me," she -urged winningly. "Is it because you dislike it here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." His gaze was wandering again. "No, indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad of that," said she. "Do you believe me -when I say I wish you to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lowered his eyes, remained silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were free to choose, I would wish you to go," -she went on, speaking with the utmost deliberation. "I am -not free. So, I wish you to stay because it will be most -unpleasant for me if you persist in going. I venture to -ask you, if it is not too great a sacrifice, to stay on—at -least, for the present. But if you still say you must go, -I shall not misjudge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll stay," was his prompt response. "Gladly." And -his tone and eyes were sincere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said she simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with an appeal that was very engaging. -"I know you'll hate me for having created this situation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought I did a few minutes ago," replied she. -"Now, I feel I don't. I feel I'd like to be friends with -you—" Her small, sweet face lit up with a faint -smile—"since we can't be enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that?" he asked with an eagerness that -sounded only the more eager for his effort to restrain it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I do," replied she. "Will you help me with -the gardening—when you have time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing I'd like so well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—it's all settled?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They smiled gravely; they shook hands; they laughed. -"And a little while ago I was thinking I never could -forgive you!" exclaimed she gayly. "Now I'm wondering -what on earth there was to forgive." And she felt and -looked very well acquainted with him. It was part of her -upright-downright nature either to like thoroughly or to -be so indifferent that she was little short of oblivious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before her generous friendliness the laughter died out -of his face. "I'll try to be worthy of your friendship and -your trust," said he gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds mysterious—somehow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it? ... When may I help you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whenever you can get off. Soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll join Vaughan." He hesitated, blushed. "He -knows you were to ask me to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But not how," was her calm answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand." Their eyes met. He colored; but -her expression, sweet and grave, did not change. As he -went Winchie, seated morosely afar off on the veranda -steps, scowled at his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening Richard said: "Well, I think he's going -to stay. How did you manage it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've asked him to help me with the gardening. He's -fond of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A good idea," approved Richard. "I'll back you up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed silently out over the unruffled lake, so peaceful, -so suggestive of peace unchanging, endless—the lazy, -graceful sails—beyond, the town among its trees, lights -coming out as the dusk gathered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But their friendship, thus auspiciously begun, did not -prosper. Gallatin almost pointedly avoided her. He -helped her only when Richard, disturbed from time to -time by his unrelaxed reserve, urged him to take a day or -an afternoon off "and amuse yourself with the flowers, -since you like that sort of thing." If it had not been -that occasionally in talking or working at the gardening -he seemed to forget his solemn and formal pose and -showed unmistakable enthusiasm, she would have thought -his profession of interest a pretense. She had a peculiar -horror of gloom—doubtless born of the austerity of her -bringing up. There was in her circumstances only too -much to discourage her natural brightness, and she had -within herself a struggle as incessant as that against weeds -and destructive insects in her gardens. She had no desire -to make this struggle harder; so she saw as little of him -as she in courtesy could—the only course open to her, -since she did not know him well enough to try to help him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with Gallatin?" Richard asked -her one day. "He says he likes it here and is going to -stay, yet he acts as if he were revolving something different. -He used to be full of fun and life. Now he's enough to -give anyone the blues."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> rather heavy," admitted Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if it's the booze," said Richard reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The booze?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He always drank a lot more than was good for him. -And there in Pittsburg he got to lapping it up like the -get-rich-quick crowd he traveled in. That was why he wanted -to come here—to break off and take a fresh start. I -suppose he's gloomy because he's fighting his taste for rum."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drink was a vice she could not comprehend—and we -always are unsympathetic toward the vices we do not -comprehend. She associated drinking and stupidity; the -Wenona men who drank to excess were the dull ones, like -Shirley Drummond. When Richard thus disclosed to her -what Gallatin had meant by his mysterious hint as to his -reason for coming to Wenona, she lost the interest in him -started by his fine frank way of meeting her advances and -his appreciation of her work. She recalled his other -mysterious hint—about there being a hidden reason for his -wishing to go. "No doubt," thought she, "he meant he's -finding it hard to keep straight here, where it's so quiet. -I wish now that he'd gone—though, when a man can give -way to such a dull, dirty habit as drunkenness, he'd find -excuse anywhere."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As the mail came in the middle of the morning and the -middle of the afternoon, she saw it first. Thus, she noted -that about once a week there was for him a foreign letter -so heavy that it carried several stamps. These letters were -from the same person, the same woman. And as the writing -was large, rapid, and affectedly angular, she more than -suspected that the woman was young. Somewhat tardily -these facts, obvious though their leading was, wove together -in her mind, incurious about other people's affairs; she -knew that there was traveling abroad a young woman who -taking the trouble to write their guest regularly and -at great length. But when she happened to recall that -he had a young married sister, she assumed the letters were -from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day he casually said that his sister had taken a -house at Bar Harbor for the summer. The moment he -said this, she for some unknown reason, or for no reason -at all, jumped to the conclusion that his depressed state -was due to the lady of the letters—to her being so far -away—perhaps to some difficulty in their love—the objection of -her parents to his drinking habit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All was now clear to her. And thenceforth she looked -at him with deep sympathy. He was not handsome; his -mouth, for example, was so heavy that it flatly gave the -lie to his idealist, poetic eyes. His nose was not good, was -too small for a man's face. Somewhere there lurked a -suggestion of weakness, and this was not lessened by his -attention to dress—though she liked his clothes and his -way of wearing them. He was far from her ideal of a -man. But the longer one knew him, the better one thought -of him, chiefly because the more confidence one had in his -essential generosity and kindness. And she felt that he -had capacity for tenderness of a very manly sort, and for -appreciation of love and of all the beautiful things; just -the kind of nature fate seemed to delight in making the -sport of its maliciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night, in the pensive mood to which she sometimes -yielded for an hour, she was at the piano softly playing; -and singing that saddest of sad love's songs:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Alas for lovers! Pair by pair</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The wind has swept them all away—</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The young, the yare; the fresh, the fair—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Where are the snows of yesterday?"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Through the window she saw him leaning against a -pillar of the veranda. His profile was outlined clear against -the luminous dusk. Its expression made her voice die -altogether in a sob. She forgot her own sense of fleeting -wasting youth, of supreme joy forever denied, of love never to -be hers. This sorrow before her in those profiled -features—they were strong features now—was no vague dream, but -a living reality. She longed to go to him and try to -console him; and at the same time, no matter how well she -had known him, she could not have gone—for in that -unsuspected strength of his there was the hopelessness that -is beyond consolation. From that time he was the -foremost figure in her thoughts; and her fancy put its own -color into everything he said and did. If he had begun to -drink she would have been only the more sympathetic; for, -she could comprehend how unhappy love might drive its -victim to any excess—were not her own longings, for three -years now latent except for an occasional outburst, once -more throbbing and aching day and night?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was part of her routine to make a careful tour every -day to see that everything was up to the mark. One day, -in their guest's sitting room, she happened to see half -fallen from the stationery rack a letter from his foreign -correspondent. It was apparently unopened. The shock -of this made her take a second look before she realized how -she was intruding upon his sacred privacy. But she had -seen; the letter was indeed unopened. And she knew that -the last come of these letters had been at least three days in -his possession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her heart ached for him; she felt she understood. His -love affair had been going more and more badly—his -increasing silence and sadness made that certain. And this -letter must contain some news he dared not read—some -words that meant the burial of his dead hope. She went -downstairs with a heavy heart, and out into the sunshine—out -to the rose garden in the western part of the grounds. -She had been dreaming all along that this romance of which -she was unsuspected, deeply moved spectator would surely -"come out all right." Life did not always mock the story -books. Love was not always sad, not always mere -deceptive echo of one's own heart call—echo that flitted -mockingly on as one pursued. No; this love that meant so much -to him would prove real. Such had been her dream. -Now— The flowers, their perfume, the gay birds, the -sunbeams—all the sights and sounds she loved seemed tricks of -a black enchanter. She remembered the day they buried -her little brother. There had been just such radiant glory -as this. She remembered the day she had seen that her -own dream of love was dead. There had been just such -sunshine and music and perfume. How could anyone with -a human heart even for a moment laugh, jest? To be light -was to make oneself party to this cruel levity of bird and -flower and sunbeam. Laugh, when loved ones were dying -somewhere—and the living were bending over dead faces -with cracking hearts? Jest, when the winds of time and -change were blowing love and lovers all away?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She caught her breath in a kind of terror when, on her -return to the house, Lizzie told her that Mr. Gallatin had -dashed in, had packed a bag, and had rushed off to -Chicago. "He has business there," Richard explained at -dinner. "And I've asked him to buy some stuff for the -laboratory." She was uneasy, at times unhappy, throughout -the following week, as she thought of him trying to -rid himself of his too heavy burden. Probably he was -dissipating—she hoped he was, if it would give him relief. -She began to debate whether she ought not to tell Richard -what she had accidentally discovered, and suggest that -he go to Chicago to help his friend, who might have fallen -ill or worse. At dinner and at supper, even at breakfast, -where she had seen him only occasionally, she positively -missed Gallatin. Until he came, the time spent at table -had been the stupidest part of each day—Richard and she -in silence or abstraction, or exchanging disconnected -commonplaces about the weather, the food, their friends. While -Gallatin was far from lively, still he and she had -talked—usually about gardening and plants, the difficulties and -mysteries of inducing things to grow, the comparative merits -of various species for flowering and for hardiness—not -exciting conversation, but interesting, a relief to a monotony -the dreariness of which she did not appreciate until he -came—and went.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On the eighth day, as they were at supper, he appeared -unexpectedly on the threshold. There was no forcing in -the cordiality of her smile. At first glance, she suspected -that he was in much better spirits. And this impression -was soon confirmed. Certainly good news—the best—must -have reached him in Chicago. Otherwise he could not -sit there eating heartily, laughing, making amusing -remarks, telling funny incidents of the trip. Courtney tried -to continue to feel delighted that he had found surcease -from sorrow. But her spirits went steadily down. She -felt horribly alone. She had been company for him in his -unhappiness—though he did not know it. Now, she quite -unreasonably felt as if he had deserted her. She was -ashamed of this, so ungenerous, so selfish, but she could -not help it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After supper Richard left them alone; they went out -on the veranda—out where the full beauty of that place, -now at summer's climax, could be seen in the soft sunset -light. She stood watching a belated bird, a tall white -sail—listening to the faint sounds of the town that came -tinkling across the water. But she was thinking of the man -beside her. "You've been enjoying yourself in Chicago," -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," was his unexpected answer. "I've been impatient -to get back." He glanced round at trees and lawns, -gardens and shrubbery, with delighted eyes. "I had to -go away, to appreciate how well off I was." He went to -the edge of the veranda to get a broader sweep. He seemed -to be noting, reveling in, every detail. He drew a deep -breath, returned to the big lounge chair, and lit a cigarette. -"Yes," continued he. "Yes—I didn't dream it, or imagine -it. It's all true. It's all here." Without looking -at her: "And you happen to be wearing the same -dress you had on the evening I came. Now, don't tell -me you made it—as you've made those gardens and these -rooms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I superintend," said Courtney, thinking him a pleasant -and agreeable, if deplorably shallow person. "I'm -not one of those dreadful original women who get up their -own awful costumes, and think they're individual because -they're different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you lived in Paris, you'd set the styles," declared -he. "And you're equally good at gardening and decorating -houses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's laid on with the trowel," laughed she. "But -I like it." She returned to the subject that fitted her -thoughts. "You're much livelier than when you went -away; I'm sure you've had good news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—nothing. I simply took myself in hand." He -reflected in silence, then lifted his head and looked at her -with a boyish simplicity and candor. "You see," he -proceeded to explain, "I've had something on my mind ever -since I came—that is, almost ever since—something that -was my own affair entirely. And I let it prey on -me—made myself a nuisance and a bore, I've no doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a gleam of mischievous humor in her eyes as -she nodded assent and said: "You were solemner than I -thought a human being could be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely. Well, that's over. As I said before, I -didn't realize how well off I was, how much I had to be -thankful for, as the pious people say. I do realize it. -And I'm going to behave myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney felt she ought to be scandalized by this -vanishing of the last solemn tatters of the tragic romance she -had woven about him; for it was clear as the lake that he -had gotten over his bereavement in that one brief week, -had gotten over it entirely. But somehow she was not -scandalized; was, on the contrary, taking quite cheerfully -this confirmation of his fickleness, of his incapacity for -deep emotion. After all, wasn't that the best way to be? -Wasn't he perhaps philosopher rather than shallow changeling? -Wasn't he simply exemplifying the truth that fire -burns out, that the dead are forgotten, that life leans -always at the bow of the ship, never at the stern? She, -eager to escape from her own shadows and thorns, slipped -easily into his mood. "I should say you did have a lot -to be thankful for!" answered she. "And you'll soon -forget her." She colored at her slip. "I assume it was a -love affair," she hastened to add. "We women always do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll get over it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not wish to get over it." He was not smiling -back at her. She felt his thoughts traveling over land and -sea, into Europe, whence came those letters—there were -two of them waiting on his desk upstairs. "I do not wish -to get over it," he repeated. "I've learned—" His voice, -full of earnest young seriousness, sounded as if he were -thinking aloud rather than talking to her—"I've learned -there's a love deeper than the love that demands—a love -that appreciates where it dares not aspire—a love that -asks nothing but just silently to love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long silence, broken by the snapping of -the match, as he lit a cigarette. She startled, rose, and -leaned against a pillar. With eyes half veiled by her long -lashes she watched the gardens wane dreamily in the evening -light. She inhaled the odors of rose, of lilac, of -jasmine, of honeysuckle—perfumes so sweet that they were -sad. How cruelly she had misjudged him! She felt a -kind of reverence for him now, him with this nobility of -soul so unconscious, so lofty. Here was a man worth a -woman's while. "Why couldn't I have had such a love -as he is giving?" she thought. "Oh, if she had learned -what I've learned!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come into the sitting room, Gallatin," called Richard -from that direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin went, and for a few minutes Courtney heard, -in intervals between her thoughts, snatches of the talk -between the two men about the shopping Gallatin had done -for the laboratory—talk about a new crusher, about a -promising bomb calorimeter. After a while came in Vaughan's -voice, "Courtney, what do you think of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood in the window with an inquiring glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been telling Gallatin you're going to introduce -him round among the Wenona girls. And he says he has -no use for women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I!" exclaimed Basil. "On the contrary, I think -women—a woman—the most important element in a man's -life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard laughed. "Why, the man's in love!" cried he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney saw Gallatin wince as his wound was struck -by this careless, jovial hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only a lover," proceeded Dick, "would exaggerate -woman in that frenzied fashion. To live isn't to love. It's -to do—to achieve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't agree with you," said Gallatin. "Love's the -center—the mainspring—the purpose—the meaning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to have been a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" retorted Gallatin. Courtney saw that -Dick had irritated him. "In one respect I envy women. -A woman </span><em class="italics">knows</em><span> whether or not a man loves her. A man -can only hope and believe." And he glanced swiftly at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked confused, frightened, as her expression -showed that she, the married woman, the lovelessly married -woman, understood. She turned away abruptly, two bright -red spots burning in her cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said the unobserving Richard to Gallatin, "I -confess I don't grasp your meaning. But it doesn't -matter. A good woman loves her husband, and he knows it. -The rest's of no consequence. We must get him a wife, -Courtney. He'd make an ideal husband, don't you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A good wife does not think," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard was amused. "But if she did?" he persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she'd probably think it fortunate for husbands -that wives aren't independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan again looked puzzled. "That sounds as -irrelevant as what Gallatin said a minute ago. Now will -you tell us, what has it to do with what we were talking -about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," replied she. And she did not. She -was astonished before this apparition of a thought she had -not been conscious of having definitely in mind since that -conversation with her mother long ago; and here it was -popping up as if it were her constant companion. "It -just came into my head," she went smilingly on. "You -know we women are irresponsible, irrational beings, and -so we don't think straight or talk connectedly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She said good night, went up to her apartment. She -was wishing now that Gallatin had not told her about this -love of his for the woman across the seas. It had made -her discontented—unhappy. It had compelled her to think -what a patchwork of makeshifts her own life was. "Yet -I ought to be contented. Haven't I Winchie? And I can't -even complain of poor health or discomfort of any kind. -I don't deserve my good fortune. Other women would -envy me." No, they would not. She saw in remembered -faces of women friends the same discontent she was hiding -in her heart. A woman—a woman grown—craved more -than material comfort could give, more than work or play, -however interesting, more than motherhood could -give—craved that grown-up, equal love without which life was -like a wonderful watch with a broken mainspring. She -thought of Basil Gallatin again. At least she was more -fortunate than he. Suppose she, like him, loved and it -were not returned. Then indeed would her heart ache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she saw him alone next day, she said shyly and -with color high: "It seems to me you can't have told -her—told her as you told me. Won't you go to her—not write, -but go—and try again? Believe me, Mr. Gallatin, women -appreciate love—at least, any woman who could inspire the -love you give her. And if she knew, she'd love you—she -couldn't help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She feared she had intruded. But when he at last -spoke, his tone was not the tone of one who is offended. -"Thank you, thank you," he stammered. "But— I assure -you it's hopeless. She is not for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Courtney shrank. "She cares for some one -else. I—I'm so sorry I spoke. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no," he said; "it was friendly. It was—like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This began their real friendship. And she needed -friendship just then. What he had told her put her in a -mood where all her occupations were in vain, and all the -wisdom she had gathered from books and from thinking -about things as they are, and all the patiently, slowly -acquired stoicism of the matrimonial routine. Her heart was -clamoring as it had not since those first months of her -discovery that love was delusion and that she must learn to live -without it. She wished Gallatin had not told her; she -wished he had never come. And at the same time she felt -that through the sadness he had brought there had come -into her life a pleasure she would not wish to give -up—the sympathy between him and her, based on their knowledge -each of the other's secret. She felt very proud of his -confidence, of his friendship. Also, there was the fascination -that always issues from a great emotion, even though -it be seen but in mimic on the stage. This great emotion -of his was a vivid actuality. It made a smile upon his -features heroism; it made a look of sadness tragedy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He helped her in the gardens often now. Richard, -making some secret experiments, did not want him at the -laboratory. Sometimes he and she worked together at -changing color schemes or improving mass effects or -vistas. Again each worked alone, perhaps at some surprise -for the other. It was after a morning of hard labor in -opposite ends of the grounds that she said when they met -at the house: "Richard's not coming up, so Nanny has -to take him his dinner. And Lizzie's away and Mazie not -well. I'll wait on you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have a picnic," suggested he, "out under that -big elm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with Winchie helping they carried everything to -the rustic table and proceeded to have one of those -happy-go-lucky meals that make the blue devils put their tails -between their legs and fly away on their forks. Winchie, -let eat what he pleased, forgot his dislike of Gallatin—at -least so far that he only frowned occasionally as Gallatin -and Courtney talked the most hopeless nonsense with the -keenest pleasure. When Basil's face was animated it was -never homely; when he smiled it was always handsome. -For the first time since he came he lost all constraint, and -the sparkle of girlhood came back to her. They stayed out -there nearly three hours, and it seemed no time at all. -Nanny, sour and scowling at the impropriety of such -conduct in a married woman—one married into the ancient and -rigid house of Vaughan—took away the dishes and linen. -But the hint so plain in her dour looks went unnoted. -It was a shower that broke up the party, sent them -scurrying to the house, he carrying furious and protesting -Winchie. She punished Winchie for his rudeness by -sending him up to his bedroom to sit alone and think down -his temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You oughtn't to have done that," said Basil, when the -boy, defiant even in obedience, disappeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the only way to make him remember. And I -can't whip him. I'm too selfish, even if I didn't know it -was equally degrading to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't help not liking me," persisted Basil. -"We're not to blame for our likes and dislikes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But we are to blame for giving way to them." She -was arranging freshly cut flowers in vases and jars in -the sitting room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, for giving way to them," said Basil thoughtfully, -after a long time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To what?" asked Courtney, who had forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our feelings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right about that." Basil was speaking with -an effort. "For example, if a man were to—to fall in love -with a married woman, he'd be a—miserable cur if he told -her. Those last few words came explosively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gracious!" Courtney beamed mischievously at him -from behind a gorgeous spread of half blown roses. "You -are fierce! Well, that's settled. If he heard you, he'd never -dare tell her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw his face, and it flashed over her that it was a -married woman he loved. Yes, of course! Why had she -not guessed it at once! And he was saying these harsh -things to make it impossible for himself to yield to the -impulse. The smile left her eyes. He was at the window -with his back to her. She looked tender sympathy. "Poor -boy!" she thought. "And I saw to-day how happy he -could be, and how happy he could make a woman.... -Perhaps she does love him. What a sorrow that would be! -And utterly hopeless!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned abruptly. "Will you be my friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came straight up to him, put out her hand. "Indeed -I will," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hand, pressed it. Then he drew back with -his hands behind him. "You are a good woman," he said. -"Good through and through. I want you to help me fight -a battle I'm having just now. I thought I'd won it. I -haven't. But I will!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, I think. It is hard. But you are -strong and honorable. You— The woman— She is -already—" She paused, looked at him inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—God help me!" he cried, turning away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His cry could not have reached a more responsive heart. -After a pause she said: "If she doesn't love you, it'd be -useless to tell her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse! It would mean I was a cur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if she does love you, it'd be wicked to tell -her—to add to her unhappiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you were in my place— Suppose I could be with -her—could go and live near her——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no; you oughtn't to do that! You ought to spare -yourself and her that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But suppose," he urged eagerly, "suppose she didn't -care for me—never would—and I could keep my secret——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you couldn't! And she might grow to care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat in a big chair by the window, stared moodily at -the floor. "It seems to me I </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> do that!" he said at -last. "I don't love her as men usually love. She means -infinitely more to me than that. And, loving her as I do, -I'm in no danger of telling her. And it would make me -almost happy so much of the time, and a better man—yes, -a better man—to be near her. What you say I ought to -do—it's like turning a man out into the desert without food -or drink—to wander—on and on——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know," she interrupted, her small, sweet -face all tenderness and distress. "Oh, I'm not competent -to advise. You mustn't ask anyone. You must do what -you think is right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right!" he echoed forlornly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She who had eaten of the husks that went by the name -of right hadn't the heart to urge them on him. She returned -to the table, to the arranging of the flowers. Without -looking up he went on: "I haven't told you quite all. -There's another thing. I—I'm engaged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Engaged!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't look at me that way. I can feel it, though I'm -not seeing. You can't think less of me than I think of -myself. But let me tell you. The girl's a distant cousin -of mine. And her grandfather, who was crazy about families, -left her a fortune on condition that she married me. -He left an equal sum to me on condition that I marry her. -But there's this difference: What he left her is all she'd -have—every cent. I've got enough without his legacy -to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you— Oh, it's dreadful, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're not in love—not in the least. But I've given -her my promise, and she'd be penniless if I broke it. She's -nineteen. We've got till she's twenty-one. She's abroad -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The letters I've seen in the mail—they're from her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From her," replied he. "How can I marry when I -love another woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Courtney. She was sitting now, her hands -full of roses and listless in her lap. "Then you've no more -right to love this woman than she has to love you.... Oh, -I don't know what to say!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't think I'm trying to shift part of my burden -to you. I'm not. But I felt if I could talk it out loud -with some one who was sympathetic I'd see the way better. -And I do." The expression of his eyes thrilled her; it was -so manly, so honest, so resolved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you decided—if you don't mind telling me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To go to Starky—-that's my cousin—her real name's -Estelle, but she detests it—I'll go to her and we'll marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no!" cried Courtney. "Whatever's right, that -isn't. Oh, you don't know. She has a right to love. -You're cheating her—cheating her!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can never give her that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney shook her head slowly, lifted the roses, buried -her face in them, inhaled their perfume deeply. "Then—you -mustn't marry her," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't know her. She cares for money—the things -money buys—more than for anything else in the world. -It's the way we bring 'em up in the East.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Believe me," cried Courtney, solemn in her earnestness, -"that's not true. There isn't any woman anywhere -who doesn't put love first. Go to your cousin—yes. But -go and try to love her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes suddenly blazed upon her. "Love her -after—" he began impetuously. He reddened, his head -sank. "After the woman I—" He muttered confusedly, -"I can't talk about it," and hastily left the room by the -door-window nearest him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed sympathetically, rose, moved slowly toward -the vase she had only half finished. Midway she halted. -That look of his had just penetrated to her. "Oh!" she -gasped. And she wheeled round and stared with blanching -cheeks, as if he were still standing there before her with -his secret betrayed in his eyes. "Oh!" she repeated under -her breath. How her mistaken romancings about his sadness -had misled her woman's instinct! For now, like steel -filings round a magnet, a swarm of happenings since he -came ranged round that telltale look of his—where they -belonged.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vii"><span class="bold large">VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Basil was last in to supper, came with his nervousness -plain in his features. His uneasy glance at her met a -smile of ingenuous friendliness that could not but reassure. -Richard was there, absent-minded as usual, and unconscious -of them both. They were unconscious of him also, -Basil no less so than she, for he had long since acquired the -habit of the household. No one spoke until Richard, having -finished, lighted a cigarette and fell to explaining to Basil -an experiment he had made that day. He was full of it, -illustrated his points with diagrams drawn on the yellow -pad which was never far from his hand. Courtney, relieved -of the necessity of trying to look natural before Basil, was -able to turn her thoughts again to the subject that had -been occupying her steadily from the moment she discovered -his secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Gallatin could have seen into her mind, he would -have been as nearly scandalized as it is possible for an -infatuated, unsatisfied lover to be. For even where a man -feels he himself has the right to revolt against exasperating -musts and must nots of conventional morality, he is -unusual indeed if he honestly approves any such revolt, -however timid, in a woman. Man is the author and guardian -of that morality; in the division of labor he has imposed -upon woman the duty of being its exemplar. Thus, -though human, she must pretend not to be; she must stifle -if possible, conceal at any cost, her human fondness for the -free and the frank. For Courtney there was double attraction -in this love of Basil's—because it was love for her and -because she was lonely—how lonely she had never realised -until now. There is the loneliness of physical solitude, the -loneliness for company—and a great unhappiness it is, -especially to those who approach the lower animals in -lack of resources within themselves. Courtney had never -suffered from this; she had never cared for "just people." Then -there is the loneliness of soul solitude, the loneliness -for comradeship—and who suffers from this suffers torment. -It may lull, but it will surely rage again, and it will never -cease until it is satisfied or the heart itself ceases to beat. -This was the loneliness of Courtney Vaughan. "If he," -thought she, "were bad, and I, too—no, perhaps not -exactly bad, but—well, different—less—less conscientious—how -happy we might be! That is, of course, if I cared for -him—or could make myself believe I did—which is -impossible." She lingered over this impossible supposition as -over a sweet, fantastic dream. She dropped it and turned -away, only to return to it. And thinking of it filled her -with the same tender sadness she got from love stories -and love songs. "I would not if I could, I could not if -I would, but—" Love! Into the silence of that void in -her life had come a sound. It was the right word, but not -the right voice. Still, there was joy in the right word. -And she would not have been human had she bent other -than kindly eyes and kindly thoughts upon the man who -pronounced that word of words. Long since—from her -first notion that he was hiding a romantic secret—his real -self had begun to receive from her imagination the transfiguring -veil of illusion. The discovery that she herself -was the secret certainly did not make the veil thinner. A -strong imagination flings out this beautiful, trouble-making -drapery always; not quite so eagerly if there has been sad -warning experience, but none the less inevitably. It would -be many a day, if ever, before Courtney could again see -Basil Gallatin as he was in reality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she sat there, silent, all but oblivious of her -immediate surroundings, she was awakened by hearing him say, -in reply to something from Richard: "But I'm afraid -I'll have to—to change my plans—and—go away." It -was said hesitatingly, with much effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go away!" cried Richard. Courtney could not have -spoken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for good?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably—in fact, almost certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, man, you can't do that!" protested Dick. "You -can't leave me in the lurch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I want to keep my interest. It's simply that I -can't stay on, myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I need you now as much as I need the capital. -Why, it'd upset everything for a year—perhaps longer. -I couldn't easily find a competent man I could trust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil repeated in a final, dogged way, "It's impossible -for me to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there anything unsatisfactory in——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no indeed. My own affairs entirely, I assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he had finished supper, Vaughan took him out on -the veranda, where Courtney heard them—or, rather, heard -Dick—arguing and protesting. Presently she drifted into -the sitting room, sat at the piano, let her fingers wander -soundlessly over the keys. What should she do? What -was best for him—for her—"and there's Richard, too, who -needs him." Why should he go? How would it help -matters? True, she had declared that to be the right -course; but then she was merely theorizing, merely talking -the conventional thing. This was no theory, but actuality, -calling for good common sense. It was not the first time -she had found the facts of life making mockery of the -most convincing theories about it. Presently she felt that -Basil was in the window farthest from her, was watching -her—probably with the same loving, despairing expression -she had often seen without a suspicion that it was for -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Richard?" inquired she, not looking in his -direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the library."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've upset him dreadfully."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry. But things will soon adjust themselves." He -advanced a step, was visible now in the half darkness, -looked pallidly handsome in his becoming dinner suit. "A -few weeks at most," he went on, somewhat huskily, "and -I'll be the vaguest sort of a memory here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was glad her back was toward him and that the -twilight had darkened into dusk. Of course, he did not -really love her. It was simply another case of a man's -being isolated with a woman and his head getting full of -sentimental fancies. Still— While his love was not real, -and therefore its pain largely imaginary, the pain no doubt -seemed real, and the love, too. So she was sad for him—very -sad. As soon as she felt sure of her voice, she said: -"Won't you please light the big lamp for me? I -wore a négligée this evening because I wanted to sew. -I'm making a suit for Winchie—like one I saw in a French -magazine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lit the lamp beside the table where she worked in -the evenings when she did not go to her own room. "Anything -else?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only sit and talk to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't talk this evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then sit and smoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She began her work, he smoking in the deep shadow -near the window. She could hardly see him; he could see -every wave and ripple in her lovely hair, every shift of the -sweeping dark lashes, every change in that sweet, small -face, in the wide wistful mouth. Even better than playing -on the piano, sewing brings out the charm of delicate, -skillful fingers. She did not need to look at him to feel -his gaze, its longing, its hopelessness. And never before -had she thought of him in such a partial, personal way—the -way a woman must feel toward the man she knows -loves her, even though she only likes him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had made up her mind what to do, how to deal -practically with this situation. But she had to struggle -with her timidity before she could set about the audacious -experiment she had planned and resolved. She had long -had the frankness of thought that is inseparable from -intelligence. The courage to speak her thoughts was as yet in -the bud. "Do you mind my speaking again of what you -were saying this afternoon?" said she as she sewed -industriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking about it. At first I was startled—very -much startled. But I soon began to look at it sensibly. -I want you to stay. Richard wants you to stay. There's -no reason why you shouldn't stay and conquer your -delusion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's no delusion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Real love is always mutual. So yours must be -delusion." She was pointing a thread for the eye of the -needle. "You've led a very—very man sort of life, haven't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shifted uncomfortably, then confessed: "You -know the standards for men are different from those for -women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled, threaded the needle. "Yes, I know. I -don't understand, but I know. You needn't explain. -I don't want to understand. It doesn't interest me. -As I was about to say—" Her courage failed her, and -she sewed a while in silence. At last she dared. It was -with no sign of inward disturbance, but the contrary, that -she went on: "You've been shut in here too long. Go -to your old haunts for a few days. You'll come back -cured."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had practiced saying it, this advice which she believed -wise and necessary in the circumstances. She said it -in calm, matter-of-fact fashion; and it was the less difficult -for her to do so because, in thought at least, she had long -since emancipated herself from what she regarded as the -hypocrisies of modesty, and had taught herself to look at -all things rationally and humanly. She knew her frankness -would not please him; so she was not surprised when -after a pause he said roughly, "I don't like to hear you -say that sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed pleasantly, put quite at ease by his -impertinence. "And I don't in the least care whether you -approve of me or not. You men seem to think you've got -a sort of general roving commission to superintend the -propriety of women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. Give me that pair of scissors—on the -stand in the corner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose, issued from the deep shadow. She could now -see into what confusion her words had thrown him. The -hand that held out the scissors was trembling. He moved -to go upon the veranda. "Please," said she. "I'm not -nearly done. Won't you sit down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," she went on lightly, busy with her hem -again, "I know your awful secret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've no right to laugh at me," muttered he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not laughing at you.... I'm only looking at it -in a friendly, practical way.... I want to help you.... -Why are you going away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sewed on, feeling his emotion gather behind his -self-control. The stillness was unbroken. A light breeze, -cool and scented, came fluttering in at the open windows -to play with the soft brilliant hair that grew so beautifully -round her temples. In a low voice, so low that she scarcely -heard, his answer at last came: "Because I love you. I -love you and I am not a cur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her needle missed its way into the cloth, pierced her -finger. She put the wounded finger in her mouth. When -she looked toward him she was smiling. "Still you've not -answered my question. Because you think you care for -me—that's no reason why you should go.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't control myself. I—" He made a gesture of -helplessness. "I can't think of you as—as married. You -seem like a girl to me—free. I keep forgetting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It doesn't seem to occur to you that I might be trusted -to remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said he humbly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She held the garment at arms' length, eyeing the hem -critically. "No, you don't. You're like all the men. You -fancy weak woman can always be overborne by man, big -and strong and superior."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wrong me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why else should you talk of going away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it's torment to me to be near you—to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped sewing, looked at him with anger in her -deep green eyes. "Then your feeling is just what I -thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not! It is love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she sewed a long time in silence. It was very -calm there, in that quiet room with its flowers and tasteful, -gracefully arranged furniture, and the single lamp like -a jewel shedding all its radiances upon her small -industrious figure. "Then tell me," she said in her sweet, -gentle way, without looking up or pausing, "what do you -want that you cannot have? You can see me as much -as you like. You can talk as freely as you like. You can -count on sympathy, on friendship. And, if you want to, -you can keep right on loving me in that exalted way you -profess. Nobody's going to hinder you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sewed on in silence, he motionless watching her, -perplexity in his honest, rather boyish face. After a while -her voice broke the silence. "Love!" She laughed with -raillery that did not sting. "My dear friend, don't you -see I was right? Go away for a few days and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake, don't suggest that again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then don't say it's love that makes you want to leave -and upset everything." She put the needles, thread, and -thimble into her workbox, rolled up the little suit, rose. -"It's always the same story," she said, sad rather than -bitter. "A woman means only one thing to a man. Yes, -I think you had best go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're too severe," he cried. "It's true there's such -a thing as passion without love. And I'll admit that I, like -all men have felt it often—have lied to myself as well as -to the woman—and have called it love. But it's also true -there's no love without some passion—at least, </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -couldn't hope to inspire it. And though in your innocence -you may think so, you'd not want to have less than all love -has to give—if you loved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes, large and softly brilliant, were burning into -the darkness beyond the open window. "I'm not innocent," -she said. "And I try not to be a hypocrite. If I -loved, I'd want all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long silence, she at the window gazing out -into the gathering night. Then he said: "You were right. -It was not love that made me feel like flight. I can -conquer that feeling. Will you let me stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned slowly. In the look she fixed on him there -was doubt, hesitation. "You've made me a little -uneasy—a little afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his eagerness he sprang up. "Don't!" he cried. -"Don't send me away. I'll never speak of love again. -You've taught me my lesson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do want you to stay," said she. "It'd seem very -lonely here with you gone. For I've come to depend on -you as a friend. It hurts to find you seeking your own -selfish pleasure under the pretense of a feeling for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced—not because he felt scandalized by her -candor, but because he felt convicted by it. "How well you -understand men!" he exclaimed. "Better than they -understand themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In that one way I do," was her reply, an arresting -hardness in the deep voice that was usually altogether -sweet. These last few days she was understanding a great -many things about the relations of men and women—or, -perhaps, was letting herself realize that she understood -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lowered his eyes, that he might not read her -thoughts, that she might not read the same thoughts in -his own mind. "You often make me think of the lake -out there," said he. "There's the surface one sees at a -glance. Then there's a little distance below the surface, -that one sees when he looks intently straight down. And -then there's fathoms on fathoms where all sorts of strange -things—strange thoughts and feelings—lie hid. -Sometimes—for an instant—one of them shows or almost -shows at the surface."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When one lives alone a great deal, one gets the habit -of living within oneself—don't you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose that's it—partly. A brook couldn't hide -very much—and most people are like brooks or ponds. -The ones that seem to have depth seem so simply because -the water's muddy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked admiringly at him; and her admiration of -his originality and insight did not lessen when he added, -"At least, so a friend of mine used to say." He returned -to </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> subject. "Then—I may stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face brightened. In her eyes as they looked at -a smile slowly dawned. Quickly all her features were -responding, especially that wide, expressive fascinating -mouth. "I hope you will. But—no more dreariness!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate gloom as much as you do." He glanced round -the room—at the harmonies of woodwork and walls and -furnishing, with here and there bright flowers always in -the restraint of those of gentle hue. "As much as you -do," repeated he. "And that's saying a great deal. How -</span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you manage it!—house and garden, always gay yet -never gaudy—and such variety! Is there no end to your -variety?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, one's a new person every day, isn't one?—and -different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> certainly are. But no one else I ever saw." He -colored furiously at his finding himself, without intending -it, upon the forbidden ground. She had turned away, and -was leaving the room—the safest course, since it enabled -her to hide her pleasure in the compliment that peculiarly -appealed to her, and also seemed to give him a sufficient -yet not harsh rebuke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her aversion to restraint was perhaps stronger than is -the average woman's—certainly had more courage. She -had been too thoroughly trained in the conventionalities -not to have the familiar timidity as to action, so strong -in all conventionally bred people, so dominant over women. -But the "unhand-me" spirit of her time was finding -outlet in thought and feeling. Reflecting much in her -aloneness, she had reached many audacious conclusions about -life and the true meaning of its comedy drama—that -meaning so different from what we pretend, from what usually -passes as truth in history, philosophy, and literature, based -as they are upon man's cheap hankering for idealistic strut. -The audacities of thought that occasionally showed at her -surface in speech or commentary of smiling eyes and lips -were conventional in comparison with whole schools of -deep-swimming ideas and fancies that kept hours of -aloneness from being hours of loneliness. Physically, her -passion for freedom showed itself in her dislike of tight or -stuffy garments. She could pass her hand round her waist -inside her closest-fitting corset. Her liking for few clothes -and for as little yoke and sleeves as custom allowed came -not from the thought for the other sex that often explains -this taste, but from aversion to restraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As usual, the first thing she did that night, when she -was alone in her rooms, was to rid herself of all her -clothing and put on the thinnest of thin white nightgowns, -almost sleeveless, and cut out at the neck. She thrust her -feet into bedroom slippers, braided her long hair with its -strands of red almost brown, with its strands of brown -almost gold. She turned out the light, threw open all the -long shutters screening her windows, to let her bedroom -fill with warm, perfumed freshness from lake and gardens. -She stepped out on the balcony to take the breathing -exercises that kept her body straight, her chest high, her -bosom firm as a girl's, and her form slim and supple. -The fireflies were floating and darting in the creepers and -the near-hanging boughs. The slight agitations of the -air stole among the folds of her gown and over her neck -and arms like charmed fingers. There was no moon; but -she did not miss it in the dim splendor of the thronging -stars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you about ready to come in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She startled, suppressed a scream. She turned. -Richard was standing in the window. Her blood which had -rushed to her heart surged out again and into her brain -in an angry wave. She hated to be taken by surprise. -It was on the tip of her tongue to cry furiously, "I detest -being spied upon." But she had resolved soon after -Winchie was born never to speak angrily to him, never to -let him hear her speak angrily. The habit restrained her -now, as it had scores of times. Instead, she said: "Why, -how did you get in? I'm sure I locked my door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you did," replied Dick in the cheerful unconscious -way that so irritated her in certain moods. Not always -could she bear with composure his masculine assumption -that whatever pleased him must delight his wife. "So you -did," said he. "And it's still locked. But there was the -window from the front balcony into your sitting room—and -the door from your sitting room to this room. You -see, I was determined to find you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone of laughing tenderness helped her half to -guess, half to make out his expression. Usually she -accepted without a protesting thought the whole of the -routine of married life. But to-night she grew hot with -a burning blush of imperiled modesty as he advanced -toward her. "Don't," she said; "I'm doing my exercises."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—you were dreaming. Of what?" Then, without -waiting for an answer about a matter of so little importance, -"Gallatin tells me he has decided to stay on—if he -can arrange it—and he seems to think he can. So I'm -feeling fine. You don't know what a jolt he gave me at -supper. Did you talk with him about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Urged him to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tried to show him he ought to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever so much obliged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped in her exercises to say quickly: "Oh, I -didn't do it for you. I did it for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you dislike him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's some one to talk with—some one that listens and -answers. And—I don't dislike him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard laughed. "That's right. Try to make the -best of it. Well, if you're not coming in——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for an hour or longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—good night. I must be up early. I think I'll -sleep down at the Smoke House. I'm so glad about -Gallatin—just as much obliged as if you'd done it for me. -And I believe you did." He put his arms round her to -kiss her good night. As soon as his lips touched her cheek -she drew away, disengaged herself. "What's the matter, -Courtney?" She had long since learned that for all his -absent-mindedness and ignoring of things that didn't -directly interest him, he became as sensitive—and as -accurate—as photographic plate to light, the instant his attention -happened to be caught. "What's the matter? Why do -you draw away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," replied she—truthfully, yet with a -sense of being untruthful. "I seem not to like to be -touched to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't remember you being that way before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went on with her exercises; he yawned and departed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="viii"><span class="bold large">VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The morning after Courtney and Basil came to this -clear and promising understanding, she got down to the -seven-o'clock breakfast perhaps ten minutes late. She -expected to find the two men and Winchie there, and was -thinking of asking Gallatin to go to town with her and -Winchie. When she entered the dining room, there was -the table in its usual morning place, in the wide-flung door -windows to the cast, and at it sat Winchie only, sunbeams -sifting through the trellised morning glories to dance upon -his shock of tawny hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are the others?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie, forgetful of his teaching, had his mouth full, -far too full for immediate speech—unless he gulped it -empty, and that would have been breaking another rule. -So Lizzie, who was just entering from the kitchen hall, -answered: "Mr. Richard telephoned up at half past six, -and made me wake Mr. Gallatin. They had breakfast down -at the Smoke House long ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie had climbed from his high chair and had come -round to kiss his mother good morning. He was dressed -for the trip to town—all white except dark blue edging -round his wide collar, and a dark blue belt. His features -suggested his father's and his mother's, yet were those of -neither. That morning their usual suggestions of will and -character were lost in a general expression of sweet good -humor. He looked a sturdy bronzed cherub. After searching -his mother's face with those inquiring, seeing eyes of -his, he said: "Mamma's happy this morning," and resumed -breakfast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed she is!" exclaimed Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew the bowl of yellow daisies and pink-white -mountain holly from the center of the table, and fell to -rearranging them. Each blossom seemed to glide into just -its right position, as if there were magic in her fingers. -She could not remember when she had felt quite so -content and hopeful. And her spirits rose as the day -advanced. On the way to town she stopped at the Vaughan -farm across the highroad to inquire into a slight falling -off in quality of butter and milk. She had never seen the -farm so fascinating. The very dock weed and dog fennel -carpeting the barnyard had an air and a charm. And -the road to town, as she and Winchie sped along in -the runabout—what a shady lane through Paradise it -was! In town everyone seemed so agreeable, so glad -to see her. After lunch with Sarah Carpenter, she -shopped, made several calls. They did not start home -until late, and supper was on the table when they -arrived. At the table—always in the middle of the room -for the evening meal, and formally set—at the table was -Richard, alone, eating and figuring on his everlasting -yellow pad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello!" said he, with barely a glance away from -his pencil point. "Glad to have company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Mr. Gallatin?" asked Winchie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone," was Dick's curt answer in the tone of an -interrupted man. "I sent him away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, crossing the room, halted. A moment of -horrible silence. "Gone!" she echoed hoarsely, her eyes -wide, as if a monster had suddenly appeared open-jawed -in her very face. "You—sent—him away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan, without looking up, said: "What did you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her hand on her heart, "I thought I understood -you to say Mr. Gallatin had gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he has. For a few days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Courtney drew a vast breath of relief. She -felt a tugging at her skirt, glanced down. It was Winchie, -looking up at her with an expression of terror; and she -knew she must have revealed herself in her face. Her -pale cheeks flooded with color. She sank into her chair -opposite her husband. She could lie to herself, cheat -herself, no longer. "How much Basil means to me!" she -muttered. Then, in terror, she glanced round, for she felt -as if she had shouted it. But Vaughan was at his -unending calculations. Only Winchie saw. </span><em class="italics">Only</em><span> Winchie! -There was a look in his great gray-green eyes, a look of -the accusing angel, that made her hang her head while the -dark red burned upon her whole body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be back Thursday or Friday," continued -Vaughan, tossing the pad into the window seat, a dozen -feet away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You sent him on business?" inquired she, to make -conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wanted to go to Pittsburg, so he told me. I guess -it's some girl. I suspect our 'dressy' friend of being a -ladies' man. He takes too much trouble about his -clothes—and silk underclothes! Anyhow, I let him go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat there, the food untouched, her blood pounding -at her temples, at her finger ends. For she was -remembering her advice to Basil when she was trying both to -persuade him to stay and to deceive herself as to why she -intensely wished him to stay. And now, on her advice—on -the advice of the woman who loved him—he was -journeying—even as she sat quietly there at supper in -respectable calm—he was journeying to his "old haunts"—to -some woman—he who belonged to her! Such a wild -tempest raged in her that she wondered how she could -sit motionless, why she was not walking the floor and -crying out. With another woman! Oh, the vileness of -men! "And I was beginning to care for him!" she -said to herself. "He's like the rest—worse than most. -How many men are there who'd dare talk of love to -a woman like me, and then go jauntily away to a low -woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went upstairs immediately after supper, shut -herself in. She moved calmly about; she took her exercises; -she read for several hours before turning out her light. -But beneath a surface that could have been no more -tranquil had she been observed and on guard, chaos reigned. -One tempest succeeded another—anger against Basil, -against herself—disgust, scorn, jealousy—and, before she -slept, she had seen that in reality all these moods were -jealousy under different forms. The following morning, -when the coast was clear, she slipped into his room, knelt -by his untouched bed, cried upon its pillow. This humility -soon wept itself out, however; she flung herself into her -work. "Nonsense! I don't care for him. It's simply -pique and outraged friendship. How coarse men are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, mamma?" said Winchie, who was -following her about the garden, looking after insects and -dead leaves. Than his there never was a keener eye for -signs of the red spider.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You treat the flowers as if you wanted to hurt them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your mamma is in a very naughty humor this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you were so happy yesterday. Is it because -Mr. Gallatin's gone away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, flushing deeply, looked hastily round. "Sh! -You mustn't say those things!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already she was teaching the boy to conceal! "I didn't -mean that, Winchie," said she. "You are to say whatever -you please—as always."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to like Mr. Gallatin. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't like -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he likes you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't want anybody not to like your mamma, -would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." A long silence. Then: "But he looks at you -exactly like papa does when he's really seeing you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's skin burned. The same story—always the -same! "Well—dear—I'll not like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope he won't come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The suggestion set her heart to aching with loneliness. -"I have no shame and no pride," she said to herself. -"What a contemptible creature a woman is!" But these -sneers availed her nothing. As she sat at table—dinner and -supper—his vacant place gave her a sense of bereavement -not unlike death itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another night of wakefulness and of the subtle and -varied torments known only to those blessed and cursed -with vivid imagination. What if he should not come -back! That was the final and crudest twist of the rack. -Next day, it was all day long as if the silence and darkness -of the night were still suffocating her. The house, the -grounds seemed a desolation of despair. What if he -should not come back! A drizzling rain fell, and she sat -miserably by the window, unable to sew, unable to read. -And at the first sound from the piano—the melancholy -notes her fingers instinctively struck—she sprang away as -if a hateful ghost had breathed on her. It was only -Wednesday; he would not be home until the next -day—probably not until Friday—perhaps not then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put fresh flowers in vases in all the rooms every -day. That day she filled the vases in his sitting room -with the best. And she lingered among his belongings, -that promised his return. In the drawers, his fine tasteful -shirts and ties; in the closets, those attractive suits, silk -lined, agreeable to the touch, varied and always tasteful -in pattern. She went back to his books—to the poetry, -of which he was particularly fond. The volumes fell open -naturally at poems that glorified the lofty, the spiritual -side of love. Then, like a scorpion, scuttled across the -page of Browning's "Last Ride" what Winchie had said—"He -looks at you like papa does." She shuddered, was -all dread and foreboding again. Was there no such thing -in man as love for woman, but only its coarse and lying -counterfeit?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard an outside door open noisily. She darted -along the hall and down to the angle of the stairway, to -the landing from which the drive-front entrance could be -seen. She leaned over the balustrade, looked. She drew -back, stopping the glad cry that rose to her lips; for it -was Basil. With features composed she leaned forward -again. His soft hat and his rain coat were dripping; -evidently, in his eagerness to arrive, he had crossed the -lake in an open boat, instead of coming round by the road -in a closed carriage. He was gazing toward the sitting-room -door with an expression that thrilled her—and at -the same time gave her the courage to treat him as her -self-respect and her ideas of decency in a man -dictated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Back already?" said she in a pleasant, indifferent -tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned, looked up at her, his face alight. "How -are you?" he cried. "It seems an age."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We didn't expect you for several days yet," she went -on, descending. When she reached the hall, he was -waiting with extended hand. "It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> good to be here again!" -said he. "It was worth going, for the pleasure of getting -back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook hands, smiled friendlily, continued on her -way to the sitting room. He hesitated, an uneasy look -in his eyes that did not escape her. He put his hat and -coat on the rack, followed her. "I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> glad to be back!" -said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed, friendlily enough, but her baffling manner -only increased his uneasiness. "We're glad to have you," -was her polite reply. "If you want to go to your room -before supper, you'd better hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been doing a great deal of thinking while I was -away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really? That's good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you've changed your mind—as I felt you would, -when I thought it over. Your first impulse was to be -lenient. But when you fully realized what a dishonorable -thing it was for me to do—to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think you'd better go up before supper?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not till I've said one thing," replied he doggedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to know that you can trust me never to -repeat my offense. I'd go to Vaughan and tell him and -apologize——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, pray, what has Richard to do with it?" inquired -she coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," he hastened to protest. "I'm not -going to speak of it to him. It might put unjust suspicion -of you in his head——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There she laughed outright at him. "You are making -yourself perfectly absurd," she said, and turned away to -go into the dining room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he came down, the others were at table. Dick, -figuring on his yellow pad, glanced up, rose, greeted him -with unprecedented cordiality. "Why, when did you blow -in?" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few minutes ago." Gallatin glanced at Courtney. -The quiet mockery of her absent gaze made him red and -awkward. "I—I—got through—so—I—came," he explained -with stammering lameness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," said Dick. He had taken up his pencil. -"Make yourself at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin's glance fell on Winchie frowning at him. -"Howdy, Winchie?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy made a curt bow, resumed his supper. He -was permitted—or, rather, under Courtney's system of -training him to think and act for himself, he permitted -himself to eat only certain simple things, and very little -of them—and he was wonderfully sensible about it. When -he finished he kissed his mother good night, made his salute -to his father and, almost imperceptibly, to Gallatin, and -went upstairs. Gallatin nerved himself to several efforts -at beginning conversation with Courtney. Each time, as he -glanced up, he was checked and flung back into embarrassed -silence by seeing in her absent eyes the same disconcerting -mockery. After supper, Richard hurried away to -the library. When she showed that she was going upstairs, -Gallatin detained her. "One moment, please," he pleaded -humbly. "What have I done to offend you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney flushed. But the raillery came back instantly. -"I'm not offended. I'm amused."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At you." The smile broadened charmingly. "So -you've had a successful trip?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—in a way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And have come back completely cured."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to be my friend—if you will. I repeat, -you can trust me now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes sparkled dangerously. "It's fortunate I -understand men—and have a sense of humor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know I deserve any punishment you choose to give," -said he. "And I'll take it. Only—I want to stay on -here—and to have your friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She studied him critically. Her expression would have -been trying enough in its penetrating judicial intelligence -for the least self-conscious of men. It utterly disconcerted -Basil, bred in the fashionable world's incessant consciousness -of self. But in his desperation he withstood her look, -returned it with eyes that were appealing yet not abject. -It pleased her that he was not abject. "After all, you -went on my advice, didn't you?" said she in a friendlier -tone. "And you've been most manlike—have shown yourself -to be just what I thought you. So I'm really -unreasonable." She gave him her hand. "Yes, let us be -friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled queerly. "That's asking too much. I may—in -time. Just at present—you've made me feel horribly -cheap and—common."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hung his head. "If you knew how I've suffered -for it," he said. "I was afraid you'd send me -away—would never see me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's not talk about it," cried she, angry at her own -weakness in not meting out to him what he apparently -expected and certainly deserved. But she was not so angry -that she held to her purpose of going upstairs. Instead, -she sat at the piano and began to dash off the noisiest -pieces she knew.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ix"><span class="bold large">IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The friendship now throve like Courtney's best-placed -flower bed. She had always been healthy; so she had not a -touch of "temperament"—which is the misleading romantic -name for internal physical conditions anything but -romantic. Most of those who have mentality have also -imperfect health through neglect of physical needs; and -the somberer shades, the grays and blue blacks, made the -more melancholy by imagination, usually canopy their lives. -But with her it was not so. Always healthy in body and -in mind, she now irradiated perfume and color like the rose -that is getting just the right sun and rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Late in that summer there were several weeks when one -perfect day followed another like a child's dream of -fairy-land. Vaughan wished to work alone, dropped completely -out of their life, was forgotten. Every day, all day long, -she and Basil were together, he helping her at the -pastime that kept house and grounds beautiful. She was one -of those human beings who abhor disorder; if anything -went wrong it was righted at once. If a knob came off a -door or a plant withered, she could not rest until the -imperfection was remedied. It kept her incessantly occupied, -but the results were worth the pains they cost. Her -imagination, stimulated by Basil, planned many changes in -grounds and gardens, changes that would bring the place -still nearer the landscape artist's three ideals—contrast, -variety, bounds concealed. And she and Basil together -carried out these alterations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there were the leisure hours, as full as the hours -of toil. They—with Winchie—strolled in the woods on -the farm, across the highway, and picnicked under the trees -beside the brook, or in the shadow of some gigantic -fern-covered rock left on a hillside by the retreating glaciers -of the ice age. Or, they went out on the lake, Winchie -fishing, she and Gallatin talking in low tones or happy in -sympathetic silence, with the boat moving languidly where -the shadows of the great weeping willows were deepest, -its keel troubling the dark clear waters hardly more than -a floating leaf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was fond of talking, he of listening. And she had -so many things to say—the things that had been accumulating -in those five years when she had said little, had read -and thought much. When Basil did talk it was usually -of what he had experienced in his wanderings over Europe -and Asia. And, as she had been everywhere in fancy -through her reading, she drew him out with questions that -made it hard for him to believe she had not actually viewed -with her own eyes. He seemed a wonderful person to her, -he who had lived in the world's half dozen great capitals, -had wandered all over the earth and had seen everything. -Her comments astonished him, made him ashamed, and -privately reverent of her "woman's intuition. No -wonder it's considered better than brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I'd had some one like you along when I was -chasing about," said he. "It was usually horribly dull, -and I went on at it chiefly because I was always hoping -something interesting would turn up. Now, I see it was -turning up all the time. You have a light way of looking -at things. A man sees only the serious side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it couldn't be dull—not anywhere on earth," insisted she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not with—that is, with somebody like you -along." An awkward silence; then, "and I don't see how -you ever learned so much without having experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't really know things," confessed she. "I just -</span><em class="italics">seem</em><span> to know. As a matter of fact, I'm frightfully -innocent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the beautiful part of it," said he with -enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate it!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," protested he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, hate it," she insisted. The chief pleasure in this -friendship with him was that it gave her freedom to be -herself, to be frank. She would not let him spoil it for -her, as Richard had in their early married days spoiled -even the times of closest intimacy with formalism and -restraint. "I want to know—I want to </span><em class="italics">live</em><span>," she went on, -with glowing, eager face. "I've always felt proud it was -the woman who had the sense to eat the apple. I detest -innocence. I love </span><em class="italics">life</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you don't mean exactly that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even—sin?" This, not an inquiry, but an argument -proving her beyond question in the wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she replied undauntedly: "It seems to me, the only -way to learn is by doing things. And doesn't that mean -making mistakes—sins, as you call it? Life's a good deal -like gardening. You have to do it wrong first in order to -learn how to do it right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all very well for a man. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was giving him one of those disconcerting eerie -glances from the mysterious eyes. "I've got to </span><em class="italics">live</em><span>, and -in the same world you have. Also, I've got to bring up a -boy to live in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must say," confessed he, "I don't see just how to -meet that." And she accepted the answer as evidence -of his broad-minded sympathy. She did not realize that -he was anything but convinced, but was simply admitting -the "light cleverness" of her reply and was too eager -about standing well with her to combat her "queer ideas."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The interruption to the delights of this friendship came -before she had nearly exhausted his novelty, and while she -was still as uncritical of him as a starving man of the -cooking. However, in any circumstances it would have been -long before she could have made any accurate judgment -of him. She had become his partisan; and a generous -nature takes the most favorable, the always too -favorable, view of a personality to which it is attracted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Until that summer Richard had been, for a young man, -remarkably careful about regularity and exercise. At the -very outset of his task, away back at Johns Hopkins, seven -years before, he had realized that he was in for an -investigation of all known elements in every possible -combination—that is, for a long and hard struggle for about the -most jealously guarded of nature's secrets—the origin of -heat. And he knew that, if he was to win any victory -worth while, he must resist the temptation to overwork, -and must make health his first consideration. And -although he had small liking for physical exercise and was -as little fond of the grind of regularity as the next man, -he had kept to his rules for himself with the same inflexible -firmness that characterized him in all his serious -purposes. But Basil's coming with the additional money he -had needed, and the help, too, tempted him beyond his -resistance. In exercise, as in everything else, there is -system or there is nothing. Before Basil had been there a -month Richard was breaking his rules; and soon the whole -system went by the board. All summer he had not -exercised, and he ate at any hours or not at all. Such a -reversal of a long-established routine could not but create -an immediate internal commotion. There were no physical -surface signs; he looked the same as always; but his -temper became uncertain. Where he had been simply -absent-minded he was now irascible in it. Without reason—except -the internal physical turmoil he himself did not feel -or suspect—-he would burst from abstraction to attack -Gallatin or Courtney or Winchie or one of the servants, or to -rave against everything and everybody. And this new -Richard appeared at just the time when it would stand -out in sharpest, most odious relief—most dangerous -contrast to the even temper of Basil Gallatin. Under the -stimulus of her friendship with Gallatin, Courtney had got -back much of her former gayety. Again she was overflowing -with jest and laughter, with the joy she seemed to -have absorbed from the bright things that grew or flitted -and flew in her gardens.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The change in Richard came rapidly, yet was so gradual -that its cause escaped them all. It is not in human -nature to be inexhaustibly patient even with the vagaries -of an obvious invalid. Where the illness is unsuspected, -patience with its victim soon turns to gall. This new -development in Richard's character—for Courtney and all -the others assumed it was character—changed her passive, -almost unsuspected resentment and indifference into dislike -that could easily deepen into aversion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was disagreeably reminding her of his existence; he -was saying in effect "Look at me!" She looked. She -had bowed to fate, had accepted a loveless life of duty. -She had done her part loyally. She had made a home, had -kept it in order, had submitted whenever his physical -necessities began to distract him from his work. Yes, she had -accepted all the degradation without a murmur. And when -love had come to her unsought, had tempted her, she had -put the temptation aside. In order that his plans might -not be upset, she had taken the hard instead of the easy -way to combat this temptation, had let Basil Gallatin stay -on. And what was her reward? Whenever Richard spoke, -it was to say something disagreeable, to be as nearly -insulting as a well-bred man could become.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's perhaps fortunate for Richard," reflected she, -"that Basil showed the true nature of his love in that -trip to Pittsburg. For what do </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> owe Richard Vaughan? -Is there any woman anywhere who does not in her heart -feel she'd be justified in doing </span><em class="italics">anything</em><span>, when her -husband has treated her as mine has treated me?" And the -obvious answer—that her husband was the normal husband, -that it was she who, expecting what the conventional and -customary marriage relation did not contemplate and did -not provide, was in the wrong—this answer seemed to her -no answer at all, but an insult to her intelligence and her -self-respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Because of Vaughan's rages Gallatin got into the habit -of rising from the table as soon as he finished and leaving -the Vaughans to themselves. Courtney, with the sex charm -subtly seducing her to seek and exaggerate merits in Basil, -was deeply moved by this thoughtfulness; for it increased -her humiliation to have him there when Richard lost -control of himself. One evening, as they finished supper, -Vaughan was suddenly infuriated by the stealthy fiend of -indigestion that is the chief cause of humanity's faults of -temperament, from morbidness to acute mania. He burst -out at Gallatin—sprang from absent-mindedness with -flaming eyes like a madman from ambush. "You messed -everything to-day!" cried this unsuspected and unconscious -invalid, sicker far than many a one in bed with doctors and -nurses. "You simply raised the devil. Another day or -so like it, and I'll not let you come into the shop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin made no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you're cursing me," fumed Richard. -"That's the way it always is. The whole world's mad on -the subject of self-excuse. Somebody else is always to -blame, and criticism is always an outrage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," said Gallatin, and Courtney knew his -self-control was wholly for her sake. "I was stupid -to-day, Vaughan. It was wholly my fault. I know I came -near blowing up the shop and sending us both to kingdom -come——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An exclamation of terror from Courtney halted him. -She was pale, was looking with frightened, questioning eyes -from one man to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan blazed again. "There you go!" cried he to -Gallatin. "Now, she'll think I'm at something as -dangerous as a powder factory—when, in fact——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Vaughan," interrupted Gallatin. -"It was my stupidity that made all the danger. Really, -we do nothing that ought to be dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not true," said Courtney quietly. "I know -the truth now. And I never thought of it before!" She -could not understand how she had been so unthinking; it -was another, an unexpected measure of the cleavage -between Richard's life and hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better confine your attention to things you -understand," said Vaughan. "It was all Gallatin's folly, I -assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the truth, Mrs. Vaughan," said Gallatin earnestly. -"The whole truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She said no more, but her face showed she did not -believe him. Gallatin, depressed and remorseful, went out -on the veranda, strolled down toward the lake. Vaughan -sat on, pulling savagely at his cigar. He was enraged -because his outburst had caused the disclosure of the secret -he had intended to keep from her, had given her a false -idea which, as she was a woman, a creature of notions and -whims, nothing could ever correct. He forgot his fine -philosophy about self-excuse, and turned his rage from -himself to her. "It's really all your fault," he exclaimed, -glowering at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie, seated between his father and mother, took -up his knife and raised it threateningly against his father, -his gray-green eyes ablaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In another mood Vaughan would have been secretly -delighted, would have gravely accepted the rebuke and made -apology to the boy and to Courtney. But the devil—the -realest devil that torments spirit through flesh—was in -him that night, was on the prowl. He pointed his cigar -at the infuriated child. "What's the meaning of this?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winchie," said Courtney, in a low, firm voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy's eyes shifted from father to mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put down that knife, go upstairs and go to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Son and mother looked at each other fully ten seconds; -the boy lowered the knife, laid it on the table, -descended from his chair, marched haughtily from the room. -When he was gone Vaughan said: "You should have made -him apologize to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney did not reply. She was pulling out the bows -the flowing tie she was wearing under the loose collar -of her shirt waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have Lizzie bring him back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Courtney, and her eyes met his. "You -will not interfere with Winchie. I do not interfere with -your work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you do!" Richard burst out. "It's your interfering -that's making Gallatin so worthless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank back in her chair, hastily veiled her eyes. -Now it was the cuffs of the shirt waist that were -engaging her attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dislike him, I know," Vaughan went on. "But -why do you treat him so badly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer. She could hardly believe that it had been -so long since Richard had noted her and Basil. Besides, -when had she ever treated him in a way that could be called -badly?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure you treat him badly. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked you a question. Politeness would suggest——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in this family," said Courtney, cold and calm, -her slim fingers touching her hair here and there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All I've got to say is, it's no wonder Gallatin's -becoming useless at the shop. He must feel his -position acutely. I can conceive of no reason why you -should subject a gentleman—and my guest—to such -indignity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney looked as if she were sitting quietly alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he been making love to you?" demanded Vaughan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyelids fluttered, but it was the only sign she gave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some time ago I observed he had a way of looking -at you that was most loverlike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still no answer, and no sign.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even so, you could deal with him tactfully. He is a -gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said that before," observed she, elbows on the -table, her chin on the backs of her intertwined fingers, her -gaze upon the bowl of old-fashioned yellow roses in the -center of the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glowered at her. "So I did," said he. "Now I -say it again, and perhaps you will be able to grasp it. -And I want you to treat him as a gentleman should be -treated. So long as he is my guest, so long as he conducts -himself like a gentleman, you must be courteous to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer; no change.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you hear, Courtney?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you intend to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up went the long lashes and the deep green eyes burned -coldly at him. "As I choose," said she. "And I may add, -I will not put up with your bad temper any longer. At the -next outburst from you, Winchie and I leave this house. I -will not be insulted, and will not have my boy ruined by -his father's bad example."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard's eyes softened; he lowered them, the red -mounted. After a silence he said "Excuse me" without -looking at her, rose and went to the veranda. When she -finished giving directions for the next day to Nanny and -was going upstairs, he was still walking up and down, head -bent, hands behind his back, sternness in that long -aristocratic profile. An hour later, as she sat at her desk in -her own sitting room upstairs, she heard his voice at the -door into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I come in?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," replied she. Her back was toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to beg your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said she, her voice cold and even. She -did not realize how much this meant from a man who had -not the apologizing spirit or habit. And if she had -realized, she would have been no more appreciative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not accept it?" said he, ruffled at once, and -feeling that she was now the one in the wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not care any thing about it, one way or the -other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent for a moment, then: "I hardly blame -you," said he, with a great air of generous concession. -"I've been out of temper, rude—disgracefully so—for -some time. I'm sorry." And he stood looking at her -expectantly, more complacent than penitent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you think a few words are enough to make up -for all you've done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What more can I do? It's not a bit like you, -Courtney, to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what do you know about me?" inquired she, -turning half round and looking calmly at him over her -shoulder. "It's quite true," she went on, "that I have no -means of support but what I earn here as your housekeeper -and—wife. But, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he cried in a tone of imperative rebuke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few plain words—of truth—seem to shock you more -than your own conduct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such language from you! But you did not realize -what you were saying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. I meant just what I said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not language for a wife to use to a husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose from the desk and, without looking at him, -went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was working in the garden beneath the west windows. -She moved among the flowers, as restless and graceful -as any other of the elves always hovering about blooming -things—bees, humming birds, butterflies. It was a rare -chance to study the marvels of pose of which the human -body is capable. Now she was stooping, now kneeling; -bending forward, backward, to one side; or, erect and -stretching upward, to relieve a tall rosebush of a dead -leaf or spray. And the lines of her figure, ever changing, -were ever alluring. Her arms, too—and her neck—how -smooth and slenderly round, and how intensely alive! Her -whole skin seemed aureoled with invisible, tremulous, -magnetic waves. She was wearing a big pale-green garden -hat; her hair was perfectly done, as always—as if it had -taken no time or trouble, yet so that it formed a delightful -frame for her small, delicate face, and splintered and -reflected every stray of sunlight that dodged in under the -brim. Her short skirt revealed slim, tapering ankles and -small feet. There are feet that are merely short; then -there are feet such as hers—exquisitely small—not useless -looking, but the reverse. The same quality of the exquisite -was in her figure. She was small, but she was not short. -Her smallness enabled a perfection nature never gets in -the long or the large. She made largeness suggest -coarseness. Women of her form send thrilling through their -lovers the feeling of being able completely to enfold and -to possess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All alone and thinking only of the flowers, she entered -one of the narrow paths that led toward the veranda. She -stretched upward to re-curl a refractory tendril. Both arms -were extended, her head thrown back, the rosy bronze -face upturned—pathetic, yet laughter-loving mouth, eyes -of deep, deep green. Like one awakening from a -profound sleep she slowly became conscious that she and Basil -Gallatin were gazing into each other's eyes with only the -trellised creeper between. And his look made her heart -leap. She straightened herself, colored, paled, stood -trembling. The next thing she distinctly knew, he had come -round to the lawn at the edge of the garden in which she -was working.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you startled me!" she said, in a careless, casual -tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he did not answer, she glanced at him. He was -standing with eyes down. And his look made her vaguely -afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going to help me to-day?" she asked, resolved -to brave it through.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't stand it!" he cried, his voice trembling with -passion. "I love you. I must go. I shall go as soon as -Vaughan comes back. Until then I'll keep to the other part -of the grounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not just do it, and not talk so much?" she -demanded, suddenly angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had ever loved," said he humbly, "you'd understand. -But I didn't intend to say these things. I came -to tell you Vaughan's away. They telegraphed for him to -hurry to Washington—something about the duties on a lot -of new instruments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will he be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Several weeks, perhaps. He's going afterwards to -Baltimore, and then to Philadelphia and New York. He -left word with Jimmie about sending a trunk after him. -He had just time to catch the express. He asked me to -explain to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny appeared at the drive-front corner of the house. -He said to her: "Oh—Nanny. I've been upstairs packing -a few of my belongings. Will you have them taken to -Mr. Vaughan's apartment at the shop?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jimmie says Mr. Vaughan locked everything up down -there, and took the keys, and said no one was to go near it -while he was away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil hesitated, but only for an instant. "How forgetful -he is!" he exclaimed with a smile. "Of course I've -got to sleep there—as watchman. Well, I'll force the -stairway door. You can telephone over for a locksmith -this afternoon or to-morrow. He'll make a new lock and -key."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny departed, muttering. She did not like disobedience -to the head of the house of Vaughan; but, on the other -hand, she would have liked it much less had Gallatin stayed -on at the house with Mr. Richard not there. Gallatin -turned to Courtney. "Would it be too much trouble to -send my meals to the shop?" he asked, in a constrained, -formal tone that deeply offended her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny will attend to that," replied she, eyes cold as -winter seas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you. If you should need anyone—there's the -telephone to the shop. I'll re-connect it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't bother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There have been several robberies round here of late, -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please.... Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her as wistfully as a prisoner at the fields -of freedom beyond his cell window. She seemed impatient -to resume work; he went reluctantly away. She stood -gazing after him until he disappeared in the shrubbery at the -far eastern edge of the lawns. Then she sighed and -glanced at the unblemished sky as if she thought it was -clouding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three uneasy, tedious days and two wakeful nights. -In the third night, toward one o'clock, she tossed away her -book, put out her light, and opened all her shutters as -usual, to air the rooms. "If I opened his door and -window, I might get a breeze," she said to herself. "It's -terribly close." She crossed the hall, entered the room -Gallatin had occupied, raised a window, and leaned upon the -sill—it was the small window beyond the end of the -balcony, and so did not extend to the floor. The sky was -clear; the moon was hidden by the house. -Stillness—peace—beauty—beauty of view and of odor—the lake with its -dark banks, trees tossing up into the blue-black sky and -shimmering with moonlight—perfumes of foliage and flowers -and of the fresh-cut grass in the meadows beyond the -highroad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's as if everybody in the world were dead except -me," she murmured. She listened again to get the weird -effect of utter absence of sound. This time she heard the -faint plaint of a cricket, appealing for company in its -blindness and solitude. Then—her nerves became tense. -From the balcony, which ended just a few feet to her left, -came a stealthy sound—like a step. Softly she crossed the -room—the hall—her own room, to the high-boy. She took -from its top drawer her pistol. She returned to Gallatin's -bedroom—noiselessly unlocked the shutters over one pair -of the long windows opening on the balcony—unbolted one -of them and held it ajar. Yes, there was some one on that -balcony. Several of the neighbors had been robbed; now, -it was their turn. The pistol was self-cocking. Taking -it in her right hand, she drew back the window with her -left, stepped out. She thrust the pistol into the very face -of the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang back. She saw what looked like a knife in -one hand—nothing, apparently, in the other. At the same -instant she heard him cry "Courtney!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pistol dropped from her nerveless hand to the -balcony floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's I!" Gallatin exclaimed. "I heard a second-story -window go up very softly—I was walking and smoking in -the path. I came—climbed a pillar—and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O God! God!" she sobbed. Down she sank to the -floor, her face buried in her hands. "My love! My love! -And I almost killed you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knelt beside her. "Dearest—" He put his arm -round her. Instantly he drew away and sprang to his -feet. Up she started, gazing wildly round. "What is -it?" she exclaimed. "Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing," was his confused answer. But -already she had felt a thrill from where his arm, his hand -had been, and understood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A stifling silence. He said: "I must go now. I'm -sorry to have disturbed you." And with his conventionality -that was of instinct he lifted his hat and made a dignified -bow. In her hysterical state, she did not miss the -grotesque humor of this; she burst out laughing. She -leaned against the window frame and laughed until she -had to wipe away the flowing tears. He stood staring -blankly at her, with rising offense, as he, always sensitive -about himself, suspected she was laughing at him. For -his sense of humor was not nearly so keen as she had -been deceived into thinking by his store of jokes and -songs, of odds and ends of amusing cleverness, all -entirely new to her, and therefore seeming practically original -with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he said stiffly, when she was somewhat -calm. "I should like to laugh, too." It seemed to him -characteristic indeed, but most untimely, this display of -her utter incapacity for seriousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hysteria—reaction—and your everlasting good -manners," replied she. "Is there anything on earth that -would make you forget you are a gentleman from Philadelphia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing but you," answered he bitterly. "Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a second—please," she pleaded. And—why, she -could not have told—she went on, to her own surprise, -"The other day you said you had changed your mind and -were going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't that—cruel? I've learned to—to depend on -your friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer immediately. When he did, his -voice betrayed his agitation. "I'm going because my -manhood demands it. It may be weakness, but if I stayed I -should—should go all to pieces."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't argue against that. But there's one thing: -As you're going, I want to be able to feel that there's no -blot on our friendship. I've been condemning you unheard. -Tell me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused. He felt how embarrassed she was. -"What?" he asked gently. "Anything you wish to know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you go to—to Pittsburg because—because—I sent you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer; it was too dark to make out his -expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told you," she went on, speaking rapidly, as soldiers -advance at a double quick, where if they advanced at -ordinary pace they would have time to think, to be afraid, to -turn and fly, "I told you to go back to your old haunts -and cure yourself of—of your fancy for me.... You -went?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could suspect that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you did, don't lie to me. Say so, and I'll never -think of it again. I'd understand. I'd—I'd—forgive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no woman for me but you," he answered, -drawing a step farther from her and putting his hands -behind his back. "I went because my aunt telegraphed for -me. I came as soon as I could get away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped her hands and pressed them against her -bosom. She leaned toward him, eyes like two of the few -large stars in that summer night sky. "I am so glad," she -murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you suspect? How could you? Why did -you care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was—jealous." The confession was almost inaudible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" His arms impulsively extended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved him back. "Go—go! I am upset—hysterical. -Forget what I said. We are friends again. There is -jealousy in friendship, too. Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated. There she stood, all in that flimsy white—her -coils of soft fine hair about her small head—her arms, -her throat, her face tantalizingly half revealed in the -dimness. "Courtney—do you love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no—not that," answered she, softly, hurriedly, -pleadingly. "But I like you—and I'm a woman—and—and -that tells the whole story. Good night, Mr. Basil." She -held out her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not take it. "I dare not touch you—to-night," -he said. "I can't be trusted—nor can you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she assented, letting her hand drop. She drew -a long, deep breath, and he also—a draught of that -intoxicating air, surcharged with perfume and moonbeams and -the freedom of the midnight outdoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are friends—through and through?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." His reply was in the same low, hushed voice -as her question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is so much—so much." Their nerves like their -voices were tense from the restraint of the passionate -emotions damming up higher and higher within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'll see you at breakfast—and thank you for -coming.... Good night, Mr. Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bared his head. She did not feel like laughing now -at his "everlasting good manners," but was shivering, with -hot tears in her eyes. He said "Good night, Mrs. Courtney."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly she went in at the window of his room. Just -as she was about to push the bolt, she opened it again. -"You must come in this way," she said. "I'll let you out -at the front door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'll go as I came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If any of the servants——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make me feel guilty—when I'm not. Come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He entered the room. Both began to close the -window. Their hands touched, hesitated, clasped. She was -in his arms, his lips were upon hers. A long kiss. Her -form relaxed; she drew her lips away to murmur, "Hold -me. I'm—faint." Again their lips met, and he clasped -her to him until he could feel the wild pulsing of her blood -against his face, against his chest, against his arms—could -feel it in every part of that small form, so utterly within -his embrace. "Don't," she gasped. "It is too much—too -much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you—I love you. You are mine—yes, you are, -Courtney! There is nothing but love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gently released herself, swayed, leaned against the -casement, looked up into the summer starlight. Again he -seized her, and again his lips found hers. Her head -dropped upon his shoulder. A sound—one of those creakings -that haunt the stillness of a house in the night hours. -She startled, stiffened, shut her teeth upon a scream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was nothing," he said. He, too, was rigid, with -every sense alert for danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have we done!" she exclaimed. They stood -silent, facing each other, overcome with shame, burning -with longing. "Oh—Basil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her in his arms. But she pushed him resolutely -away. "No—not again," she said. He looked at her; she -gazed up into the sky. "Love!" she murmured. "Love! -And I—must not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot—forgot!" he cried. "O God—Courtney—I -love you more than honor." And he opened the other -the door windows, rushed past her, vanished round -the corner of the house. She sighed, shivered, stepped out -upon the balcony, stood at the rail until she saw a dark -form rapidly cross the lawns toward the shrubbery densely -inclosing the Smoke House. She looked all -round—sky—lake—woods. "It is so lonely," she -sobbed. "So lonely!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="x"><span class="bold large">X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Ten minutes before breakfast time a knock at the hall -door into her bedroom. She knew who it was that could -not reach above the lower panels. "Come in!" she cried. -Winchie entered—stopped short on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Mr. Benedict Vaughan," said she, -nodding at him by way of the mirror before which she was -arranging her blouse at the neck. And he knew she was -in a particularly fine humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have we got company? Who?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you going to take me for a walk after breakfast?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. Don't we always go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's raining."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't it spoil that dress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One'd think you had a sloven for a mother. Don't I -always dress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that's a long skirt. And you're not putting on a -shirt waist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll change after breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh." This, however, contented him for a moment -only. He eyed her critically as she made one insignificant -little change after another, displaying a fussiness -quite unusual. "I guess we're to have company—maybe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all. We never have people to breakfast. -What </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you puzzling about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you put on the rain dress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's delicate skin was showing more than its -normal color. She shook her head laughingly at him—this -child whose questions were forcing her to see a truth -she was striving might and main to hide from herself. -"You don't like this dress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I like 'em all. It isn't the dress, exactly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. It's—something. It made me think -company right away." The bar of music from the gong -came floating up from below. "There's breakfast!" he -exclaimed. "Are you 'most ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," replied she, with a last look at profile, back -hair and back of skirt with the aid of a hand glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe there'll be company," said Winchie as they -started.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure there'll be corn muffins," said she. "I smell -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there's hash, may I have a little?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The descent was slow as Winchie's legs were short. She -listened at every step, but could hear no sound of the kind -she hoped. At the sitting-room door she glanced round. -He was not there. "He's in the dining room," she said -half to herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who, mamma?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney startled, flushed. "What is it, dear?" she -stammered guiltily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has papa come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I was thinking of Mr. Gallatin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie drew his hand from hers. But she did not -note it; for they were at the threshold of the dining room, -and no one was there but Lizzie. She and Winchie sat, -but she did not begin. A moment and she went to the -telephone in the hall, took down the receiver of the private -wire. Soon she heard in Basil's voice, "Hello. What -is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's—I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh." Then silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you hurt yourself last night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not at all—thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a constrained voice: "I thought you were coming -to breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I felt it was better not to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!—good-by." And she hung up the receiver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Back in the dining room, uneasy under Winchie's -serious steady gaze, she winced at his first remark: -"Mr. Gallatin's company. There's you—and me—and the rest's -company." After a pause, doubtfully: "Except papa. -He's not quite company, I guess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want some of the hash?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said there wasn't to be company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please! Please!" she cried. "You'll give me the -headache."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said I was always to say what I had in my brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent over and kissed his hand. "And so you must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you say everything that's in your brains?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reddened again. "Everything Winchie'd understand," -replied she. "After a while, when you grow up, -you'll find a lot of things in your mind that it'd be of -no use to say because nobody would understand—a lot of -things you won't understand yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is those in, already," said he solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "No doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she did not encourage him, he addressed himself -to the hash, which was the kind he liked—brown and not -too dry, and with the potatoes in little cubes. She poured -her coffee, just touched one of Mazie's famous corn muffins -as she slowly drank it, and gave herself up to the clear -and calm daylight reflections that make comment so cynical -and so severe upon what we do and say and think under -the spell of night. She put on a waterproof hat and suit, -leggings and boots, and issued forth for a two-hours' -tramp with Winchie, who was dressed in the same fashion. -When they got back at ten, she felt she was not the same -woman as the one who had the adventure with the burglar -on the balcony. She saw Winchie into dry clothes and -settled at his rainy-day games—then out she went again. -She walked rapidly along the path to the Smoke House; -was soon rapping at the heavy iron door of the laboratory. -She rapped again and again, turned away angry, was -almost back at the edge of the shrubbery when she remembered -that Richard had locked the laboratory, that Basil -could not possibly be there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, returned to the Smoke House, knocked -at the door of the stairway leading up to the suite. No -answer. She opened it, went upstairs. At the top she -paused, called, "Anybody here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. He -was in a dark-blue summer house suit, a cigarette in the -corner of his mouth. His face was very red; his eyes did -not meet hers. "Lizzie straightened up and left about -half an hour ago," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came for a look round," explained she, admiring, -without seeming to do so, his elegant and fashionable suit, -the harmony of its color with his soft négligée shirt and -flowing artist's tie. But then she always liked the way -he dressed, the way he wore his clothes. "I come once -a week in the morning to keep Lizzie up to the mark," -she went on. "You're down in the laboratory at that time, -so you haven't known what a model housekeeper I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not stand aside for her to enter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I also had another reason," pursued she. "Please -don't choke up the doorway. I'm coming in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed, stood aside. She entered, glanced round the -sober but not somber room with its walls, ceilings, floor, -and furniture of walnut. It was a comfortable place and -beautifully clean. "Jimmie attends to the floors?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced into the adjoining room—kalsomined -walls and ceiling, a white oak floor, a big chest of drawers, -a big mirror, a big table and chair, a roomy brass bedstead. -"Any complaints?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything perfectly satisfactory," he assured her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for my other business—my real business," said -she, disposing herself in one of the window seats. "You -may continue to stand, if you prefer; but it would please -me better if you sat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself stiffly at the table desk. Her eyes -were dancing with amusement at his overelaborated formality. -It made him seem such a boy, made her feel vastly -wiser and stronger and older than he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you come to breakfast?" she inquired in -a most businesslike tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I made up my mind not to see you again until -Vaughan returned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, to go away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I prefer not to answer that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true Vaughan and I are not exactly friends. -Still, I've been disloyal. I shall be so no more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped her hands round one knee, looked at him -with half closed eyes. "I do not like to be regarded as -part of some one's else belongings," said she. "I belong -to myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to God you did!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You attach too much importance to what a woman -says and does on impulse. I was much upset last night. -I said and did things that seem absurd to me in daylight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am just as absurd, as you call it, in daylight as I -was in moonlight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flinched, controlled herself, made an impatient -gesture. "Don't say those things, or you'll spoil everything," -she half pleaded, half commanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He strode to a window across the room from that in -which she was sitting. "Everything is spoiled. I've -simply got to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." She shook her head slowly. "You will stay, -and we'll be friends again, as before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I could only wipe out last night!" he cried, and -he wheeled upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught her breath. "Do you mean that?" she -asked impulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped short, faced her, but his eyes were down. -"No, I don't," replied he. "And that's the devil of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I honestly regretted last night, I could stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you lie to yourself?" she asked, crossing the -room toward him. "You have no real intention of going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His gaze sank. "I shall try to go," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed—after she had returned to the safer distance -of the window seat. "What a passion for hypocrisy -you men have. 'I shall try.' You hope that last tiny rag -of a remnant will cover your real purpose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think I am a dishonorable dog. I don't wonder at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't. But I do think you are taking yourself -entirely too seriously. You don't want to go, do you? And -I don't wish you to go. And Richard doesn't want you -to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd compel it if he knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he doesn't know. Maybe, if I knew some things -about you, I'd want you to go. Maybe, if you knew me -thoroughly, you'd be eager to go. As it is, we all want -things to stay as they are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last night was a warning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she hastened to assent. "Let's heed it. Let's -go back to friendship and not wander. My friend, you're -letting your mind hang over just one subject, just one side -of the relations of men and women. Isn't there more to me -than—that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then let's be friends. Let's put aside what we can't -have. Let's take and enjoy what we can. Let's not talk -or think about—about love—any more than one frets about -not being able to visit the moon. We've been finding life -happy these last few weeks, with that subject never -mentioned. Why not again? Are you too weak? Am I too -uninteresting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tried once before and failed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But now that we've looked the situation straight in the -face—now that we're both on guard—don't you think we -can do better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm afraid to try—aren't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes held him, they were so mysterious. "Not so -much as I'm afraid not to try," replied she slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dropped into his chair again, sat staring at the -blotting pad on the desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had you thought," she went on, "what would happen -if we owned ourselves beaten and fled from each other?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He presently lifted his eyes, looked at her in wonder. -"And that never occurred to me!" he cried. "Why, our -only chance now is to stay here and fight it out. If we -shirked and tried to escape—" He paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I went away, it'd only be to come back—desperate. -And you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not finish his sentence. They sat silent a long -time. "It would be horribly lonely with you gone," said -she in an absent, impersonal way. "And loneliness breeds -such wild longings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence. Then she rose. "Come up to the -house and help me with those plans for a kitchen garden -under glass," she suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded without looking at her, as if to show her that -he understood all and accepted what was beyond question -the less dangerous of their alternatives. "As soon as I -dress, I'll be there," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot. I must change, too. In an hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They shook hands in an emphatically comradely fashion, -and she went. The former conditions were restored. They -would not permit them to be interrupted again. They -would demonstrate that, with a thousand, thousand other -things, interesting, amusing, to talk and to think about, they -could bar out love and keep it out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour over the plans, then they had dinner, laughing -and joking together like two children. They did not heed -or even note the gloom of Winchie and old Nanny—she was -waiting, as it was Lizzie's day out. Winchie sat mum and -glum, eating in the deliberate way Courtney had taught him -and never lifting his jealous eyes from his plate. -Nanny—middle-aged, homely, prim with the added sourness of -those who have never had the least temptation to be -otherwise—Nanny glowered at Gallatin every time she came into -the room. She had disapproved of him from the outset and -had made no secret of it. This gayety of his, in the absence -of the head of the house of Vaughan, changed that -dinner for her into a Babylonish revel. She was shocked -at Courtney's taking part, but was not surprised. What -was to be expected of the weak and frivolous younger -generation of her own sex, mad about adorning the body, -scornful of the idea of "settling," and incredulous as to -hell fire? Her anger concentrated on Gallatin. He was -a man; he seemed a serious, moral man. Yet here he -was, leading on the vain, weak woman—he a guest of -Mr. Vaughan's—trusted by him—put upon his honor. "It's -enough to bring Colonel 'Kill back a-harntin'," muttered -she into the oven.... Early in the afternoon it cleared -gloriously. Outdoors, the two trespassers upon ancient -propriety giddied into still higher spirits. And after -supper! They banged on the piano and sang "coon" songs -and became so hilarious "that you'd think the settin' room -was full," said Jimmie to his aunt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny scowled at the blue yarn sock she was knitting -with wrinkled, rheumatism-knotted fingers. "Such -goings-on!" she growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" demanded Jimmie. "Where's the harm? -And I reckon Mrs. V. knows how to take care of herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said she didn't?" snapped Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Toward nine Courtney and Basil went out on the -veranda. It was a perfect August night. The honeysuckle -in great masses upon the rail was giving forth an -odor that quieted them like pensive music. Under the -trees and among the bushes the now pale, now bright lamps -of the "lightning bugs" shone by scores and hundreds. -There was a moon, sailing high and almost full. She -thought she had never been so happy in her life. At -former happy times there was in her no such capacity -to appreciate and enjoy as experience had now given her. -And what an ideal companion Basil was—so much the -man of the world, wise, experienced, yet simple and -amazingly modest. And how marvelously they fitted into each -other's moods! She had never thought to find a human -being with just the right combination of qualities—one -who could be serious—always in an interesting way—and -also as light as the lightest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at those elder blossoms," said Basil in a low -voice, as if louder tones might break the spell and -dissolve the beauty, delicate, fragile, unreal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Elder bushes were the outer wall of the eastern shrubbery; -their flowers, soft, feathery mats, deliciously sweet to -smell, looked at that distance and in that light like a wall -of snow. Courtney and Basil descended from the veranda, -strolled across the lawn. She lifted her head, seemed to -drink in the beauty with her whole face, and to exhale it in -a newer, subtler loveliness and perfume.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How sweet the boxwood hedge is after to-day's rain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the water's edge, all other perfumes -yielded to the powerful, heavy, sensuous odor of the locust -blossoms, in white clusters above the bench on which they -presently sat. They were silent, gazing across the lake -where, in contrast to the darkness and silence of their -shore, lay the town, a shimmer of light, a murmur of -confused sounds mingling pleasantly. Down the lake, far -out beyond the edge of the heavy shadow flung by the trees, -a boat was coming, the man rowing, the girl playing the -mandolin and singing. The tinkling of the mandolin and -the fresh young voice floated over the waters to Courtney -and Basil. She drew in her breath sharply, with a sense -of alluring danger hovering. The boat drew nearer; the -sounds were clearer—clearer, more tender, more moving. -The mandolin tinkled. The free, sweet young voice sang: -"I want you—ma honey!—yes I do! I want you—I -want you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped, clinched her hands in her lap. Basil -started up. "I can't bear it!" he cried. "I can't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no!" she exclaimed, and her strange look -suggested a soul drowning. "Go—go quickly!" And drawing -her white shawl about her shoulders, she fled into the -house.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xi"><span class="bold large">XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Where's Mr. Gallatin?" asked Winchie, as he and -his mother were finishing breakfast next morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At the Smoke House, I guess," replied she. There -was a far-away look in her eyes, and their lids were heavy. -Although Lizzie had been unusually unsuccessful in arranging -the flowers, she left the bowl untouched in the center -of the table—a solid mass of carnations which she could -have changed into a miracle of lightness and grace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he coming to breakfast?" asked Winchie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—at least, I suppose not. How'd you like to go -to grandpa's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will Mr. Gallatin go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's cheeks flushed. "No," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'd like it—for a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are going to-morrow," said Courtney. "To-morrow morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is grandpa sick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Nobody is sick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's face wore a queer smile. "We'll help -grandma and Aunt Lal and Aunt Ann put up fruit and -jam and preserves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will we stay long?" inquired the boy anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Until—until your father—gets back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie looked much downcast. "Why?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" said Courtney. "And now, you'll help -me pack and I'll help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a busy day, as there were many things to -arrange besides the packing. Gallatin did not appear at the -house all day, and Courtney did not expect him. Toward -ten that night the packing was finished and everything -ready for an early departure. Courtney went downstairs -and out across the moonlit lawn. Slowly, with gaze -straight ahead, she strolled toward the lake, toward the -summer house in the copse at the western edge of the -grounds. She entered, curled herself up on the broad -seat, her elbow upon the rail, her hand supporting her -chin. She watched the moonlight in the ripples along -the middle of the lake. From time to time, she lifted her -head, strained her eyes into the encircling shadows, then -resumed her attitude, mental as well as physical, of -forlorn abstraction. Something less than half an hour, and -when she lifted herself to glance round for the third or -fourth time, she did not sink back, but slowly straightened, -her breath coming quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's there?" she called softly, addressing the deep -shadows over the path by which she had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer but the chorus of tiny creatures murmuring -excitedly in every crevice and beneath every blade -and leaf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" she demanded, but not loudly or -nervously. She stood up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only I," came in Basil's voice, and he advanced -and stood between the entrance pillars of the open rustic -pavilion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said she. And she resumed gazing over the -water, but did not resume her seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw you cross the lawn," he explained. "And I -was afraid some one might intrude."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said she gratefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew it was I—didn't you?" he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A brief silence, then—"Yes," she admitted, and gave -a little laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you laugh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I just realized that I was expecting you—that -I came here hoping to see you. How one does lie -to oneself!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish me to leave you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No.... What a beautiful night it is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The loveliest I ever saw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These locust blossoms— The perfume makes me feel -languid—but not sleepy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess it is the locusts," he said. "I feel that way, -too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm taking Winchie to my father's for a visit—in the -morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So Jimmie said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll stay until Richard comes back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I supposed so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence. Then she: "I must go in soon," and an -instant later, without realizing it, seated herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wrote to Starky—Estelle—to-day.... To ask her -to fix the date for the marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I decided it was best for me to commit myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She buried her face in her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And," he went on, "you know I shall always love -you—</span><em class="italics">always</em><span>! ... I say that because—in a few minutes -now we'll part, and never see each other again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her face between her hands, she gazed at the -dancing surface of the watery highway of moonlight, and -repeated monotonously—"never see each other again." Then, -after a moment, "How heavy the perfume of the -locusts is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied he, "but so sweet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the thin film of surface over their emotions -suddenly burst. "Never again—oh, my Courtney!" he cried -between set teeth. Both had thought all day that they -were calm and resigned. They knew now how they had -been deceiving themselves. He flung away from her. -Both knew what was coming, knew it was too late to -save themselves, felt the wild reckless thrill of terror and -rapture that precedes the breaking down of all barriers, -the breaking up of all foundations, the free sweep of -unfettered passion. So young—so young—with such a -long stretch of empty years—and they never to see each -other again!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I live on, without you to help me?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll be easier for you than for me. You have—your -boy. I have—nothing." He sat down, away from her, -stared into the blackness of the copse. "Nothing," he -repeated. He was holding his breath and waiting for -the inevitable storm to break.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!" she cried, and in impulsive sympathy reached -out and touched him. "Won't it be something—to know -that you have my heart—my—love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt him trembling, and there was a sob in his -voice as he answered: "But when your arms ache with -emptiness, you can put them round Winchie. While -I—Courtney, how can I touch another woman, when it's -you—you—</span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—" And his groping hand met hers, clasped -it. He bent his head, kissed her hand—the back, the palm, -then the fingers one by one. And they softly touched his -cheek. "Basil!" she sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The faint wind agitated the clusters of locust blooms; -their perfume descended in heavy voluptuous waves. He -pressed his hands one against each of her cheeks. "Courtney," -he murmured. "My love—my dear love!" Their -lips met.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must not!" she pleaded, her arms about his neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After to-night," he reminded her, "we, who love, will -never see each other again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never again!" she moaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the signal both were unconsciously, yet deliberately, -awaiting. He gave an inarticulate cry, caught her -up as a strong wind a flower. "I've had enough of right -and wrong," cried he. "You are mine! I will not let -you go. I love you—I love you—I love you!" And he -showered kisses upon her until she, dizzy and fainting, -yet never so alive, was clinging to him, was calling him -endearing names, was laughing and sobbing. And in that -darkness and mad frenzy of longing and despair they -could pretend to themselves that it was all as unreal as a -dream—was, in fact, a dream, or at worst, -impulse—irresistible, irresponsible.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He felt her heart flutter, halt in its steady, strong beat -within her breast close against his. She raised her head -from his shoulder, listened. "What is it?" he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bird broke from the copse and with a great noise -of wings against leaves blundered away to another and -higher place. "A bird—that was all," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh—h! No. They never stir so suddenly at night -without cause." She was cold, was shivering. They -looked at each other, tingling with guilty alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He disengaged himself lingeringly, with a parting -caress of his lips along her cheek. "It's cold," she -murmured. "And I'm—I'm afraid." Never before in all -her life had she been afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went softly along the path until the shadows hid -him. After a moment he returned to the entrance. "I -see nothing," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I hear nothing—any more," replied she. "You -don't know what a queer, creepy sensation I had. It -was—was—as if some one were near us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not seat himself by her again. "Isn't -it—very—very late?" he said hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. But come, dear. Let's forget. It was -nothing. Oh, I was so happy—and now—Basil, I'm cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of sitting and taking her in his arms he drew -her to her feet. "I saw your front door open," he said. -"I think you'd better go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flung herself into his arms. "No—no!" she -cried. "Not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held her closely, but soon released her. "You had -better go," urged he, and she felt nervousness and -constraint in his tone, in his touch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed quietly. "What are you afraid of?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing!" he retorted stoutly. "Still, the door is -open, and some one might——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, </span><em class="italics">you're</em><span> quite cold! ... Basil, what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing at all," replied he, his arms round -her again, his lips upon hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she said: "I </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span> you were neglecting -me rather long. It's a habit men have after—after a -woman is entirely theirs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say those things, even in joke," he begged, so -seriously that it jarred on her overwrought nerves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you take that sort of remarks in earnest," said -she, a trace of resentment in her tone, "I'll be likely to -believe there's something in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was so—so frank," apologized he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not speak frankly?" said she. "One of the -joys of loving you is that we'll be entirely frank with -each other. I'll never be afraid to show you how much -I love you, or to say whatever thought comes into my mind. -And you must feel that you can be your natural self always, -can speak out any thought you may have, no matter what it -is. All that doesn't mean much to you. But to me—" She -drew a long, deep breath. "You—a man—couldn't -possibly know how delicious it is to a woman to be able to -be her—her naked self! ... You're not listening. You -don't hold me tightly. Are you shocked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered he with constraint. "I keep thinking -of—of—that door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent, offended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't quite frank with you a moment ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Already!" she sighed. Then, repentantly: "I know -I'm silly. But it means so much to me to feel that -we—you and I—can stand before each other, just as we are. -Oh, I've hidden myself so long, Basil. Your love—the -great temptation of it was that it meant freedom. If I -were your wife, you'd expect all sorts of conventional things -of me. If you were my husband, I'd feel and you'd feel -we had to live up to standards and do customary things. -As it is, our love's free—free!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil, don't you feel that way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear," he answered absently. "But—I must -tell you. When I went out—a while ago to look, I saw -Nanny on the porch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even in that dimness he saw the terror in her face. -"On the porch!" she gasped. She sprang up. "Why -didn't you tell me before?" she cried angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I thought it might alarm you foolishly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not a hysterical fool. Please don't forget -that—again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, forgive me—my love." When they had -embraced: "Yes—I must go—at once.... Why can't you -come with me? Start as soon as you see I'm at the door. -But you mustn't cross the lawn. You must go round by -the shadows. It would be quite safe. You needn't go -back to the shop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent, waiting for him to feel how hurt she -was and to reassure her. But he stood aloof, and -presently asked in a constrained voice, "How long will you -be at your father's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At my father's!" she exclaimed. "Why, I shall not go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must," he insisted. "You've made all the -arrangements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can send me away—</span><em class="italics">now</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please—dear. Don't be unreasonable. If you -changed your plan everybody'd think it strange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everybody—who?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny, for instance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny? Why should I care what Nanny thinks? My -first scare was only—guilty conscience. Basil, why are -you so queer—so absent and—distant? Tell me—just -what it is in your mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rested her hands pleadingly on his shoulders and -looked up at him. In her eyes, as in his, shone the fever -of their delirium. He took her hands, kissed her. "Don't -be foolish," he said, trying to laugh. "I guess I am a -little bit unnerved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she was not satisfied. "Basil—do you regret?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney! Courtney!" he pleaded. "That's the -way to tear our happiness down, stone by stone, till -nothing's left but ruins. You must not be suspicious." He -patted her reassuringly on the shoulder with an air of -possession. "Of course I love you, more than ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say it in a tone that—that sounds like superior -to inferior." She sighed. "Is nothing in the world up -to its promise? Here, I thought we'd be perfectly -happy—two pariahs together—two lost souls—but accepting our -punishment of secret shame and hypocrisy—accepting it -gladly, as it was the price we had to pay for freedom -and each other. And already, in the first hour, we're -almost quarreling. It must not be, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dearest," he cried. "And it will not be. We -will be happy. Trust me. I'm unstrung—and maybe -you, too. But you know I love you—more than I ever -thought. And really you ought to go in the morning—really, -dearest! You need stay only two days. You can -come home the second day. Don't you see we -must—must—must be careful? Now that there's something to -conceal, we can't act any longer as we did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid her clasped hand on her breast, looked -wistfully up at him. "We can't ever be free and unafraid -again, can we?" said she. "It isn't just one act -of—of concealment—is it?—and freedom and openness -afterwards. I see lies—and lies—and yet more lies—stretching -away—away—until—" She shuddered, hid her face -in his shoulder. "Oh, my love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd tell all the lies in the world to have you." He -embraced her almost roughly. "All—all! And care not -a rap. You—you are my god and my morality. To love -you, to have you, to keep you—that's all. The rest is -trash."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes," echoed she feverishly. "The rest is trash. -We've got the best. Love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And we'll hold on to it—always!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I go in the morning, when life has just -begun? How can I? No—no—don't answer. I know -you're right. I'll go—and ... Good by!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flung her arms about him. He caught up her small, -warm body with its soft curves and its radiations of vivid, -perfumed life. Their lips clung together. They separated, -laughed dizzily. She waved her arm and darted up -the path. From the shadows he watched her cross the -lawn, like some creation of the summer and the -moonlight. In the doorway she paused, waved to him once -more; the door closed. Then he, like a thief, sneaked -along the retaining walls at the lake shore—now stooping -to keep in the deep shadow, out of sight of anyone who -might be watching from the house—now advancing erect -with stealthy swiftness—until he was able to strike into -the darkness of the path to the Smoke House.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Midway in undressing his eyes chanced upon her picture, -framed and hanging opposite the foot of the bed—a -large photograph, with Winchie, a tiny baby, against her -shoulder, his fat check pressing upon hers. Basil stood -before the picture, his expression a very human and -moving mingling of awe and adoration and passion. -Suddenly he remembered to whom that picture belonged. "But -not she!" he said aloud defiantly. Nevertheless, he flushed, -hung his head, switched off the light, and sought his bed. -"How can I ever face him?" he muttered. Then: "She -is mine! She never was really his. I take nothing that -belongs to him. I take nothing she could give, or ever did -give, to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fell immediately into a sound sleep—the exhaustion -of nerves so long on fierce tension. But about two in the -morning he started up, listened. Yes, some one was -moving beneath the window. He went to it, looked down. -There was Courtney, swathed in a long, dark cloak. He -thrust his feet into slippers, drew on a big dressing gown, -descended, and opened the door. He stretched out his -arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flung herself against his breast. "I couldn't go -without seeing you again," she panted. "After I left -you, and got into bed, I began to think all sorts of -dreadful things about you. You acted so strangely. And then -I felt ashamed of myself, felt I must come and beg your -pardon. And—and—here I am. Are you glad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His laugh was answer enough. He took her in his -arms, carried her up to the sitting room, set her down on -the sofa. "How light you are!" he cried. "But how -strong—I've seen you swing Winchie to your shoulder as -if he were nothing at all. Now—please—won't you let -your hair down? There never was such hair as yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat up, let the cloak fall away. The moon was -flooding the room. As she sat there, with eyes sparkling -and small, sensitive face shy-bold, she looked as if she -had sprung to mortal life from an old folk song about -loreleis and nymphs and enchanted princesses. "You -floated in on the moonbeams," he declared. "I'm afraid, -if I don't shut the window, you'll flit away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That'd not stop me," laughed she. And she began -to take her hair down. Just as it was about to unroll, she -paused. "Wouldn't you like to take it down yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went round behind her, drew out the hairpins one -by one, fumbling softly, lingeringly for them, keeping -them carefully. Her hair loosened, uncoiled, fell about her -in a shimmering veil. "Oh, my love!" he cried. "My -beautiful Courtney!" And he took the soft, perfumed -veil in his hands, kissed it again and again, buried his face -in it, wrapped her head and his together in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed delightedly, then drew away, looking at -him with mock severity. "And where, sir, did you learn -how to make a woman so happy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What things you </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> say!" he laughed, just a little -bit scandalized. "I might ask the same question of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I can answer it—" with a mocking smile—"without -evasion. Imagination. I've so often thought—and -thought—and thought—what I would be to a man I -freely loved—one I wasn't afraid of scandalizing. Oh, I -know I shock you—for there's a great deal you've yet to -learn about women—that they're human, just like men. -But you'll learn—and then I think you'll see I'm -good—for I am. I couldn't be bad—hate anyone—play mean -tricks, say or do mean things. Don't you wish I were -tall—wish there were more of me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't live through it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you really—really—love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held her tightly by the shoulders, gazed into her -eyes. "So much that, if you were untrue to me, I'd kill -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what made you think of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thoughtfully: "I guess it is because I'm giving myself -to you when I am—am— Now, there you go, shocked -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed recklessly. "Give me time," said he, "and -I'll get used to it. You say you'd rather I showed just -how I felt than locked it away and pretended."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes—a thousand times! I don't mind your -being shocked—not really." With a queer little laugh, "I'm -shocked myself. Somehow I seem to delight in shocking -myself—and you. Loving you is—all sorts of pleasures -and pains. I want them all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All!" he echoed. "Yes—all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Midway in her embrace she stopped him, pushed him -laughingly away with, "But you weren't quite frank a -while ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There at the lake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever see one of those little toy spaniels—how -they quiver and shiver all the time? I'm just as -sensitive as that. You mustn't try to deceive me—ever! -You mustn't say or act any of those hypocrisies of what -some people call good taste, either. They're not necessary -with me. They'd make me feel deceived. I might not -confess I knew—and then—'The little rift within the -lute.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I'll tell you," he said for the moment deeply -impressed. "Yes, I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me everything—</span><em class="italics">every</em><span>thing. There mustn't be -any concealment—anything to lie hid away in the depths -of some dark closet to rot and rot and infect the whole -house." She suddenly lowered her head; and, as the full -meaning of her words, the meaning she had not foreseen, -reached him, he, too, became ill at ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he said: "I didn't want to frighten you -needlessly. When I saw Nanny—she was—just going up the -steps of the porch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's eyes widened and her face blanched. "You -think—" she began when she could find voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't tell which direction she had come from," he -replied. "But it's no matter. She couldn't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney remembered the darkness—how grateful she -had been for its friendly aid. "No," said she resolutely. -"She couldn't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," echoed he, as if the idea that she -could were absurd. "But it made me realize how -careful we must be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied she thoughtfully. "Yes." And she -was clinging to him, was sobbing. "Oh, my love—my -love—I don't care what comes, if only it does not -separate us.... Look! Look!" she cried, pointing out into -the sky. "Dawn! I must fly. Where </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> my slippers!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found them for her, put them on, bundled her into -her cloak, picked her up, and hurried downstairs with her. -"I'm not so little," said she. "It's because you're so big -and strong. One kiss—quick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed her—on the lips and, as she turned to go, -again on the nape of the neck. "Day after to-morrow!" -he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'll come here at nine, rain or shine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she ran along the path. The moon had set; it -was intensely dark. Arriving within sight of the house -she stopped short. There were lights, upstairs and down, -shadows of moving figures on the curtains. "God!" she -ejaculated. "What </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> I do!" And for the first time -the great fear—the fear a woman has when she thinks she -has lost her reputation—buried its talons in her throat -and its beak in her heart. Do? Face it! She lifted her -head high, gathered herself together, advanced boldly. As -she entered the front door she ran into Nanny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. In -the same instant her courage fled and she leaned faint -against the wall. "Winchie!" she gasped. "Has -something happened to him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny was standing stiffly with eyes down—a sullen -figure, accusing, contemptuous. But she answered -respectfully enough if surlily: "Winchie missed you and came -up and waked me and Mazie just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down the stairs came the boy, sobbing, shouting, -"Mamma! Mamma! I lost you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney caught him up, hugged him, kissed him. -"You silly baby!" she cried, laughing. "What a fuss -about nothing. Put out the lights, Nannie." Halfway -up the stairs she hesitated. Would it be more natural -to make an explanation or to say nothing? She decided -it was best, more like her usual self, to say nothing. "Put -out the lights and go to bed," she repeated.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xii"><span class="bold large">XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She had said nine o'clock, but it was not quite half -past eight, the next evening but one, when she appeared -at the edge of the clearing. He was seated in the -entrance to the upper story, his gaze fixed on the opening -in the trees where the path emerged. At first glimpse -of her in the long dark cloak, he flung away his cigarette -and rushed toward her. He embraced her, then held her -off as if to reassure himself that it was really she. "Do -you still love me?" he asked. "Are you </span><em class="italics">sure</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The emerald eyes flashed up at him. Her face, -revealed in the starlight, was gravely earnest and sweet. -But beneath her calm, as beneath his, there was evidently -still raging the hysteria that had whirled both clean out -of the realm of sanity and sense—the fever that keeps -whirling the soul it seizes from pinnacle to abyss and -back again. "Ever since we separated," said she, "I've -been imagining I was struggling to give up our love. But -as the time for me to come got nearer and nearer, I -realized what a fraud I was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They sat side by side in the entrance. "May I -smoke?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do." As he opened his cigarette case, "Let me have one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know you smoked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—a little—at college. We girls used to do it, for -the sensation of being devilish. Wouldn't you like me to -smoke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you wish to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't approve?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—I don't exactly like for women to smoke or use -slang. Those things seem sort of unsexing. Of course, -it's only an idea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled indulgently, rolling the cigarette to loosen -the tobacco, as Basil did, with a great air of being an old -hand at it. "I'm afraid you're narrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gracious! What you must be thinking of me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she said it, she gave that little audacious laugh of -delight in her freedom to be frank. But he became grave, -and it was with deep earnestness that he answered, "I -love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She, too, was grave and thoughtful now. "What a -difference that does make! Then everything—anything -seems all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her arm through his. "Here, take your -cigarette. I'll not distress you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—do smoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll confess the real reason. It makes such a nasty -taste in my mouth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tossed his cigarette into the grass. His every -gesture—and hers—betrayed what a strain they were -undergoing, how deceptive was their appearance of sanity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what did you do that for?" exclaimed she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I oughtn't to smoke when I'm going to kiss you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her cigarette to his lips. "Please," she urged, -"I like you to smoke. Don't you know a woman likes -everything, even the unpleasant things, that make a man -different from her? ... Smoke, and tell me what you've -been doing. It's forty hours since we were together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been conscious of pretty nearly every one of -them," said he. "I've done nothing but think of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sad thoughts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very. But I'll not do that again. What's the use, -Courtney? We've got to have each other. What's the use -of struggling against it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't realize it—I can't," said she absently. "Last -night—out at father's—I got up in the middle of the night -and ran and looked at myself in the glass. And—" She -paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could look myself straight in the eyes and tell -myself what I had been to you, and not feel like hiding. -Is it that I'm not doing anything bad or that I'm so bad -I don't know good from bad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's love," declared he gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can look back now and see that from the -beginning—from the day I saw you cared—I've been coming -straight to you. I was lying to myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I, too," he confessed. "Courtney, we've been—and -are—in the clutch of a force that's stronger than we."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—don't—know," said she slowly. Then, with her -arms round his neck, "and I don't care. If conscience -tolls its ugly bell, I'll shout 'Love! Love!' so loud that -it'll be drowned. I must have love—I will have love. -And how can I help loving you, who are so altogether -wonderful in every way? You've only kissed me once -since I came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what's twice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer he gathered her into his arms, carried her -up to the sitting room. With all of her within his arms, -he sat in the big armchair. "Now!" he exclaimed. "We'll -be happy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Oh, </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> a scare when I was here before!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat up and told him about Winchie's raising the hue -and cry for her. He listened with a somber countenance. -When she had, finished he said, "And where's Winchie now!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In bed—asleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—if he wakes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, he'll lie perfectly quiet till he sleeps again. -I told him never to repeat that escapade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he may get frightened——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, sir," said she smilingly, "he's my child. -He could not be afraid.... What a mournful face!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm horribly jealous of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Winchie didn't keep us apart, he never could push -us apart now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very selfish," he said despondently. "I want all—all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here we are—sad again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed. "And in a few minutes you'll have to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't stay away from the house. Something -might happen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Croak! Croak!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed his hand impatiently over his face. "I'm -a fool!" he exclaimed. "I must learn to be content with -what I have—when it's so much—so vastly more than I -ever dared hope—or—" He stared out into the darkness. -The ducks among the reeds close inshore were quacking -discontented forebodings of rain. "I trifle with my good -fortune."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, dear?" she asked, her cheek -against his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you been thinking while I was away? ... Look -at me, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me I can't ever look—anyone in the face -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood who "anyone" was. She pressed closer -to him, said caressingly: "Except me. You can always -look at me, and I at you. And what more do we want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not echo her tender reckless laugh, with its -threat of a storm of hysterical tears. "You have good -excuse for what you've done. But there's no excuse -for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to be shrinking within herself. He gently -put her on the arm of the chair, went to the window, stood -there with his back to her. "The truth is, I've been in -hell since you left, Courtney—a hell of remorse!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remorse! Excuse!" Her bosom heaved; her eyes -flashed. "Oh, you men! What hypocrites you -are! ... Tell me, do you wish to give me up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He faced her. "I cannot give you up," was his -inflexible reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then dismiss all these gloomy ideas," urged she. -"Excuse? You think I have the excuse of—of his -indifference, of his tyranny and bad temper—of his——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake, Courtney, </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> say those things!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think them—you think them. Why not say them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you are right. I am a hypocrite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How easily we hurt each other," she sighed. Then, -"But how easily it heals, too." She went on: "We were -talking of excuses. Anyone can find an excuse for -anything. Only weak people look for excuses." She -elevated her head proudly. "I want no excuse for what I -did, for what I'm doing. I need no excuse. Do I not -own my heart, my self? I have the right of my youth, -of my love. Isn't that enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The right of our love!" he exclaimed, as gay and -confident as he had been depressed and doubtful. "We're -wasting time. Let's talk and think only of love." And -he drew her down into the chair, into his arms. -"Courtney—when he does come—promise me you will not—will -not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There he halted, for the wave that passed over her as -she lay in his arms told him that she understood. "You -know I will not," she said. "I belong to </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he may——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid her fingers on his lips. "Trust me," she -said. "I've planned it all. Only, that's the one thing -we mustn't ever talk about." She laughed, with desperate -straining to be audacious. "There is honor, even in -the dishonorable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—dishonorable? I, perhaps—yes, certainly. -But you—you belong to yourself. It is I who will play -the part of dishonor. You can be as cold and distant as -you like. I must smile and pretend to be a friend." He -shrugged his shoulders, laughed unpleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's manly!" exclaimed she, nerves instantly unstrung.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can you expect of—of </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" he replied, so -down that she straightway relented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's drop this subject, dear," she pleaded. "Let's -never speak of it again—and think of it as little as possible. -It's one of the conditions of our life. We will admit -it—and ignore it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can we drop a subject that crops out, comes to -the tips of our tongues, every time we look at each other? -But be patient, dear. I shall grow hardened——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but you must not, Basil!" she cried in dismay. -"</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> must not. That's our danger, and we must fight it.... -Isn't it pitiful! If we were two coarse people, mere -animals, merely the ordinary man and woman, why, we'd -be happy and never give remorse a thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If we suffer more, we enjoy more," said he, clasping -her as if some power had tried to snatch her away. "When -I feel ashamed, Courtney, all I have to do is to remember -your hair, to feel again its soft splendor on my face, -between my fingers—and I am delirious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love—always love!" she murmured. "No price too -great to pay for it."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They heard steps—stealthy steps—upon the walk, just -under the bedroom window. "Yes, yes, I hear," he -whispered, as in the darkness she clutched his arm. He went -to the open window, she sitting up, rigid, wide-eyed, with -bated breath. Keeping in the shadow, he glanced down. -He saw a man, half hidden in the shrubbery. A moment -and his eyes focused so that he saw the outline of the man's -face, the angle of his head—saw that the man was peering -up toward that very window. He went softly back to -her. "Go into the sitting room," he said. "I think it's -one of those prowlers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh-h!" she warned. "Listen— On the stairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both stopped breathing and listened. It was the faintest -of sounds, but unmistakable. Yes, it was a robber. He -was ascending the stairway—slowly, silently, steadily, up -and up, step by step. Now they would miss the sound -altogether; then it would come again—nearer, softer. -Their hands were clasped—were like ice, but without a -tremor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he get in?" she breathed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you remember? I left the outside door -unlocked—wide open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh-h!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go back into the sitting room," he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—I stay here with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The awful sound, so faint, so relentless, was in the -hall. "Go!" he commanded. "You'd be in my way, -dear. If I need you, I'll call."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw that he was right—that at least he must not -feel hampered. She pressed his hand, glided into the -sitting room. Suddenly she almost cried out. "Is the -bedroom door locked?" she called in a hoarse undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a silent dash for it, to lock it. Too late. -It opened. He could see nothing in the black hall. He -made a forward leap, right hand clinched, left hand open -and ready to inclose a throat. His fist thrust past the -man's head, but his left fingers closed upon the throat, -and his weight bore the man to the floor. But the prowler -was not taken wholly by surprise. Basil instantly realized -how fortunate it was that he had got the initial advantage. -The two grappled; a short, sharp struggle and Gallatin -felt the form under him relax. He took an even -stronger hold on the throat, planted his knee squarely in -the chest. "I've got him!" he cried to Courtney. "Go! Go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he triumphed too soon. With a tremendous effort -the prowler tore Gallatin's fingers from his throat. "Good -God, Gallatin—is it </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?" he gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vaughan!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin dropped all to pieces. But Courtney was -instantly herself—and more. On went the lights, and she -burst out laughing. Gallatin rose, staggered over to the -window seat. Vaughan, not without difficulty, picked -himself up from the floor, gazed savagely from Gallatin to -his wife. She kept on laughing, more and more wildly, -laughed until she fell into a chair, sat there laughing, with -the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Was ever anything -so ridiculous!" she gasped. And she looked from one to -the other, and went off again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan, straightening his collar and coat and waistcoat, -appealed to Gallatin. "What's the meaning of this?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By way of reply Gallatin stared at him, as if debating -whether or not to renew the attack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this mean, Courtney?" Vaughan said to -her sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what </span><em class="italics">we'd</em><span> like to know," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did Gallatin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Serves you right," interrupted Courtney. "Why did -you come prowling round here? Why didn't you go -home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan looked sheepish. "Well, I wanted to make -sure everything was all right here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney smiled with resentment in her raillery. "You -were more anxious about your workshop than about your -wife and child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan reddened. "Oh, I knew everything was all -right at the house," he stammered. His glance fell upon -the tumbled bed. "Why!" he exclaimed. "Some one's -living here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin, startled, was standing up with his hands -clinched. But she had no fear. She did not feel guilty -toward this man, who was nothing real to her; and she -knew enough about him to know that his absolute belief -that good women were good, and could not stray even in -thought, made it impossible to tax his credulity. All that -was necessary was boldness. "Mr. Gallatin is living here," -said she composedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gallatin!" exclaimed Vaughan. "Why, I locked the -whole place up." He wheeled on Basil. "How did you -get in here?" he asked. "Didn't I make it plain to you -from the outset—didn't we have a distinct understanding——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Richard!" interrupted Courtney sharply. "Mr. Gallatin -is here because I sent him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard concentrated his angry attention upon her. -"You! What right had you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not address me in that tone," said she -haughtily. "You come back home, like a thief in the -night. You give me a fright. You half kill Mr. Gallatin, -and then you begin to quarrel. I repeat, Mr. Gallatin is -here because I sent him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it best to live here while you were away," -said Gallatin stiffly. He did not wish to throw upon -Courtney the whole burden, yet he hardly dared speak, as he -could not see how she hoped to extricate herself and him. -In his guilt, in his ignorance of such a character as -Richard's, he was amazed at her having hope. He thought her -courage superhuman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan glanced, half amused, half disdainful, from -one to the other. "Are you two still disliking each other? -I had forgotten that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are mistaken," said Gallatin. "I do not dislike -Mrs. Vaughan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Vaughan did not hear. "What on earth—" he -suddenly ejaculated, staring at Gallatin, then at -Courtney—"What on earth were you two doing here in the -dark?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin grew white as chalk. But Vaughan was looking -at Courtney. "We weren't in the dark," said she, -with never a tremor of eye or voice. "We were in the -sitting room." As she spoke she threw open the door -between the two rooms. Gallatin gazed into the sitting -room like a man seeing a miracle. The lights there were -all bright. The instant she had heard her husband's -outcry, she had turned on the lights in both rooms, the -buttons being on either side of the same wall just beyond -the door frame; and she had closed the sitting-room door -before the two rose from the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in here," she said, leading the way. "I kept -getting more and more afraid at the house," she went -on in rapid, easy explanation. "It was very lonesome—there -were several robberies in the neighborhood—and -Nanny and Lizzie and Mazie sleep so far away from my -rooms. I took Winchie and went home for a couple of -days, but it wasn't convenient for me to stay there—and -so dull! I came back to-night, and strolled down here -after dinner to make my peace with Basil—" Here she -made a mocking bow to him—"and to ask him to please -come up and guard the house. How well you're looking, -Richard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do feel bang up," said Vaughan, "except here—" He -touched his throat where Gallatin's fingers had closed -in. "The trip was just what I needed. I went to a -specialist in New York, and I serve notice on both of you -that I've turned over a new leaf. I'll take regular -exercise again—and stop grinding away all day and all -evening. The great discovery of the fuel that will make it -as cheap to be warm as to be cold can wait. Perhaps it'll -come the sooner if I keep in condition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's sensible," said Courtney. "And you must live -at home, and let Mr. Gallatin stay on here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's good advice. I'll take it," assented Vaughan -promptly. "Being here tempts me to work when I ought -to be resting." He threw a good-humored look at Gallatin. -"I guess you're not likely to succumb to that temptation, -old man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," said Basil, with the first sickly hint of a -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gad, it's good to be home!" Vaughan was gazing -at Courtney now, in his eyes the proprietorial look, bold, -amorous. "She's looking well—eh—Gallatin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil did not answer. He was glowering at Vaughan, -and biting his lip, and his fingers were twitching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney rose. "Let's all go up to the house," -proposed she: "You'll come, won't you, Mr.—beg -pardon—Basil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin stared coldly at her. Her "superhuman -courage" now seemed sheer brazenness to him. "Thanks—no," -said he in a suffocating voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hope I didn't damage you, Gallatin," said Vaughan -with the rather careless solicitude of man for man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the least," replied Gallatin curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, come now, old man," cried Richard. "Look at -my throat." He inspected it himself in the mirror -ruefully. "If I can forgive you, you ought to forgive me. -Come along, Courtney."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her by the arm, smiling at her, she mustering -a return smile. Basil was looking intently at her, with -an expression of cold fury. When he caught her eye he -sneered. She, already at the breaking pitch, could not -endure that contempt. She looked piteously at him, gave -a low cry, sank upon the sofa, fell over in a dead faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil gazed stupidly at her. Vaughan dashed into the -bath room, reappeared with a wet towel, rubbed her -temples and her wrists with it. She opened her eyes, looked -round—saw Basil. "Take me away!" she sobbed. "Take -me away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband gathered her into his arms as if she were -a tired child. "Good night, Gallatin. See you in the -morning," he said, and strode out with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin fell into one of those futile rages that are -the steam of the strife between a man's desire and his -courage. "It's my love for her," he assured himself, -"that keeps me from following him and taking her from -him." He found small comfort in this, however; for, he -suspected it was only part—a minor part—of a truth, the -rest of which was altogether to his discredit. He sat, -he leaned, he stood at the bedroom window overlooking the -path. Again and again he fancied he saw her, a new -and deeper shadow in the shadows beneath the trees. -Whenever the wind stirred a bush there, his fanciful hope -made it her cloak. He knew it was impossible for her -to return; but he could not give up. He did not leave -the window until dawn. Then, he lay on the bed, -exhausted, wretched, burning with hate for Richard, with -rage against her, with contempt for himself.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiii"><span class="bold large">XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Toward eight o'clock came Vaughan, in high spirits. -Basil, stiff and sore, was still lying on the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure you don't want breakfast?" said Richard. -Then, getting a view of his partner's face: "You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a -sight! I beg pardon, old man. I've got a few marks, -myself. But— </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> must have the doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks," was Basil's surly answer. "I'm all -right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you ought to do something for that eye—and that -cheek. I sure did give you some hard punches." As this -sounded as if it were—and was—not without a certain -pride, he added: "The worst you gave me are hidden by -my clothes—except these finger marks. What a stupid -thing for me to do! And poor Courtney's quite done up -this morning. Really, old man, you'd better let me send -for the doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll telephone for him," said Basil. "I want to be -left alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beg pardon. I've done nothing but apologize ever -since I got home. Well, I'll go to work. Don't bother -to come down to-day. I shan't need you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin muttered "Selfish beast," as soon as Dick was -clear of the room. And it was undeniable that Dick's -pretense of sympathy had been rather more offhand than -such pretenses usually are. He had never had to conciliate -and cultivate his fellow beings in getting a living, -and had been brought up indulgently by Colonel 'Kill and -Eudosia. Thus he was candid in his selfishness, often -appeared worse than would a man who was in reality -more selfish, but was through fear or training, less -self-revealing. However, Basil was not one with the right -in any circumstances to be censorious of such undiplomatic -conduct; for he, too, had been born and bred to -wealth and security, and had been "spoiled" by a -worshipful family.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not for a week did he dare show his face. Dick -called twice a day—did all the talking—always about -the chemistry into which he had plunged with freshened -energy and enthusiasm. Usually he apologized for -Courtney's not coming—"She still feels weak and -upset," he would say, "and wants me to make her -excuses. I tell her you'd refuse to see her even if she -could come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Basil's face and complexion were once more -about normal, he waited until Richard was at work -downstairs, then adventured the path to the house. He found -Courtney in the sitting room, in a négligée, sewing; -Winchie was building a lofty house of blocks on the -veranda just outside for her to admire. He scowled at -Winchie; Winchie scowled at him and, when his back was -turned, made a face at him. "Good morning, Mrs. Vaughan," -said he coldly. "I've come to pack my traps." In -a lower tone that was menacing, he added, "I want to -see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid aside her sewing, a strained expression in the -eyes that shone wistfully in her pallid face. The boy -dropped the block he was putting into place and stood -up. "Go on with the house, Winchie," said she. Then -to Basil, "You may come right upstairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She preceded him into the study on the left of the -upper hall—the study that had been his, and was now -Richard's. He, following, closed the door, advanced -toward her with lowering brow and angry eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very imprudent to close the door," said she, -calmly returning his gaze. "Nanny is at work across the -hall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you break your promise to me that night?" he -demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll answer no question—not even from you, -Basil—when it's in that tone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First you want me to open the door, so that I can't -speak out," sneered he. "Now you evade.... You admit -your degradation. I knew why you were keeping away -from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was not my reason," she stammered, with -lowered head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You lie! You are doubly false. You have no shame. -Now I understand why you said those bold things—why -you acted so free—as no innocent woman could. -You—expert!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were milky like a tortured sea; her face -became ghastly; she trembled so that she had to steady -herself at the back of a chair. "Basil!" she exclaimed. "No, -it's not you. What we've suffered since he came has driven -you mad. It has almost crazed me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answer me!" he commanded fiercely. "Did you or -did you not break your promise to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she drew herself up, and with the sad dignity -of guilt that has been expiated she said: "I ask you -to pity me." And she stood there, pale and haggard, a -statue of wretchedness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fury could not hold against that spectacle—and -she, the proud, asking for pity! "It's I who should be -ashamed," he cried. "How I have suffered! What a -coward—what a cur I am!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rushed to him. "Oh, my love! What we've been -suffering has only made you dearer to me, dearer than ever! -There's no bond like suffering."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was about to take her outstretched hands when -suspicion flamed into his eyes again. "How easily you -twist me round your finger!" he said roughly. "Now, -there's your making me move down to the shop. Why -should you want to get me out of the house when, if I -were here, we could see each other all the time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She showed no resentment, felt none. "It's natural -you should suspect me," said she. "I'd suspect you in -the same circumstances. I see now how absurd it was to -dream of happiness founded on lies. No happiness for -us—not even joy now and then. If we didn't love each -other, we might be happy. But we do love, and misery -is all we can expect. I'll tell you why I wanted you down -there." She paused, went on with veiled eyes and bright -red in her cheeks. "As I said to you, even dishonor has -its honor. I didn't want us meeting here—with my -boy—and his—so near."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil looked as if he were about to sink down under -his shame and self-contempt. "Forgive me. What a hound -I am!" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As for my free actions and free speech——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he begged, seizing her hands. "Don't -speak of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must explain," she insisted gently, freeing herself. -"I'll always explain everything to you. As I told you, -I wanted to be free with you, perfectly free. So I said -and did the things any woman who loved would think and -feel, but most women hold back for fear of spoiling a -lover's ideal. I didn't want you to idealize me, but to love -me just as I was, just for what I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I do—I do!" he cried, trying to draw her into -his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you do, I believe," answered she, insistently -drawing back. "I know you truly love, and you know I -truly love. I know you are a man any woman would be -proud to have love her, and you know I'm not a low or -a bad woman. Yet, see how it turns out.... Basil, we -must give it up!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it up!" He was bristling with suspicion at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed scornfully. "That is your kind, considerate -way of dismissing me. What vanity! I shall suffer -no more than you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so much," she answered sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall go away and marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't make me jealous now, Basil. Not after -what you've been to me. I mean just what I say. You -must go, and I'll try to be to my husband all a wife should -be. If you'd been through what I've been through—that -night and since—you'd understand. Basil, do you remember -how I lied, how I laughed and cheated—like an 'expert,' -as you say. Oh, you must have despised me! If -you had done what I did, had done it as fluently, I'd have -loathed you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what about me? Didn't I stand there, a -contemptible coward, and let him take you away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else could you have done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shown myself a man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And ruined me—and my child? Oh, no, dear. You -love me too well for that." She startled, listened. "He's -coming," she warned, flying to the door. She opened it -softly to its full width, advanced composedly into the hall, -saying in her usual voice, "Then Jimmie'll take your things -down about four o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard, on his way up, had reached the head of the -stairs. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Here you are! I asked -Winchie where you were, and he said he didn't know. So -I've been hunting all over the place for you. I want you -to take a walk with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said she tranquilly. "I'm talking -business with Basil. Go down and help Winchie finish his -house, and we'll take him along. I'll come in a few -minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" said Dick cheerfully. He shouted out, -"Hey, Gallatin, how's your grouch?" and descended the -stairs, laughing as he went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she reëntered the sitting room, she said, with the -quietness of the emotions that are too deep and too -terrible for tumult, "Am I not 'expert'? How long do you -think we could keep this sort of thing up without becoming—I -tell you, Basil, looking within myself as I've lain -in the dark, I've realized it takes decent people—people -with nerves and imaginations and sense of right and wrong—to -become frightful, if they once get on the down grade. -Did you hear what he said about Winchie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," muttered Basil. He was at the desk, his elbows -on it, his hands supporting his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winchie knew where I was. Why did he lie to his -father? Already a liar!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go. You are right— But, Courtney—you -must get a divorce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've thought of that. On what ground? And how -can I leave him alone—take Winchie away from him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must get a divorce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so, too," assented she. "But I will not lie to -do it. I'm done with lies. I'll tell him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—let's go to him together." Basil's face lighted -up, his manner became enthusiastic. He thought he saw a -way to redeem his manhood put in pawn for this sin so -dear yet so detestable. "Together!" he exclaimed. "He -is generous and broadminded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. "Men are not generous and -broadminded where women are concerned—the women they -look on as theirs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He colored and glanced guiltily at her. But it was -plain that she had not in mind his own exhibition of the -male attitude toward the female. His memory of it helped -him to appreciate the folly of his proposal. But he would -not give in at once. "I'd not suggest it, if he really loved -you. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he really loved me, he'd have felt the truth long -ago. If he really loved me, he'd wish me to be happy—would -give me up. But then—if he had really loved me, -none of this would ever have happened. No, Basil, it's -because he doesn't love me, because it's only passion that takes -and gives nothing, that uses and doesn't think or care about -the feelings of its creature——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil, horror-stricken by this bald candor, ashamed for -her, stopped her. "Let's not talk about it," he pleaded. -"As for the divorce, I leave it to you. You know best how -to deal with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His manner and its cause had not escaped her, with -nerves keyed up to the snapping point. Once again he had -raised in her heart the dread lest their love would not mean -the perfect frankness, the perfect oneness of which she had -dreamed. Did a man always demand and compel -concealment and pretense in the woman? But she thrust out the -doubt. "I'll do what seems best," she said to him, avoiding -his eyes and speaking with constraint. "I don't know -Richard very well. You see, we never got acquainted. -He's like most men. They don't want the woman, but -only the outside.... He's so wrapped up in his work -that I think I can free myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hands, gazed into her eyes. "Yes," he -said, "you do love me. You feel that we belong to each -other, just as I do. So when I'm away I'll know you are -coming—as soon as you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As soon as I can," she replied. And the expression -of her eyes, meeting his steadfastly, and the deep notes -in her sweet voice thrilled him with a new sense of her -love and of her constancy. This woman had not given in -whim; she would not change in whim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go—to-morrow," he said. "The sooner I go, -the sooner I shall have you. Will you come to-night to -say good-by?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't ask it, dear. I mustn't ever again—until I'm -free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the summer house, then. For a few minutes. We -can't part like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'll come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Along the hall from the foot of the stairs sounded -Richard's imperious, impatient voice. "I say, Courtney! -Do hurry!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't go for a walk with him now," she said, half to -herself. "I'll make some excuse." She looked at Basil, he -at her. In their eyes was a sadness beyond words and tears. -And what would it be when he was really gone? "I mustn't -linger here—I mustn't!" she cried. "And don't come near -me when he's around. I can't control myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They clung together for an instant, then she fled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made vague household matters her excuse for not -taking the walk. She did not see Richard alone until late -that afternoon. She was in her and Winchie's big bathroom, -which she also used as a dressing room. As she sat -at the dressing table there, in petticoat and corset cover, -doing her finger nails, he walked in. "May I come?" -said he, already in the middle of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him, or, rather, in his direction, by way -of the mirror and went on with her polishing. But she was -not resentful of the scant courtesy of this intrusion. In the -beginning of their married life she, through love, had -confirmed him in his life-long habit of considering only -himself and of expecting himself to be considered first. -Now, indifference was making her as compliant as love -had made her. And it was just as well. An attempt to -assert herself would have seemed to him a revolt which -pride and duty made it imperative for him to put down. -The man a woman has spoiled through love, or the woman -a man has spoiled, must be born again to be got back within -bounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't ask how I happen to be home so early—nearly -an hour before supper," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> early," replied she absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've made up my mind not to kill myself with work -and no exercise, and to give more time to my family. I -had a chance to look at myself—at my way of life—from -the outside while I was in the East. And I'm going to -try to live a more human life, though it'll not be easy to -work less, when Gallatin's leaving me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Until he spoke Gallatin's name she had not heard a -word. We are all surrounded at all times in our customary -haunts by a multitude of unchanging objects, -animate and inanimate. We become practically unconscious -of them so long as they maintain the same relative position -toward us. We notice only changes, only those changes -that are radical. Richard had long been to Courtney a -mere familiar part of her environment—as she of his. She -could look at him without seeing him, could answer him -without having really heard. She could submit to his -caresses without any sense of them. This unconsciousness -was not deliberate; it was far deeper, it was habitual. At -Gallatin's name, however, she began to listen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he's going," said Richard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She inspected the nail of her right little finger. "Is -he?" she asked, head on one side critically and emery slip -poised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For good. And I'm not sorry. He's of less and less -use to me at the laboratory. His mind isn't on it." There -Richard laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you felt you couldn't get on without him," -said she, searching in a box for an orange-wood stick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was some time ago. I suppose you're glad he's -going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you don't like him. You've been very good -about it, and I appreciate your being polite to him. But -I can see that you dislike him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced in the mirror, arranged a stray of hair. -"You are mistaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm not. You've got the good woman's instinct -to please her husband, and you think you've conquered -your dislike. But you haven't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you understand women," said she placidly. -"But then there isn't much to understand about a -woman—a good woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you underestimate yourself," said he generously. -"You're a very clever little lady—in your own charming -feminine way. I often admire it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A ghost of a smile flitted about her lips; but she seemed -more intent upon her nails than upon his half-absent -compliment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To confess the honest truth," he went on, "I've never -liked Gallatin myself. I know he's a good sort— But— Well, -he has no depth. He has a stock of education and -a stock of manners, just as he has a stock of clothes. But -it's all of some one else's make; nothing of his own, except -a pleasant, amiable disposition. And he lacks purpose. -However, all these things—especially lack of purpose—would -only recommend him to a woman. Women are so -frivolously constituted that purpose is a bore to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any more of a bore than it is to most men?" inquired -Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan laughed acknowledgment. "Anyhow, I -couldn't warm up to him. He's going, but he keeps his -partnership—at least, for the present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not! He'd hardly be so rude as not to -say good-by to you. Do you know why I think he's going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't he tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says a business letter came at noon to-day. And -no doubt it had something to do with it. But mere -business would hardly take him off in such a rush. At first I -thought it was a hurry call from some idle female for him -to come and amuse her. All bachelors get them, and -Gallatin's just the sort of gander to respond. But on second -thought I suspected he's flying because he's in love with -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, conscious that his eyes were on her face, -smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's natural that you, being a good woman, shouldn't -notice it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women sometimes think a man's in love with them -when he isn't," said she. "But the woman never lived—good, -bad, or both—who didn't know when a man was in -love with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I may be mistaken. But he had a queer way -of acting. Why, only this morning he was lowering at me -like a demon." Vaughan laughed. "Poor Gallatin. But -he'll pull through all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes—now and then—a man or woman in love, -and staying in some dull place, where there's nothing to do -but brood, does go under, with love one among the -contributing causes," pursued Richard. "But not a city -person. And Gallatin's going to New York." Something in -her expression made him hasten to say: "Now, please don't -get angry. I apologize. I admit my joking was somewhat -coarse. Naturally it grated on your modesty. Really, I -was only joking. I know he's going for business reasons. -Then, too, he has a grouch for me because of the fearful -punch I gave him. No, he—any man who has led a free -life as long as he has—could no more appreciate a good -woman—a woman like you than—than—a drunkard could -appreciate a glass of pure, clear, sparkling spring water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney gathered her manicure set together, swept it -noisily into the drawer. "Go out, and let me finish -dressing," said she in a low voice between her set teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he departed, saying: "What a relief it'll be to -have Gallatin off the place—to have it to ourselves again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat motionless with her eyes down. Presently she -lifted them, saw her reflection in the mirror. She gazed -in horror. She had relaxed the instant he left her alone, -and now all her anguish was in her features. "A little -more of this," said she, "and I'd be an old woman." She -passed her hands over her face, looked into her eyes. -"Spring water" flashed to her mind. Her eyes wavered -and sank; her skin burned. But her hungry heart -clamored defiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she reached the dining room her husband and -Basil and Winchie were already at the supper table. As -they rose, Basil did not lift his eyes; her husband gave -her a glance of greeting. But Richard, the married man -of five years, did not really see her face as it then was, -but the face that had long been fixed in his mind as hers. -To have seen her as she was, he would have had to be -startled out of matrimonial myopia by some shock. There -was no arresting change flaunted in Courtney's features; -youth has no wrinkles and hollows in which the shadows -of emotion can gather thick and linger. She simply looked -tired and not well. Her eyes were veiled; but in her skin -there was a lack of the ruddy tinge beneath the bronze, -and in her hair, which was with her an unfailing index to -health or to spirits, there was a suggestion of the lifelessness -that is in the last wan autumn leaves the dreary winds -of November spurn. In tones that seemed to them more -unnatural than they were, she and Basil exchanged the -commonplaces necessary on such an occasion. Winchie -watched her sympathetically. Presently he dropped down -from his chair, came round to her. He put his arm about -her neck, drew her head toward him, kissed her tenderly, -and whispered, "Mamma is sick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kissed him, whispered: "Yes, dear, but you mustn't -say anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie went back to his place. The conversation was -wholly between the two men, the subject being, of course, -chemistry. After supper Courtney pleaded a headache and, -having uttered the formulas prescribed for the parting and -having heard from him the formulas embodying his part -in such an exchange, withdrew. Instead of being agitated, -she was in truth as calm as she seemed outwardly—and -numb. She saw Winchie to bed, occupied herself mechanically -for an hour, then sat at one of the windows of her -front room looking out toward the lake. When she thought -at all, it was of trifles; most of the time, during those two -hours of waiting, she did not think, but listened to the -beating of her blood as it made the ringing in the ears that -climaxes the oppression of an intense silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At length Richard came up. He glanced in at her. -"How's the headache?" he inquired, laying a caressing -hand on her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved; his hand fell away. "No better," replied -she. "Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll feel all right in the morning," he said. He -kissed her crown of hair and departed toward his own -rooms—those that had been Basil's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him stirring about, first in his study just -across the hall, then in his bedroom. Half an hour, and she -went on the balcony, to the corner of the house, to see if -his lights still showed. All his windows were dark. She -returned, listened at his door. No sound. She stole down -the stairs, unlatched the lake-front door, went out. She -strolled across the lawn, in full view—for the moon was -rising. At the edge of the shadows made by the bushes -round the summer house, she halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!" she called softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came from the summer house and stood before her. -"It's safer to stay here," she said. "We can watch the -house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made no protest. He took her hands, drew her to -his breast. Never before had he touched her without -feeling the glow and surge of passion; now he had no sense -of her physical beauty, of her physical charm, only sense -of the being he loved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me the horrible things I said, Courtney," he -murmured. "It wasn't I that was speaking. It was the -beginnings of what I was fast becoming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know," she answered. "Kiss me, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their lips met in a caress of tenderness. When she -spoke again she said: "Dear love, I never felt before how -much you care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never realized before. I'm beginning to realize. -You won't be long about arranging the divorce?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not get impatient—or misunderstand—if -I'm longer than you expect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not misunderstand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's Winchie, you know. I must have Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed. You'll accomplish it," he said confidently. -"Be careful not to tell him too much. Even if -he doesn't really love you, there's his vanity. And that's -often stronger in a man than anything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not forget what's at stake.... He suspects that -you love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid so, and this evening I told him I was -engaged. He looked astounded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell him that I love you, and he will -think— No—no—what am I saying? Lies, always lies! ... I'll -do the best I can, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see now I was right in feeling you must go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I felt it, Courtney, the moment we three stood -together there in my room—though I wouldn't admit it to -myself. If I stayed, there'd be a crime, or a scandal -that'd spatter you with mud and brand you with shame. -It simply could not be otherwise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't told you the real deep-down reason why -I felt you must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said. "Your real reason was the same as mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it was all so vulgar and—and cheap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheap—that's it!" he exclaimed. "Cheap!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could stand it," she went on, "to commit and to -have you commit, big, bold sins, scarlet and black. I might -even glory in it. I wasn't a bit ashamed that first night. -I think I even got a sort of joy out of defying all I'd -been brought up to believe was moral and right and -lady-like. But— Not when we stood there, like two caught -sneak thieves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was it, Courtney," eagerly assented he. And -he went on, in a tone in which a less love-blinded woman -might have detected an accent of repentance for masculine -thoughts of disrespect: "No wonder I love you! How -happy we shall be, when you're free. How good and pure -you are—and innocent. It needn't be long—in this -State—need it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not," she laughed. "Being a judge's daughter, -I ought to know. But I don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look there!" he exclaimed, gazing toward the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned, saw a figure at the east corner of the house, -apparently looking toward where they were standing. The -figure moved. "Nanny," she said under her breath. "I -must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her to his breast; for an instant they clung -together, then with a last lingering handclasp, she left him, -to emerge from the deep shadow of the trees and stroll -back across the lawn. Presently she pretended to catch -sight of Nanny, halted, changed her course, went toward -her. "What is it, Nanny?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nanny turned without a word, started to go back toward -her kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny!" said she sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old woman stopped, turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean by not answering me when I speak -to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know as you expected an answer," replied -Nanny, sullen and cowed, but insolent underneath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I asked you what you were doing here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two women looked straight into each other's eyes. -"I just came out to get a breath of air—like you," said -Nanny. "I don't see as there's any harm in that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," said Courtney. And she resumed her -stroll, back and forth across the lawn for three quarters -of an hour.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She did not come down to breakfast. About nine o'clock -Richard, at the Smoke House, called her on the telephone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gallatin cleared out on the midnight express," said he. -"Now, what do you think of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He left a note saying good-by and explaining that -he found he could make better time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think it a little queer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow, he's gone. I feel better already. Don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't say I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—I'll see you at dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She returned to her sitting room, all in a glow. Basil -had gone because he, sensitive and honorable, wished to -spare himself the hypocrisy of a farewell handshake with -Richard—"and to end the suspense," she added. "The -suspense!" And she struck her hands against her -throbbing temples.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A few days and there came from New York a crate of -orchids, with only his card. "That's what I call decent -and very handsome," declared Vaughan, roused to enthusiasm -by this attention. "I must say I rather miss Basil, -now that he's really gone. Don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which means no. Don't even these orchids soften your -heart? Think how he used to let you work him. Oh, -women! women! Orchids cost a lot of money, don't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some kinds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you write thanking him, do put cordiality and -friendliness into the note."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sent eighteen closely written pages—a line about -the orchids, the rest an outpouring of love and longing—a -sad letter, yet hopeful—and ending with the injunction -that it be left unanswered. "You must not write until you -hear from me," she said. "And that will be soon—soon, -my love, my Basil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next day Dick asked, "Have you thanked Basil for -those flowers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you had let me see the letter. I'll bet you -made it all frost. You don't know how cold you are, Courtney. -Sometimes you chill even me, well as I know you.... -I guess I'll write Basil a note, too—and let him see -that we did appreciate his thoughtfulness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiv"><span class="bold large">XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Five days since the letter to Basil, a fortnight since -he went, and the first move toward freedom not yet made. -Each day added its strength of loneliness and longing -to the resolve that became the guiding purpose of her life -when she sent him away. But she must restrain her -eagerness, must compel herself to wait upon opportunity—upon -the favorable gust of event or emotion. To be tactless and -abrupt would mean defeat; for, hard though it was to -realize, she must keep ever in mind that Richard had legal -right over Winchie. Moral right she denied not only -because he was as much a stranger to Winchie as to herself, -but chiefly because a child belonged to its mother. Indeed, -if she had not been brought up in a legal family it would -not have occurred to her that in any circumstances she -need disturb herself about having Winchie. There was -nothing of pose or effusiveness about her love for him; -it was that deep and utter love which is not conscious of -itself, but simply is. She and the boy were as much part -of each other as when his being was still hidden within -hers. She knew that she and Winchie were one; but she -also knew the man-made law. So in seeking her freedom -she must move carefully. Sometimes she felt she must be -dreaming; it simply could not be possible that in arranging -her life she must take into account a person so utterly -alien and apart as this nominal husband of hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had rarely seen him since Basil left. He was -exercising—walking or rowing on the lake—very early in -the mornings. But he spent the whole day at his work. -When he occasionally came to dinner or supper, he was -deep in his problems, was as unconscious of his wife and -child as his child was of him. Courtney was no longer -unconscious of him. As before, she did not see him when -she looked at him, did not listen when he talked, answered, -if answer was necessary, by a sort of reflex mental action -that never involved her real mind. But she had the sense -of his presence—as keen when he was out of sight as -when he sat working or in a deep abstraction before her -eyes. And she was constantly revolving how to begin the -revolt—for she saw more and more clearly that it would -be regarded by him as a revolt against womanliness, against -duty, against honor, against decency, would burst upon him -like thunder from clear sky, no matter how adroitly she -might begin. Until then his ideas of woman had -impressed her only in a vague, general way. She had -avoided thinking them out or hearing them from his own -lips because she knew definite knowledge would only make -the struggle to be a wife to him as far as she might the -more painful, the more humiliating. But now, piece by -piece, his conception of womanhood and woman's place -fitted itself together in her mind from stray sentences -dropped by him from time to time in their five years. -Every day she recalled some forgotten or ignored remark -that added to the completeness of the record—and to its -discouragement. As to the position of woman in the scheme -of things, he was untouched of any modern idea. He was -just where his grandfather had been; and Colonel Achilles -Vaughan had been where the whole world had been since -the Oriental contempt for women reconquered Europe under -the banner of the Cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In one of the last warm days she half sat, half lay -in the hammock on the lake-front veranda, apparently idle, -really with a brain as industrious as a beehive. Gradually, -however, the beauty of the scene—summer dying like a -lovely woman whose mortal disease only enhances -loveliness—stole in upon her and won her for the moment. She -looked at the wonderful colors far and near, she drank -in the last potent draughts of summer's perfume. And -suddenly she thought, "I would be divorcing all this, -too!" These gardens that she had created; the house that she had -made over. Why, these things were part of her very soul. -The same life throbbed in them that throbbed in her boy -and in herself—her own life blood! The place was in -Richard Vaughan's name just as she herself was, just as -Winchie was. But it was not his; it—all that made it -individual—was hers!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most of us pass through the world, leaving little more -trace of our individuality than a traveler leaves in a hotel -room. But Courtney had the creative instinct powerfully -developed. She even never dressed in exactly the same way, -no matter how simple her costume or how often she wore -it; and her clothes were so individual that Richard the -absent spoke of hats and dresses she had worn several years -back. And this place—it was like the picture the artist -keeps by him and touches and retouches. Also, she now -realized for the first time how profoundly domestic she was -by nature. Not by chance had she avoided the life of the -gadabout and meddler which is chosen by so many women -when they find themselves mismated, and so, without hope -of the normal life. She had always classed herself with -the flyabout sort of women rather than with the domestic -sort; she had fallen into the common error of taking as -representative of the domestic type those dreary rotters -who sit at home inert and slovenly simply because it -requires less effort to stay at home than to dress and issue -forth. Now she saw that she was domestic, was a -home-maker and a home-lover; and she understood a deeper -depth of her unhappiness—the unhappiness that comes -from being cheated out of one's dearest desires; for how -incomplete must be any home without love of husband and -wife. And she understood why, as she made her surroundings -more and more like her dreams, her longing for love -had grown apace; she was like the bird that builds its nest, -and has nothing to put in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had built this nest; now she must abandon it. -Heavier and heavier grew her heart, as she thought of -the years of thought and toil she had invested, as she looked -about at the results. She rebuked herself almost fiercely—in -terror of the weakness to which these lamentings might -tempt her; in shame at the disloyalty to Basil. "I'm -utterly selfish," she said to herself. "I'm shrinking from -making any sacrifice at all." There she stopped short in -a kind of terror. "Sacrifice"—what a strange word to -use—what an ominous word—and how clearly it warned her -that delay was eating out courage, was strengthening her -natural woman's inertia. Sacrifice! She began to -picture what the new life would be—perfect sympathy, -companionship ever closer and closer, how she would grow -and expand, how Winchie would thrive in an atmosphere -of ideal love—and Basil and she would together create a -place, a home which would be incomparably lovelier than -this.... "Yes, I must establish my life on its -permanent basis." Her life must be straightened out, must be -settled right. Until it was based right, nothing could be -right; mind and heart would always be uneasy, and from -time to time in a turmoil. "Nothing is settled," her father -often used to quote, "until it's settled right." He was -thinking of large affairs, but the thing was just as true -of the affairs of private life. Her and Richard's relations, -her and Basil's relations, and therefore her and Winchie's -relations, were awry, all awry. There had been successive -adjustments; they had one after the other fallen to -pieces—because "nothing is settled until it's settled right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That very evening, it so happened, for the first time -Richard made a remark that gave her an opening. "Why -don't you stay down in the evenings?" said he. "It -doesn't disturb me for you to play and sing in the sitting -room when I'm in the library."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The last few times I did it," replied she, "you slipped -away to the shop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reddened, laughed guiltily. "Did I? Well—perhaps -in certain moods——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm not complaining," she assured him. "I've -got used to our leading separate lives—long ago.... I -like it as much as you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Separate lives," said he reflectively. "It's true, we -don't see much of each other. Husbands and wives rarely -do, when the man amounts to anything, or is trying to -amount to anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless they work together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that's impossible where people are of our station."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our station! Her lip curled and her heart protested. -How could a human being with a human heart talk of a -station too high for love—love that was the soul of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Also," continued he, reflective and absent, "it's out -of the question where the husband is pursuing an intellectual -occupation." Even had he not been merely thinking -aloud, it would not have occurred to him that there was any -slur in a statement of an elementary axiom as to the -different spheres of the two sexes. "And," he went on, -"it's unnecessary to married happiness, as we've proved. -You had an idea once—do you remember?—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I'd let you have your foolish, impulsive, romantic -way, and you'd been at my elbow down at the shop, where -I get irritable and cranky—we'd not have made our -present record—would we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered. "No," she said faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five years with hardly a misunderstanding, and not -one quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His words, his manner—complacent, content—calmly -possessive—dried up her courage and her hope. But she -held to her purpose. She said, "We're not interested -enough in each other to quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, assuming she was jesting. "That's it! -That's exactly it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was speaking seriously. It's the truth. We care -nothing about each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he admonished. "Aren't you carrying -the joke too far? I don't think you realize how that -sounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I realize how it </span><em class="italics">is</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her curiously. "Why, I thought you were -joking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How pale your face is. And what a strange expression -round the mouth—and your eyes are circled. Are you -ill, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely well. It's the strain of getting ready to -say these things to you." She saw he was observing her -like a physician studying a patient. "No, I'm not insane, -either," said she good-humoredly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's happened to upset you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put one knee in a chair, leaned toward him over its -back, her elbows upon it. Said she, "It isn't a matter of -to-day, but of five years—or, rather, of four years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened up in his chair. She imagined that his -grandfather, old Colonel Achilles, must have looked like that -at the same age. "What </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you talking about?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About our failure as a married couple," replied she, -meeting his gaze with calm courage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Failure!" exclaimed he. "Why, our married life is -ideal. I wouldn't have it changed in the least -particular." He nodded his handsome, powerful head. "Not in the -least particular."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had expected him to say something like this. But -the actual words, spoken with sincerity and conviction, -stopped her. Her road had ended against the face of a -cliff with a precipice on either side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to be free," she said desperately. "I must -be free!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Free? You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean free from marriage," explained she gently, -"free to make my own life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reflected, looked at her, reflected again. She saw, -as plainly as if his thoughts were print before her eyes, that -he had decided she was a spoiled child in a pet, that he was -trying to find some kindly, effective way of humoring her. -But to take her words seriously, to meet her on a plane of -equality—the idea had not occurred to the grandson of -Achilles Vaughan, and could not occur to him. Anger -boiled up in her, evaporated. She laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her quickly. "Oh, you were joking!" -said he in a relieved tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That wasn't why I laughed. It was to save myself -from doing something ridiculous—shouting out, or upsetting -the table, or running amuck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter. It's clear to me that you're not yourself -this evening—not at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Richard," said she slowly, "I know it's hard for you -to believe a woman's not a fool. I don't expect you to -credit me with intelligence. Perhaps you might if I were -a big, fat woman with a loud voice. But I'm not. So, -assume I'm as silly a fool as—as most women pretend to -be, to catch husbands and to use them after they're caught. -But please assume also that, whatever I am or am not, I -want my freedom. And try to realize that we women are -living in the twentieth century as well as you men—and not -in the tenth or fifteenth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His expression was serious and respectful; he was not -one to fail in polite consideration for the feminine—the -wayward, capricious, irrational feminine with which stronger -and rational man should ever be patient and gentle. But -she saw that he was in reality about as much impressed as -he would have been by a demand for the open cage door -from a canary born and bred to captivity and helplessness. -He came round the table, put his hands tenderly on her -shoulders, pressed his lips in a husbandly caress upon the -coil of auburn hair that crowned her small head. "You're -tired and nervous to-night, dear," said he with grave -kindness. "So we'll not talk about it any more. Go to bed, -and get a good night's sleep. Then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, found herself at a disadvantage standing -before one so much taller, sat down in another chair. "Yes, -I am tired and I am nervous. But I'm also in earnest. -Why, if we weren't strangers, you'd realize. You'd have -felt it long ago. Can't you see I'm nothing to you or you -to me that is, nothing especial—nothing that ought to -satisfy either of us?" She was trying to speak with serious -calmness; the very effort overstrained her. And his face—its -expression was so hopeless! She was speaking a -language he did not understand, was speaking of matters of -which he had not the faintest glimmer of knowledge. Her -voice broke; she steadied it. It broke again. She began to -sob. "This life of ours is a degradation. It's like a -stagnant pool—it's death in life. I can't stand it. I want -love—want to give love and get it! My whole being cries -out for love! I'm dying here of the empty heart. I must -go. I ask you to be just—to give me my right—my freedom——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was his expression that stopped her. He was not listening -to her words at all. He was simply waiting for her -to talk out her hysteria, as he thought it, so that he could -begin to soothe the agitated child. She threw out her arms -in despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, dear," he urged. "Say all you want. You'll -feel better for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cliff, with choice between turning back and leaping -over one of the precipices on either side—the precipice of -flight to Basil in secrecy and dishonor, with Winchie, or -the precipice of a divorce with Winchie taken away from -her. She buried her face in her arms and burst into wild -sobs. With Winchie taken away from her! If she fled, he -would follow, would take Winchie. If she divorced him, -he would take Winchie. It was hopeless—hopeless. There -was no escape. Sobbing, she ran round and round her -prison's outer court to which she had penetrated. It had no -gates—none! He waited until she was quiet, except that -her shoulders heaved occasionally. "Poor dear!" he said -tenderly. "Poor child!" And he took her in his arms. -She felt physically and morally too weak for the least -struggle. She lay passive against his breast, her -heartache throbbing dully. He carried her upstairs, laid her -gently on the sofa at the foot of her bed. "Now you feel -better, don't you?" said he, bending over her and smiling -sympathetically down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at him with forlorn, hopeless eyes, then rested -her head weakly against the cushions in the corner of the -sofa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I understood that what you were saying a -while ago was only a nervous mood. But it gave me a shock, -too. I know now what was the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She grew cold, rigid. Did he suspect? Would he take -Winchie?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I admit I've been neglecting you lately. Gallatin's -leaving put a lot of work on me. And, too, I read an article -that gave me a silly scare—made me afraid I'd be anticipated -in one of my discoveries if I didn't push things. But -even if I was negligent, I can't see how you could get the -notion in your head that you weren't loved any more." He -sat down by her on the sofa, kissed the nape of her neck. -"I'll make up for it," he murmured. "Why, it'd be as -impossible for me to stop loving you as for you, a good -woman, to stop loving your husband. The idea of </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -talking divorce!" He laughed boyishly. "You and I—divorced! -What a naughty child it was! It seems dreadful -that those pure lips could be sullied by such a word. But -it never was in your heart. A woman like you, a woman I -trust my honor to, and trust my boy to, couldn't think such -things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His words and manner, all tenderness, were for her -reminders of the Vaughan prejudice and the Vaughan will -and the Vaughan pride that lay behind; the clang of iron -doors, the grate of brass keys in steel locks. She, back in -her cell and prostrate on its floor, felt she must indeed have -been driven out of her senses by heart hunger to imagine -she could get freedom and Winchie from Richard Vaughan. -How love and hope had tricked her!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Asleep, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't doubt my love any longer, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved restlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still cross?" He took her in his arms in spite of her -struggles, began to caress her. And she who had never -resisted did not know how to resist now—did not dare to -resist, so cowed was she by fear of losing Winchie, so -utterly was she despising herself—"nothing but a woman." She -endured till reaction stung her into crying out in -anguish: "For God's sake, Richard! I am so miserable!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I thought you wanted -it." He rose at once. "Would you like to be left alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forgive me for neglecting you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything!" she cried. "Only go. If you don't, I -shall—" She pressed her lips together tightly and drew -all her nerves and muscles tense to keep back the avowal -that was fighting for exit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give up my work until you feel better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no. I don't want— Go—please go! For -Winchie's sake—for mine—for your own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not attach enough importance to her words to -note them and inquire. When the door closed behind him, -she drew a long breath—not so much relief that she was -alone, as relief that, before seeing how useless it was to try -to escape, she had not burst out with the whole truth. A -turn of the wind of emotion before he spoke of Winchie, -and she would have told all! Even after he had reminded -her—yes, even until the door closed between them, she -might still have been goaded by her despair or by his -manner into precipitating the cataclysm——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For he'd never have let me see Winchie again!" And—what -else would he have done?—what would he not have -done? She put out her lights and, without drawing aside -the portière, softly opened Winchie's door and entered. -She dropped down by his bed, slipped her hand under the -cover, delicately warm from his healthy young body. Her -fingers rested upon his breast over his heart. That calm, -regular throb of young life beat upon her spirit like the -soft, insistent rain that soothes the storm-racked sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie! If she had lost him! If she had brought -disgrace upon him! She drew her hand away lest its -trembling should waken him. The room was pitch dark, but -she could see him lying there, his tumbled fair hair against -the white pillow, his round cheeks flushed with healthy -sleep. She sat on the floor beside the bed, listening to his -breathing. She had gone down to the gates of the world -and had led him through them into life. Claim upon him -she had none—for he owed her nothing, and if his lot were -not happy he would have the right to blame her. No, he -owed her nothing; but his claim upon her was for the last -moment of her time, for the last thought of her brain, for -the last drop of her blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it were not for Winchie," she said to herself, "I'd -go to Basil. I'd leave here to-night. I owe nothing to -Dick. While his way of looking at life is not his fault, -neither is it mine. And as it's his way, not mine, he should -suffer for it, not I. But for Winchie I must stay—and live -and make this house a home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Never again would there be the least danger of her -being goaded into telling Richard and defying and -compelling him. No delirium, not even a fever like a maniac loose -in the brain and hurling all its tenant thoughts helter-skelter -through the lips, could dislodge that secret. It was sealed -with the great seal of a mother's love.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When she came down to breakfast, Dick was at one of -the long windows, back to the room, hands deep in trousers' -pockets. At her "Good morning," he turned quickly. -Before he answered, he noted her expression, and his face -brightened. He kissed the cheek she turned for him as -usual, and they seated themselves. In came Mazie with the -coffee; it had the delicious fragrance that proclaims fine -coffee well made, the fragrance that will put the grouchiest -riser into an amiable frame of mind. Then she brought the -spoon bread and an omelette—not the heavy, solid, yellow-brown -substantiality that passes for omelette with the general, -but a light and airy, delicately colored thing of beauty -such as a skilled cook can beat up from eggs the hens have -laid within the hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Feeling all right this morning?" asked Dick when -Mazie had gone out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," replied Courtney, her smiling eyes like the -dark green of moss round where the spring bubbles up. -She was rearranging the flowers in the bowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sleep well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not slept at all. She evaded his question by -saying: "I was very much upset last night, wasn't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick made a gesture of generous dismissal. "Oh, I -knew it was only a passing mood," said he, helping himself -liberally to the omelette. "Everybody has moods. Do give -me some of that coffee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strange indeed was the expression of that small, quiet -face. What a chaos a few blundering words from her a -few hours ago would have put in place of this domestic -content of his! "I want to say one thing more," said she, -"and then we'll never speak of last night—or what led up -to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We talked a lot about ourselves—and I was thinking -altogether of myself, I find. But the truth is, Winchie's -the only important fact in our lives. We don't belong to -ourselves. We belong to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not exactly the way I'd put it," said he hesitatingly. -"Do try this spoon bread. Mazie's a wonder at -making it. Do try it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not just now," said she. "No, I know you wouldn't -put it that way. Put it any way you like. But it must be -Winchie first, last, and all the time. We must see to it that -he has the right sort of example—from you—from me—from -us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick nodded approvingly, and when his mouth was -said: "There's no disputing that. Where is he, by -the way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be down in a minute," replied Courtney; then -went on unruffled: "If you and I had had love before our -eyes in our homes when we were children——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did. And I'm sure your father and mother were -an equally fine example——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter," interrupted Courtney. Then she said, in -a tone that revealed for the first time how profoundly moved -she was: "The point is I want you to help me make a -home—of love for Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means!" exclaimed Dick heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, looked at her with -puzzled eyes; and she saw that his keen, analytic mind, -usually reserved wholly for his work, was curiously -inspecting her words and her manner for the meaning that must -be beneath so much earnestness about a passing anger over -a few days of neglect. She said no more—and was glad -when Winchie came rushing in to turn the current of his -thoughts. As he was leaving for the shop, he hunted her -out in the library to kiss her good-by—a thing he had not -done in several years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored, made an effort, kissed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry for my negligence since Basil left me in -the lurch," said he cheerfully. "And you're sorry you -flew into such a fury about it. And it's all settled—and -forgotten?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We—make a fresh start," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come and take a walk with you before dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no. Please don't. You mustn't change abruptly." She -stopped, confused to find herself already shrinking -from the new course she had so highly resolved. "Yes—do -come," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—I forgot. There's one thing I simply must -attend to to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—to-morrow we'll make the start—the fresh start."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said she, relieved—for she felt she had -done her duty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of going out immediately for a walk with -Winchie, as was the habit, she lingered about the house, -keeping herself busily occupied. She must write Basil. -What she said must be final, for she owed him the truth. -And she must not say much; a long letter would give him -hope, no matter what words she used, and would harrow -him in the reading and her in the writing. At last she -put on hat and even gloves for the walk, sat hastily down -at her desk, wrote: "I cannot. I belong to my boy, not -to myself." She wished to add, "I shall try to forget. So -must you, for my sake—" and also some word of love. But -with the two sentence she halted her pen. She read what -she had written—"I cannot. I belong to my boy—not to -myself." She folded the sheet, sealed it in an envelope, -addressed it. As she reached for the stamp she called -Winchie. They went out together, and she mailed the -letter in the box at the edge of town. Well, it was settled—once -more. Was this final? "Nothing is settled until it's -settled right." And she said to herself that this -settlement was undoubtedly right—that is, as nearly right as -anything ever is. Yes, it was settled—but her father's -uncompromising axiom continued to reiterate its clear-cut, -unqualified assertion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you sigh, mamma?" asked the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I sigh?" said she, trying to smile as she looked -down at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and you haven't been listening as we came along. -You didn't hear what I said about the dead whip-poor-will -I found on the lawn—did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she confessed. "But I'll listen now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She found herself wondering at her calmness. "Perhaps," -reflected she, "my fright about Winchie conquered -my love. And how deep the roots of my life are sunk into -the soil of this place! Still—I don't understand it. It -doesn't seem natural I should be calm." There flashed -before her mind a picture—herself flying disheveled—coming -forward with laughter and jest—and lie—with the -sting of forbidden kisses still upon her face—the thrill of -forbidden caresses— And she flushed crimson as the -autumnal maples above her head, and glanced guiltily down at -Winchie—and saw that he was trying to pretend not to see.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xv"><span class="bold large">XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Long before Dick got caught up with the particular -piece of work that postponed their "fresh start," Courtney's -"queer mood" and his own resolution were shelved -in one of those back closets of his memory where reposed -in darkness and dust matters relating to his family. He -forgot nothing; his was not the forgetting kind of mind. -Everything was stored away somewhere, under its proper -heading, ready for him if he should happen to need it. But -for that especial matter there came no demand. His happy -married life had resumed its unrippled course. He worked, -with allowance for exercise—usually a long walk or a row -on the lake in the very early morning, before breakfast. -Courtney occupied herself with house and garden. She -was building a vegetable greenhouse with a small legacy -from an aunt; also, there was the household routine of a -multitude of time-filling, thought-filling, not to be -neglected details for keeping things smooth and orderly—and -there were reading and painting and music—and there -were callers and visits. She even began to be philosophical -about the almost daily evidences that her husband -regarded her as an inferior. All men felt that way toward -women. The very men who never made a move without -consulting their wives thought themselves superior intelligences, -and their wives mere possessors of a crafty instinct, -in common with the lower animals, an instinct that was -worth availing themselves of, as long as it was right there -in the house. No, she was a silly supersensitive, she told -herself, to be disturbed by such a ridiculous universal -masculine weakness of vanity. As husbands went, Richard -was about as good as any—better than most.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The evenings they spent together. A charming picture -of family life they made each evening during that rare, -exquisite September. The big log fire in the sitting room; -he at the desk, she reading or sewing, or, less frequently, -playing and singing softly. She had never been lovelier. -The slightly haggard look was becoming to her young face, -and the weariness of the eyelids also, and the pathos of -her mouth so eager to smile, and the milky emerald of the -eyes, like seas troubled so deep down that the surface was -only clouded, but not ruffled. Sometimes she let Winchie -stay with them an hour or so. Then the picture was -complete—the boy playing on the floor before the fire, making -what he called drawings at the table, always between his -father and his mother, always nearer his mother, near -enough to put out his hand and touch her and make quite -sure of the reality of her lovely presence. Yes, she assured -herself many times each day, the struggle was over; the -pain would grow less and less, would pass—for the -question of her life relations was settled—"and settled -right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This until mid-October, when the bleak rains inaugurated -what promised to be a worse than the previous winter. -On the fourth successive day indoors, as she sat at -a drawing table in the upstairs sitting room, she -suddenly lifted her head, thrust back the table, flung down -the pencil, and rushed to the window. The lawns were -flooded. Bushes and trees were drearily fluttering the last -wet faded tatters of autumnal finery. -Decay—desolation—death— "Will he never come! Will -he never write!" And the secret of her calm, so -carefully guarded from herself, was a secret from her no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been a farce—the six weeks of resignation. One -of self-deception's familiar farces; those farces that finally -make old people cynical in spite of themselves about the -reality of disinterested goodness, of self-sacrifice, of -anything except selfishness. A farce—nothing more. That -was why she could write a brief farewell and send it off -with merely a pang and a sigh. And ever since she had -been confidently waiting for something to happen. -Something? What but his coming—coming to give her again -the love that was life and light to her, the love she could -no more refuse than a drowning man can withhold his -hand from clutching the rope though the devil himself toss -it. And once more her father's maxim, "Nothing is -settled until it's settled right," began to thrust itself at -her—mockingly now, as if deriding her self-deceiving -attempts to found her life upon conditions to which mind -and conscience had agreed, but not heart. And heart, the -most powerful of the trinity that must harmonize within -a human being or there is no peace—heart had suddenly -torn up the treaty of peace and declared war. And war -there was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About seven that evening Dick knocked at her bedroom -door. "May I come?" he called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—if you won't stay long," was her reply in a -listless tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He entered, looked surprised when he saw her propped -up in bed with her supper tray in her lap. "Are you ill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't come down to supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think I ever knew you to do this before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your voice sounds—strange—tired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't exercise enough, I guess. And there's little -for you to do about the house—with Lizzie looking after -the flowers and Nanny such a good housekeeper and Mazie -such a splendid cook. We're getting the benefit of my -aunt's toil. She built up such a splendid system that it -runs itself—and there's really not enough for you to do. -You ought to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you take this tray—take it down with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you want me to sit a while?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let me interfere with your work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there's no hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure you want to be at it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the tray from her lap, put it on the floor beside -his chair. She reached for the book on the stand at her -elbow, opened it, seemed to be waiting for him to go. He -glanced round uncertainly. "What a charming room this -is," said he. "That pale brown paper with the panels -made by broad violet stripes— Let me see—was this one -of the rooms you did over?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was reading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes of course. In my aunt's time— You'd have -admired her, and she'd have been invaluable as a teacher. -But then she taught Nanny; and Nanny's been very good -about teaching you, hasn't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "We've got a rather bad habit of not -listening—haven't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—I don't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at the tray. "Why, you didn't eat anything!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you quite sure you're not ill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if there's anything I can——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to the bed, bent over and kissed her. "Good -night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night." She was reading again; and his -thoughts returned to his work as he closed her bedroom -door behind him. If he had looked in on her an hour later, -he might have seen that she had not yet turned the page -she pretended to begin, to get rid of him—or, rather, to -help him go where he really wished to be. And he would -have distrusted her assurance that she was not ill. For -her eyes, wide and circled and wretched, were staring into -space. She was indeed ill—ill of loneliness, of heart-emptiness, -of that hope deferred which maketh the heart sick. -And the rain streamed on and on. The sight of it by day -filled her with the despair that lowers and rages. The -sound of it monotonously pattering upon the balcony at -night changed her despair from active to passive, from vain -revolt to lying inert in the wash of inky waves under inky -sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sympathy between her and Winchie was so close -that they were like one rather than like two. He had early -discovered her sensitiveness to the weather, but never -before had he seen her frankly downhearted. He did not -annoy her. He watched her furtively, his little heart -aching. He spent most of his time near the west windows -of the upstairs sitting room. From them, now that the -trees were almost bare, he could see part of the Donaldson's -roof—the part topped by a weather vane. He knew -that so long as the vane pointed east the rains would pour -down, and his mother's low spirits would continue—that -when it should veer to the west the rain would cease and -the sky clear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Day after day he watched, his hopes rising as the vane -veered now toward the north, now toward the south, and -falling again as, with a jerk, it flirted back into the eye -of the east. That vane was the last thing he saw as the -darkness closed down in the late afternoon; it was the first -thing he looked at in the morning, dashing to the window -the instant he awakened. The change came in the night, -when it finally did come. As he awakened, the difference -in the light, in the feel of the air told him that all was -well once more. But he made sure; he hurried to one of -his windows, turned the slats of a blind, looked at the -vane. Then, with a shout, he darted to her door, beat -upon it, crying: "Mamma! Mamma Courtney! The -wind's west—the wind's west!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood, opened the door. She had made her -face bright. "Thank you—thank you," she said, with a -catch in her voice, as she knelt and took him in her arms. -He put one of his small hands on each of her cheeks, kissed -her, then looked into her eyes. His face fell. She could -not deceive him; it had not been the rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wind was in the west; her mood veered—but to another -futility. She watched for the postman. She startled -and ran to the window at every crunch of wheels on the -drive. She was agitated whenever the telephone bell rang. -At night every suggestion of sound from the direction of -the window made her lift her head from the pillow to -listen; and often she would fly to open a shutter and lean -out into the darkness. She would not go to Wenona, lest -he should come while she was away. She never left the -house for a walk without telling the servants just where -she was going—"and if anyone comes, send for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Never before had she surrendered to the somber mood; -she had always met it by taking up some one of the things -at hand that interested her, and working at it until health -and youth and hope reasserted themselves. But this time -she could find nothing to build upon; it was all quicksand, -slipping away and leaving her to sink. She no -longer cared about her surroundings. She had always seen -to it that the servants she had so thoroughly trained in -a modern system she had carefully worked out did their -duties, and did them well. Now she let the servants do as -they pleased—and they soon pleased to do very poorly—as -poorly as the average human being does, unless held -rigidly from his natural tendencies to slovenliness and -shirking. She had always done the buying for the kitchen, -and had herself selected at the farm the things to be sent -over. Now the good old days of Aunt Eudosia returned, -with the farmer sending whatever gave him or one of "the -hands" the least trouble, and with Nanny accepting from -the storekeepers what they chose at their own price. The -bills went up; yet the meat was often tough, the chickens -and game inferior, the butter and eggs only fair, instead -of the very best. Canned vegetables appeared on the table -when fresh vegetables were still to be had. The coffee was -capricious. The table itself was carelessly set; napkins -were used several times, instead of only once; tablecloths -did not always go into the wash with the first spot. Lizzie -and Mazie lost no opportunity to cut down the amount of -work they would have to do on wash and ironing days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the living rooms, upstairs as well as down, there was -no longer the beautiful order that had made the interior a -pleasure to the eye and so comfortable. A chair had only -three casters; a door was losing its knob. A window -curtain had broken away from its rod at one corner and was -hanging down. Several cushions had rips in them that -would soon be rents. Winchie's ravages remained -unrepaired—and unrebuked. The flowers in the vases were not -fresh every day, and were arranged by a servant's heavy -hands. Window gardens and baskets and hothouse -suffered from alterations of drought and deluge, and showed -it. The red spider was rarely interrupted in his ruinous -feasts. Where order has been perfect, brief neglect -produces unsightly disorder. The house was becoming like -most houses—indifferently looked after by women who -know little about housekeeping as an art and feel "above" -the endless petty details that must be attended to, no -matter what the enterprise, if there is to be success. The work -of changing the library to a winter conservatory had, like -the vegetable greenhouse, been begun, and abandoned -midway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the house the blight spread to herself. It is -well-nigh impossible for a person who has been bred from -birth in personal order and cleanliness to become really -slovenly and dirty, unless beaten down into the hopeless -wretchedness of extreme poverty. But Courtney had lost -interest in herself, just as she had lost interest in the -house. She got herself together "any old way" in the -mornings, took to breakfasting in bed. Sometimes she -dressed for supper, and sometimes she came in working or -walking clothes or in the négligée she had been wearing -all day. Sometimes her blouse was buttoned in the back, -oftener it was partly open. Wrinkled stockings had been -her especial abhorrence, as she was proud of her slim -tapering legs; now she habitually went the whole day without -garters. She read much, and always novels. Formerly -their pandering to "spirituality," to "culture," to all -the silly and enfeebling sentimentalisms had bored her. -They had offended her sense of what was truly ideal—for, -even thus early in her development, she had a strong -suspicion that "idealism" was not a mode of life but a strut, -and that "idealists" were not above but beneath usefulness. -Now she took novels as a drug fiend his dope. Anything -to escape reality—the ugly facts which her negligence -was making uglier day by day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in the way trod by so many women who, married -and safe, cease to compete and deteriorate physically, -morally, and mentally. And she knew it. She had too -much intelligence to delude herself, as some women do. -Instead of being angered when evidence of her plight -thrust at her, she found bitter satisfaction in it. "I'll -soon be down to the level of those 'good' women Dick -regards as models," thought she. And she read on at her -novels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And still she continued to hope, though she constantly -assured herself that hope was dead and buried. It was -nearly Christmas; he had been gone more than four -months—a hundred and thirty days. No word from him, no sign. -"It's over," declared she. "It was just physical -attraction, nothing more. And he got enough." This lash upon -pride and vanity stung. But the pain seemed to ease -another and fiercer pain, and she scourged on. "He got -enough. In New York he found fresh attraction—not -hard for a man with money and free." Yes, he had -used her, despising her the while—how she writhed as she -rubbed the coarse salt of these taunts into her wounds!—had -used her, despising her the while, had cast her away, -like the butt of a smoked cigarette. "And why shouldn't -he use and despise and drop me? Could anyone have been -'easier' than I was—I, poor fool, with my dreams of love, -and my loneliness and credulity? Well, anyhow he ought -to be grateful to fate for having given him a distraction in -this dull hole." ... What vanity had been hers, to -imagine she could win and hold such a man as he—man of the -world, experienced, clever. What colossal vanity! "Really, -I deserve all I've got. I'm just like the rest of the -women—a vanity box, a mirror and a powder puff, silly and -empty—a fool for men to flatter and wheedle and laugh -at.... What a poor, dependent thing a woman is! Dick's -right; we're worthless except as pastimes. Don't we always -despise and trample on a man who takes us seriously? We -feel he has dropped down to our level."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dissected, one by one, the "good" women over in -the town and in the big houses along the south shore—their -inane lives, their inane pastimes, their inane conversation. -What animal grossness concealed by manners and -a thin veneer of education, just as their costly clothes -concealed the truth about their neglected bodies. What lazy -ignorance beneath those pretentious fads for "culture" or -religion or charity. And the men, too—through their -passions dominated by these women. Not an idea—not an -aspiration—just hunting and money-making and eating and -drinking—catering to crude appetites. Slavish conformity -to the soddening, mind-suffocating routine prescribed -by custom for the comfortable classes. Fit associates, -these men and their women. The nauseating hypocrisies -and self-cheating about virtue and piety and "pure -family life!" A pigsty of a world, if one looked at it as -it was, instead of at its professions and pretenses. "I'd -rather be the dupe of my own honest folly than the dupe -of the world's cheap frauds. At least, I aspired. And -now that I've fallen back into the muck, all bruised and -broken, I don't lie to myself about its being muck.... -And what can I do for Winchie? If I teach him what he -ought to be, I'll unfit him for life in the world. If I fit -him for life in the world, I must teach him to pretend, to -cheat, to lie, to trample and cringe. If I teach him the -truth about women, he'll become a rake. If I don't, he'll -become their dupe. If I teach him the truth about men, -he'll shun them. If I don't, they will debauch him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wound always constructs a cover, to protect itself -while it is healing. The wounded heart of an intelligent -man or woman usually protects itself with the scab of -cynicism. For the last few years Courtney had shared with -Wenona's few progressive, restless young married women -that reputation for thinking and saying startling things -which anyone at all free in thought and speech soon gets -among conventional people. Now she became a mild scandal. -Wenona appreciated that it was the fashion in these -degenerate days, the mark of the "upper class," to indulge -in audacities of every kind. Also, whatever a Benedict -and a Vaughan did must be just about right. But sometimes, -when she was in a particularly insurgent mood, her -callers went away dazed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They wondered what her husband thought of such disbelief -in everything that men, themselves disbelieving, held -it imperative for women to believe—women and children -and preachers. The fact was he knew nothing about it. -Conversation between him and his wife was confined to -the necessary routine matters, and never extended beyond -a few sentences. They saw each other at table only; then -Winchie did most of the talking, or it grew out of and -centered round things he had inquired about. Richard and -Courtney neither acted nor felt like strangers. That would -have meant strain. They ignored each other with the easy -unconsciousness that characterizes an intimate life in which -there is no sympathy, no common interest. When Richard -talked about his work, as he did occasionally, merely the -better to arrange his thoughts, Courtney did not listen. -When Courtney and Winchie talked together, Richard did -not listen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You saw the news in to-day's paper?" said Richard -at supper a few days after Christmas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he continued to look expectantly at her, she roused -herself from her reverie, slowly grasped his question. "I -didn't read to-day's papers," answered she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Gallatin's engagement's announced—from Philadelphia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nerved herself for the reaction of inward turmoil -which would, she felt, certainly follow such a blow. To -her amazement no reaction came. She felt as calm as if -the news had been about some one of whom she had never -heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you seem not to be interested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," replied she indifferently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember, you didn't like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It almost seemed true to her. Or, rather, that she had -never cared about him one way or the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he so mad about you," continued Richard with -raillery. "I'll never forget the looks he used to give you—or -the ones he gave me, either. Well, it's all over now. -He's evidently cured."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidently," said Courtney. She looked calmly at -him, shifted her gaze. It happened to fall upon Winchie. -The boy was frowning jealously into his plate. She colored. -She never had the slightest self-consciousness about -Basil with Richard, but only with the boy. However, the -reminder soon passed in marvel at her amazing tranquillity. -How could she be thus calm in face of such a blow? Had -she really conquered her love? Had this sudden, unexpected -news of his perfidy killed it all in an instant? Had -she never loved him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard had been talking, and she had been so absorbed -she had not heard. Now he was holding a letter across the -table toward her. Mechanically she reached out, took it, -fixed her eyes upon it. "And Mrs. Torrey says," Richard -was explaining, "that we ought to ask Cousin Helen -here—for a few months at least—until she gets over her -father's death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wenona's no place for a girl in search of a husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A husband!" exclaimed Richard. "Who said anything -about a husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that her father's dead, with nothing but a small -life insurance, she's got to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I suppose so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what Mrs. Torrey's saying between these -lines." And she handed the letter back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Torrey's a fine, noble old lady. Such sordid -ideas never'd enter her head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Torrey's a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a good one—and so is Helen," maintained Richard. -"Marrying's about the last idea in her head at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe that is the theory—among men who know -nothing about women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's doubtless almost prostrated with grief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With anxiety, perhaps. Not with grief. Not for a -worthless old drunkard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, Courtney. He was her </span><em class="italics">father</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney lifted her eyebrows. "So much the more -certain she detested him. She had to live right up against -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard leaned forward slightly, to add emphasis to -his rebuke. "I repeat, Helen is a good woman—a woman -with a sense of duty. She must have loved him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why repeat such twaddle?" inquired Courtney, unimpressed. -"What has duty to do with hearts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick looked strong disapproval. "What is the matter, -my dear? You're not talking in the least like yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You always make that same remark," observed Courtney, -"whenever I say anything that does not suit you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you irritated by the prospect of Helen's coming? -If you don't want her——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not irritated about anything. As for Helen, I -care not a rap one way or the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie had finished. He kissed his father, then his -mother good night, and went upstairs. Richard came out -of a deep study to say, "It's a pity Gallatin isn't free and -here—if Helen comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would have made a good match," said Courtney -judiciously. "A splendid living for Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't thinking of Gallatin's wealth," protested -Richard, reddening. Then he laughed, "At least, not -altogether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The living's the main point in marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an unpleasant mood you're in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? I never felt more amiable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I said anything to offend you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a thing." She rose languidly. "You're still the -model—not a single redeeming fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stretched herself with slow, lazy grace. "But -you," said he, "are a bundle of redeeming faults and -vagaries—a bouquet of them." And he was about to -kiss her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flung away from him with flashing eyes. He -stared, amazed. "How you startled me!" she exclaimed, -quickly changing her expression from fury to half-laughing -irritation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Caprice!" And his gaze was soft and brilliant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a virgin coldness in her manner that -puzzled and abashed him. "How I hate this body of mine, -sometimes!" said she. "An admiring look makes me -angry, and a kiss seems an insult. Come to me with your -love when I'm old and ugly. Then, perhaps, I'll believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she strolled out of the room and upstairs. The -instant she had her bedroom door locked, she knew why -she had come away—knew she had been obeying an instinct -warning her secret self that she could not many -minutes longer endure the strain. "But really I am calm," -she insisted. In the same second her wound opened and -was aching and bleeding and throbbing, unhealed. "I can -never forget—never!" she cried. "Was it only this body -of mine he cared for? What does it matter? Even the -little he gave was more than I had to give. I ought -to have been more humble about giving—I who had so -little. And what happiness he gave me in exchange! -No—not happiness, but more than happiness." Her eyes -strained into the night. It was so dreary—so lonely. -"Basil!—Basil! I'm dying for you—dying from the -core out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flung her windows wide. The snow came whirling -in. The wind was moaning among the branches. Somewhere, -far away, a bell tolled. Silence, utter solitude, a -stretch of white snow under a black sky, and the chilling -cold. "Come to me!" she cried. "I am so cold—so -lonely—so hungry! And I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even where a woman cannot doubt that her lover has -forgotten, there are times when memory—of his vows so -convincing, of his caresses that seemed the inspiration of -her charms alone—makes her defy certainty and believe. -And Courtney had no real reason to think him either false -or forgetful. They had been torn apart when their love -was still hungry and thirsty, when even the long calm that -precedes satiety was still far in the future, when they were -so absorbed in loving that they had not yet had time to -begin to get acquainted with each other's real self. It was -doubt of him that was forced, belief in him that was -natural. "If he were not so strong, so honorable!" she cried. -"Ah, if he were only where I could tempt him!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Even the thought of Winchie now lost all power to -check her; he was too much like part of herself. She -seemed as placid in her slender youthfulness as those -handsome matronly women who suggest extinct volcanoes -covered with flowers and smiling fields. Beneath her manner -of monotonous, emotionless calm she was battling with the -temptation to take her boy and fly from that cold desolation -of loveless loneliness, to fly to him. If Richard had -not been absolutely apart from her life, absolutely out of -her thoughts she would have hated him. As it was her -rage fretted at the impersonal barriers and bonds that held -her—not Richard, but conventionality and, above all, lack -of money. "If only I had money!" she cried again and -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she had nothing—her clothes, a few dollars that -must be paid out for expenses already incurred. "If I -went to him, it would be to become his dependent, just -as I am Richard's. Oh, the horror of being a woman! -Bred to dependence; bred for the market; bred to tease -some man into undertaking her support for life. There is -the rotten spot in my whole life. If Richard had ever -deigned to speculate as to what was going on in my head, -he'd never have dared touch me. He'd have feared I was -his only for hire. But would he care? Doesn't he expect -me to be true because he supports me? Isn't that what -marriage means, beneath the cant and pretense? Yes, I'm -simply part of his property, and the pretenses that gloze -it over only make it the more revolting. Oh, if men had -sensibilities, and if they knew what women thought!—why -we smile and flatter and stay on, in spite of neglect and -insult!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt that, if she should go to Basil, the day would -come when their love would die of this poison exuding -from the basic fact of their relations—his sense of his -rights because of her dependence; or, her fear of losing -or impairing her living; or, her feeling that since she took -bread she must give body—all she had to pay with. Richard -thought he could afford to be neglectful; and when it -suited him to give passing attention to his property again—to -walk in his garden and eat a little fruit from his tree—he -thought he had a perfect right to do so. If Richard -was thus, if all men believed thus, why fancy Basil an -exception? Basil, in time, when passion cooled, would hold -her in the same light disesteem. If a man lost his virtue, -even hypocrisy did not go beyond a half smiling shake of -the head; if a woman lost her virtue, she was -"ruined." Ruined—that is, a worthless wreck. "No, I shall not go -to Basil. No doubt, he still cares—in a man's way of -caring. But he holds me, the unfaithful wife, cheap enough. -If I were to lose reputation also, were to be unable to give -him the pleasure of trespassing on another's property, were -to be merely a ruined woman, living off him, he'd soon treat -me like the slave that I am. No, I'll not change owners.... -If only I had money!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What, then? She had seen all along that she was like -one sinking in the ooze of a marsh—softly, inevitably -toward suffocation. "If I stay on here, I'll become like -the rest of the settled, disillusioned married women. I'll -become a chronic sloven and—as my disposition isn't -toward fat, squatted good nature—a shrew. A slovenly -shrew!" Why not? What had she left to live for? In a -few years Winchie would be away at school—then in some -city at profession or business—and married and out of her -life. "I might as well give up. Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed to be no reason. But our conduct in its -main lines is not governed by reason, but by instincts that -impel us even against will. When Richard had failed her -at the outset of their married life, she had sunk; then her -temperament of hope and energy had forced her up again -in face of deepest discouragements. So now, while there -was no reason why she should cease to sink, should begin -to struggle, while Basil's announced engagement assuring -a speedy marriage seemed just the thing to make her sink -on, she began to rouse herself and to look about her. For -the second time her longings and energies had lost their -stimulus, their inspiration, their vitalizing center. And that -center is to an unselfish nature as necessary as queen bee -to swarm which clusters about her, labors for her, and -renews through her. With human beings such as Courtney -Vaughan longings and energies rarely die upon the corpse -of their inspiration. After a while they fly upward, as did -hers, and begin to circle in search of a new clustering -center, a new reason for living and working on. "I can't stay -here," she kept repeating. "I must go somewhere. I must -do something. Where? What?" How settle her life -problem so that it would be "settled right," and she could -have peace and happiness? She found no answer. But -she kept on thrusting the question at herself. It was as -significant of her character as of her trend of thought that -her cry "If only I had money!" changed to "If only I -could </span><em class="italics">make</em><span> money!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvi"><span class="bold large">XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They were at supper, Dick reading the paper, Winchie -busy with bowl of rice and milk, Courtney listening to the -storm that shrieked in baffled rage after each vain assault -upon the house. Her whole being was quivering with the -pain that never pierced her more acutely than when she -was in the presence of Basil's vacant place at the table. -Winchie, without looking up, broke the silence: "We shan't -go, mamma, shall we, unless it clears up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick, turning the paper, happened to hear. "Go -where?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To grandfather's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney said: "Winchie and I are going to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible," said Dick. "They'd think you were crazy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I am," Courtney replied. "Anyhow, we're going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I need a change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put it off till spring." And he resumed the newspaper -as if the matter were disposed of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. To-morrow," said she, not in the least aggressively; -but her tone was of unalterable determination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or, if you must go somewhere, why not Saint X? You -can visit Pauline Scarborough or the Hargraves—and bring -Helen March back with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I prefer the farm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laid the paper down. "You're not serious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, my dear—" he began. His tone was one he had -unconsciously adopted from his grandfather. He used it -whenever he, as head of the family, confronted an -"irrational, feminine caprice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of reasoning with me?" interrupted -she. "Didn't your grandfather teach you that women can't -reason?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm willing for you to go to Saint X. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked significantly toward Winchie. Dick took the -hint, went back to his reading until they were alone. Then -he resumed: "I'm sure you'll not persist now that I've -pointed out to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you wish me to keep my temper," interrupted she, -"you'll not use that wheedling tone. I'd feel I was -degrading Winchie by speaking to him in a way that belittled -his intelligence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick looked astonished. "I had no intention——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know—I know," said she appealingly. "It doesn't -matter. I really don't care anything about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll not go when it's so clearly a folly to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going," said she. "You ought to be grateful -that I have such inexpensive whims. Most of us silly -women—" She paused, with a lift of the long, slender -eyebrows. How absurd to gird at him whose opinions -interested her as little as hers interested him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He revolved what she had been saying, presently reddened. -"I thought I had explained to you," said he, "that -the laboratory is very expensive. I know I don't give you -much. I've had to cut down the household allowance -because I feel sure Gallatin will be withdrawing his capital. -But just as soon as I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was even of temper again. "You remind me of -old Hendricks," interrupted she pleasantly. "You know, -he made three people toil for him all their lives, with no -pay and mighty poor board and clothes—on the promise of -a legacy—and they died before he did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Dick was offended. "It seems to me," said he, -"in view of what I'm doing at the shop——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't," she cried. "You're trying to make me -out an ingrate, who doesn't appreciate how you're toiling -just for wife and child. Now, what's the fact? Isn't your -work your amusement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I like it, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weren't you doing the same thing before you had a -family? Wouldn't you be doing it if you should lose them? -Isn't it your pride that you work solely for love of science?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked disconcerted assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then the fact is, you spend most of your income on -your own amusement, as much as if you drank it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reflected. "That never occurred to me before," said -he. "Possibly I have viewed it too one-sidedly. I must -think it over and see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged her shoulders. "Pray don't, on my account."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made no reply, put forward no further objections -to her going, though the next morning developed a driving -sleet. As she and Winchie were about to get into the -carriage he asked; "How long will you be gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Until I feel better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you are ill, you must not go in this weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him strangely. "If I were dying I should -go," was her slow reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated, studied her small, resolute face, her -fever-bright eyes, with a puzzled expression. "I suppose it's -best to give a woman her way in her whims, so long as -they're harmless," said he aloud, but to himself rather than -to her. She finished wrapping up the boy, went out to the -carriage, and got in. He lifted Winchie in, tucked them -both carefully, bade them a last good-by, his expression -grave and constrained.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In those fifteen miles through the searching cold, over -roads like fields deep plowed and frozen hard, she -debated how best to carry out her main purpose in going to -that dreary farm—how to take her father partly, perhaps -wholly, into her confidence so that she might get his -help—for help she must have. Her mother was now impossible—quite -demented on the subject of religion latterly through -the long steeping of mind and heart in a theology whose -heaven was hardly less formidable as an eternal prospect -than its hell, and whose hell was a fiery sea canopied by -shriek and stench of burning multitude. The old maid -sisters had neither experience nor judgment, only bitterness. -To them it would be inconceivable that a married woman, -with a husband who supported her in comfort, could be -other than blissfully happy. But her father— He had -been a man of affairs, judge. He had lived and read and -thought. She had heard her mother rebuke him for -expressing "loose" opinions; probably he was concealing -opinions even more liberal and enlightened and humane. -Perhaps he could give her practical advice—or at least -sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, arrived at the farmhouse, she had only to look into -those four countenances to see that she was among people -who knew no more of the life of the present day—or indeed -of the real life of any day, even of what they themselves -actually believed and felt—than deep-sea oysters in their -bed know of Alpine flowers. Even her father— In this -remote desert he had lost what knowledge of life he -formerly possessed. She was now developed enough to -realize that he in fact never did know much about life, that -his was a book education only. She had journeyed for -help in vain; she was still alone, dependent wholly upon -her own courage and resource.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you wish we hadn't come, mamma?" said -Winchie when they were in the room assigned them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied truthfully. She was watching the -hickory flames in a calmer mood than she had known for -weeks; at least she had got away where she could think, -could get an outside point of view upon the posture of her -affairs. "No, indeed," she went on to Winchie leaning -against her knee and looking up at her. "No, I feel -better already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I guess I can stand it," said the boy with a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't know about the hill where we can coast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he had never coasted, this did not lighten the -impression made on him by the gloomy farmhouse sitting room, -its walls and ceilings covered with somber paper, by the -shriveled grandparents, with deep-sunk, lack-luster eyes, by -the sharp, sour faces of the two old maids. But next day, -when the sun came out and the farmhands beat down a track -on the long hill, Winchie found the situation vastly -improved. Flat on her breast on a sled, with the boy -breathless and happy upon her back, she initiated him into the -raptures of "belly-buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, mamma, you look like a little girl, not a bit -grown up," cried he after they had been at it all morning -and were tugging up the hill for one last, magnificent rush -down before going home to dinner. And she did indeed -seem to be a sister of Winchie's, one hardly in her teens. -Of course, the short skirt and her smallness of stature -helped. But it was in her cheeks, in her eyes, in the curve -of her lips as she showed her white teeth in the happiest of -smiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> a little girl," declared she. And before starting -out with him after dinner she did her hair in two long braids -that hung below her waistline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They coasted every day; they took long sleigh rides, -long romping walks; they hunted rabbits, went fishing -through the ice, were uproarious outside the house and -in—the latter to the scandal of the three women of the family, -who regarded such goings-on as clearly forbidden in the -Scriptures. Even Sunday wasn't so bad as might have been -expected; for it snowed too violently for Mrs. Benedict to -take them to the church where her favorite doctrines were -expounded, and they slipped away to the glorious outdoors. -In a sheltered hollow under a shelf of rock they built an -enormous snow man, with a top hat of bark. They ate what -Winchie regarded as the most wonderful meal of his life at -the cottage of one of the farmhands. Never before had he -seen such brown brownbread or such molassessy molasses -or eaten off such big, strong dishes that there wasn't the -least danger of breaking, no matter what you did to them. -And he was fascinated by the farmhand's wife and daughter, -both acting their company best and eating with the -little finger of each hand stuck straight out. And in a box -in the corner of the room where they ate was a most exciting -brood of little chickens, chirping and squeaking. And -in the midst of dinner a huge, hairy, black dog suddenly -snatched a piece of meat from the farmhand's plate and -retired to the kitchen with it. "Ain't he a caution?" said -the farmhand, and Winchie thought he certainly was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was like those who put out to sea, leaving their -troubles at the one shore, not to think of them until they -touch the other. All around were the white hills, and there -seemed to be no beyond. She abandoned her plan of studying -her situation. She stopped thinking; she ate and slept, -and played with the boy, and pretended that she was the -little girl she looked, home from school for the holidays, -and half hoping somehow something would happen so that -there wouldn't be any school any more. She did not think, -but she hoped. How? What? Where? She did not know; -simply hope, that can burst the strongest grave despair -ever buried it in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well along in the second week, toward the middle of -the afternoon, she and Winchie were on the long hill, -rounding out one more happy day. She was as happy as he. -When all is lost save youth and health, what is really lost? -She on her breast on the sled and he sprawled along her -back, his arms round her neck, they shot down the steep -with shouts and screams. They stopped, all covered with -flying snow, in a soft bank beneath which the zigzag fence -was deep buried. They rolled in the snow, washed each -other's faces, stood up—were within a few feet of a man -in a fur-lined coat almost to his heels. They stared, -astounded. Then Winchie's face darkened and hers grew -more radiant still as the tears sprang to her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!" she murmured, Winchie forgotten. "Oh—</span><em class="italics">Basil</em><span>!" And -all in that instant the misery of those months -of despair was gloriously transformed into joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he cried. "How beautiful you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was extraordinarily handsome himself at that moment. -Love is a matchless beautifier; and if ever love shone -from a human countenance, it was shining, irradiating from -his just then. With Winchie jealously watchful they shook -hands. "Aren't you and Winchie going to speak to each -other?" she asked. And Basil, with reluctance and some -confusion held out a hand which the boy very hesitatingly -touched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll pull your sled to the top for you," Basil offered. -"Get on, Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy planted his feet more firmly in the snow. "We -were going home," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get on, Winchie," cried Basil friendlily. "I'll haul you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to walk," replied the boy sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney understood. "Get on, Winchie," said she. -"I'll pull it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy obeyed. The rope was long, so Basil felt free -to speak in a lowered voice. "Seeing you—hearing -you—touching you— O my darling! my Courtney!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She forgot where she was, who she was, everything but -love. Love! The road danced before her. The cry of the -chickadees, the twitter of the snowbirds, the call of Bob -White from the fence sounded like supernal music in her -ears. The blood tingled and dizzied her nerves. Love -again! "You care—still?" she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Care? There's only you for me in all the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught her breath, like the swinger at the long -swing's dizziest height when it halts to begin the delirious -descent. "Love!" she murmured. "Love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I know you love me," he went on. "I've never -doubted—not once. I've tried to doubt, but I couldn't. Up -before me would come those dear eyes of yours, -and—Courtney, there isn't a kiss—or a caress—hardly a touch -of the hands you and I have ever lived that I haven't felt -again and again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" she pleaded, her eyes swimming. "Don't, or -I'll break down. My love—my love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what would have become of me," he went -on, "if I hadn't known you'd send for me—yes—in spite -of your note. I expected it, for I knew you wouldn't be -able to come. The more I thought, the clearer I saw. Not -to go any further, there was the boy." He glanced round -at Winchie; the angry gray-green eyes were fixed upon him. -He glanced away, disconcerted. But he forgot Winchie -when his eyes returned to her. "Beautiful! Beautiful—little -girl," he murmured, his look sweeping her small, perfect -figure to the edge of her short skirt. "I like your new -way of wearing your hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She blushed. "I did it to make me feel young. I've -been feeling so old—old and tired and lonely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God, you sent for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sent for you! A hundred times a day in thought." She -laughed aloud, sparkling like the ice-cased boughs in -the late afternoon sun. "A thousand thousand times in -longing—every time my heart beat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is so good to be with you!" He drew in a -huge draught of the clean, cold, vital air. "Does the sun -anywhere else shine on such happiness as this? But I've -been mad with happiness ever since the word came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The word? What word?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vaughan's letter. I knew you got him to write it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney stopped short. "I!" she exclaimed. "I don't -know what you mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got a letter from him three days ago. He asked me -to take another quarter interest in his work—said he needed -the money, as he found he'd been using more of his own in -it than he could afford with justice to his family——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Courtney sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" asked Basil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was looking straight ahead. "Nothing—nothing. -Go on." And she started to walk again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your cry sounded like pain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did it? Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I assumed you had at last succeeded in making the -chance for me to come back. So, I telegraphed I'd accept, -provided he'd let me work with him again—and that I'd be -on at once to talk things over. I took the first train—and -here I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, here. That's another mystery to explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing simpler. The station man at Wenona told -me you were visiting your father. I jumped at the chance. -I can say I thought you all were here. Anything more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw the announcement of your engagement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's broken. I couldn't marry her—couldn't have done -it in any circumstances. So, I gave her what she was losing -by our not marrying. And I'm free. You want me to stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke indifferently about the money he had given -up, and he evidently felt indifferent. She would have been -hurt had he acted otherwise. At the same time it was a -measure of his generosity and of his love, a sordid but -certain measure. She regarded that payment as a sort of -ransom—his ransom for the right to come to her. "That was -his price for the right," thought she. "He paid it without -a second thought—would have paid any price. My price -for the right to be his may be harder. But I must pay, -too—as generously as he."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was watching her anxiously. "Courtney, I can't -go away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't," replied she. Then a reason—the reason—the -solution of her life problem—came to her as if -by inspiration. "It's my only chance to be a good woman. -That sounds strange, doesn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to me. I understand. If you hadn't sent for me -soon—" he checked himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't know that my coming here last spring—and -loving you—cured me of the drinking habit. I know, -it's stupid and disgusting. I used to loathe myself when I -gave way. But it's the only resort in loneliness. And if -I realized that you were lost to me, what would I care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded sympathetically. "I was going all to -pieces, in another way. I was sliding down as fast as -Winchie and I were coasting the hill back there. I was -going the way of all women who have no love—grown-up -love—in their lives. I know now, the reason I used to keep -myself together and built myself up and looked after things -was because I was waiting and hoping for love, and was -expecting it. Love is all of a woman's life, as things are -run in this world—at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And quite enough it is, too," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," disagreed she. "But let that pass. If I went -back to—to that life—alone, I'd be going to ruin. And -I'd probably drag him and Winchie down with me. A -woman of that unburied-dead sort drags down everybody -about her.... You've only to look round, in any station -of life, to see those women by the scores. Some few are -saved by children—not many and they are of a different -nature from me—from most women, I think.... If I -don't go back, I either go to you disgraced, a shame to my -family, a lifelong stain on my boy here, a miserable, afraid -dependent of yours.... No, don't interrupt; I've thought -it all out.... Or, I'd plunge into a life of social dissipation. -If possible, that sort of woman is worse for herself -and for her husband and children than the domestic rotter. -A chattering, card-playing gadabout. Possibly I might -remain true to my husband, but— If the world weren't -the fool it is, it would have discovered long ago that there -are worse vices than—" As always when she forced herself -to say frank, merciless things, she looked straight into -his eyes with defiant audacity—"worse vices than ours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—" he began, shifting his gaze and coloring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, it is. Don't make any mistake about it. But -I know lots of 'good' women—liars, gossips, naggers, petty -swindlers of their husbands, envious, malicious, spiteful—lots -and lots of so-called good women beside whom I'd feel -white as this snow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather!" exclaimed Basil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So—if you'll go with me—I'm going home—to make -it a home—to be a good mother—to give Richard at least -his money's worth in care and comfort and—" She looked -at him with eyes suddenly solemn—"and that is all, Basil—all. -It's all I can give him, all he has the right to.... -I'm going home to be a good woman, if you'll come and be -there too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's only one life for me—to be as near you as -you'll let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence. Then she again, sadly: "I don't know -how it will work out. But—what else is there for us? -We're not heroes. We're human. We must do the best we -can. Together we may survive. Apart, I at least will -perish—and destroy those near me. I suppose I'm all -wrong. But"—with a sigh—"I'm doing the best I can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence again. Then he, deeply moved: "I'll try to be -worthy of you, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worthy of </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? For God's sake, don't say those -things. There isn't any pedestal I wouldn't fall off of and -break to bits.... Basil—" wistfully—"you don't care for -me in just a physical way—do you, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I care for you in every way," he answered. "Courtney, -I never believed I could respect a woman as I respect -you. You know, men aren't brought up really to respect -women—or themselves, for that matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—couldn't we try to—" She lowered her head, -faltered—"couldn't we live as if we were engaged only?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should we?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it's only a fancy. But fancies count more -than facts.... I'd feel less the—" She faltered—paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes—I understand. And— Well, it doesn't do -a man any good to be pretending friendship and smiling in -another fellow's face, when all the time— I'll try, -Courtney— But—it won't be exactly easy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her gaze burned for an instant on his, then dropped. -"I should hope not!" murmured she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They, absorbed in each other, moved so slowly along the -road that Winchie, silent, motionless, sullen, upon the sled -they were trailing as far as the rope permitted, was stiff -with cold. But he did not murmur. By the time they -reached the door of the farmhouse, Courtney and Basil had -it all planned. He was to leave immediately after supper, -was to go at once to Vaughan, make the arrangements, -reinstall himself. She was to come home in three or four -days—unless Vaughan sent, asking her to come sooner. He -dined with the family at the farmhouse, made himself so -agreeable that they were all pleased with him—even sister -Ann whose bitterness over her failure at what she secretly -regarded as woman's only excuse for being alive, took the -unoriginal disguise of aggressive man-hating. At six o'clock -he drove away in the starlight with a merry jingling of -sleigh bells that echoed in Courtney's happy heart. The -cold was intense; but she felt only warmth—that delicious -warmth that comes from within. She stood on the little -front porch, with the stars brilliant above and the snow -white and smooth over hill and valley. She watched the -swift dark sleigh—listened to those laughing bells, their -music growing fainter and fainter—but not in her heart. -She was so happy that the tears were in her eyes and the -sobs in her throat. It was for her one of those moments -in life when she asked nothing more, could imagine nothing -that would add to joy. Love again!—and oh, what exalted -love, to warm the heart and fill it with light and joy, to -brighten every moment of life, to guide her up and ever up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie, standing beside her and looking up at her rapt -face, tugged angrily at her skirts.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvii"><span class="bold large">XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When the mail cart on the third afternoon failed to -bring a letter from Richard, she decided that prudence had -been satisfied, that she need wait no longer. Toward four -she and Winchie set out, snuggled deep in furs and straw -in the rear of a huge country sleigh. The roads were -perfect; the snow was like a strand at low tide, rolled smooth -and firm by the broad tires of high tide's billows. The -big horses, steaming as if they were engines, flew as if they -were a wind. But her impatient heart was always far ahead, -fretting at their laggard pace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They dashed into the outskirts of Wenona. The journey -was ended except the mile and a half round the curve -of the lake. She became all at once serenely calm. Life -her real life—was now about to begin. It was far from -the life she would have chosen, had she been prearranging -her own fate. However—who could live an ideal life in -such a topsy-turvy world? Nature and conventionality -ever at war; right and wrong, not two straight paths, one -up, the other down, but a tangle, a maze, a labyrinth. One -must often travel the path of the wrong in order to reach -the path of the right; and keeping to the path of the right -often meant arriving in a hopeless network of blind alleys -of the wrong. She was in the confused state about right -and wrong characteristic of this era of transition that has -seen the crumbling of the despotism of dogma, and has -not yet received, or created, a moral guidance to replace -it. "Life is a compromise, unless one lives alone and -miserably and uselessly," thought she. "My life's to be a -thistle with fig grafts. I'll do the best I can with -it—Basil and I. With him to help me—his strength and -character and self-denying love—with him to help, all may -go well. Is my compromise—Basil's and mine—worse than -those almost everyone has to make? If so, then they ought -to educate women differently, and change marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when the sleigh reached the drive-front porch, -making a dashing and musical arrival, she was in a mood -of moral exaltation that might have stirred the enthusiasm -of a saint—that is, a saint ignorant of the foundations of -that mood or the processes by which it had reared itself -skyward. Saints who are wise in the ways of humanity -do not interrogate too closely the glitter and lift of moral -temples; they know humanity has only humble materials -with which to build.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doors opened wide and, in a flood of bright warm -air, redolent of the perfume of flowers, out came Dick to -welcome them. "I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> glad!" cried he. Because of the -peculiar relations long established between them—relations -such as must exist in some degree between a husband and -a wife before the triangular situation can ever even -threaten—because of these peculiar relations, she had not -anticipated and did not feel the least embarrassment. She was -not defying or ignoring her husband; she had no husband. -After he swung Winchie to the porch he turned to do the -same service for her. But she had quickly disengaged -herself from the robes and was standing beside him. He -looked into her face, fully revealed by the pour of soft -light from the hall. "Your trip certainly has done you -good," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied she absently, presenting her left -cheek for the necessary formality of the occasion. Her -attention was wholly elsewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the hall before her there had appeared two people, -hanging back discreetly, so that they would not intrude -upon the family reunion. Basil, she expected. The woman -beside him so astonished her that she forgot to be glad to -see him. </span><em class="italics">Who</em><span> was she? This tall, slender girl with the -proud, regular features, the attractively done dark hair, -the big, honest brown eyes? She glanced at Basil, standing -beside this lovely girl and making a laughing remark; -her feminine sight instantly noted how the remark was -received by the girl—the flattering glance and smile a -marriageable woman rarely wastes upon anything from one -of her own sex or from an ineligible man. And through -Courtney shot a pang that dissolved her structure of -moral uplift as a needle thrust collapses a toy balloon. -Who was this woman?—this </span><em class="italics">young</em><span> woman—this </span><em class="italics">tall</em><span> -woman—this </span><em class="italics">handsome</em><span> woman—so pleased with Basil -Gallatin?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you surprised to find Helen March here?" -Dick was now saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen March! So, that scrawny, raw-boned girl, all -freckles and pimples, and unable to manage her mouth, -the Helen March she had seen three years before and -had not seen since—so, that prim and homely gawk had -developed into this stately creature! Prim, still—unless -that expression was the familiar maidenly pose to attract -wife hunters. But certainly neither homely nor awkward. -She even dressed her hair well, and wore her clothes with -quite an air. All this Courtney saw and felt and thought -in a few twinklings of an eye—for in such circumstances -a woman's mind works with the rapidity of genius, and -with genius's grasp of essential detail. Helen was -advancing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you recognize me, Courtney?" she asked. The -voice was one of those honest, pleasant voices that disarm -the most cynical pessimists about human nature—the voice -that makes the </span><em class="italics">blasé</em><span> city man fall to dreaming of taking a -country girl to wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Now</em><span> I do, of course," said Courtney sweetly. And -the two embraced and kissed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To do this, Helen had to bend, as she was more than -a head the taller. She bent with not a suggestion of -condescension in manner or in thought. Nevertheless Courtney, -for the first time in her life painfully sensitive about -her stature, flamed and was resentful—and in her scorn of -her own pettiness felt tinier within than without. True, -Helen's figure was commonplace, the bust too high and -ominously large for her age, the hips already faintly -menacing, the waist and arms somewhat too short for the -great length of leg. True, her own figure was—certainly -better. Still, Helen had that advantage of height—could -look at Basil level-eyed, could make her seem—short! And -this Helen here to stay indefinitely!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was pathos in the slow, sweet smile Courtney -gave Basil as their trembling hands met in what seemed -to the others a formal greeting. She turned away with -a sigh. Just as she, the thirsty, the desert-bound, was all -ready to rush forward and drink—the mirage vanished. -Was it to be always so? Was life to be ever a succession -of mirages, vanishing at approach, only to reappear and -revive hope—and cheat again? Through her mind flashed -the memory of the first one—an indelible memory, always -for her symbolic of vain expectation: A fourth of July -when she was a very small child—how she awakened at -sunrise, rushed to the window to find sky clear and world -radiant and ready for the picnic that was to be her first -great positive joy; how she was dressed in her best, in -wonderful new white frock, in white stockings and shoes -and white bows covering the top buttons, shimmering sash -of pale green, and bows of pale green on her braids; how, -just as she descended in all her glory to issue forth, down -came the rain—in floods—and no picnic, nothing but stay -at home all day and weep and watch the downpour. "It -was my horoscope," thought she, as she stood there in the -hall too sad for bitterness over her spoiled home-coming. -"Is it fate? Or, is it somehow my fault? My fault, I -suppose. I must be asking of life something no one—at -least, no woman—has the right to expect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was near the library door, with Winchie on its -threshold staring round big-eyed and crying, "Oh, mamma -Courtney. Look!" His eyes were no more wondering -than her own. She had been too disheartened to make the -library over into a conservatory that year; now, here it -was transformed into a conservatory—the carpet up from -the hardwood floor, plants beautiful for bloom or for -foliage or for both in boxes, in jars, in pots—everywhere. -A conservatory like that of former years, but more elaborate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The others were laughing and watching her face. So -she exclaimed "I am surprised!" in the indefinite tone -the listener can easily adapt to his expectations. But she -was not pleased—far from it. Another fierce pang of -jealousy. She, modest about her own abilities, did not -realize that the room lacked just the finishing touch of her -exquisite taste. To her it seemed better far than she -could have done. Why, she hadn't been needed, or missed -even! Things went on as well in her absence as when she -was here. And near her, side by side, were Basil and -Helen—how she could feel them!—so well matched -physically—and he fair, she dark. And Courtney had not that -self-complacent, satisfied vanity which shelters so many of -us from any and all misgivings and doubts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen did most of it," explained Vaughan. "She's -a trump, you'll find. Look out, Helen, or we'll make you -do all the work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cousin Dick proposed it and really carried it out," -protested Helen in her school-teacherish or collegiate -speech and manner. "And Mr. Gallatin was invaluable -in showing us how you had it last winter. We wanted to -get it exactly the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney turned brilliant, grateful eyes on Basil. "So, -you remembered, did you?" she ventured to say, sure her -meaning and her tone would pass the others safely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil flushed. "You can judge for yourself," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so overcome I don't know what to say." Their -smiling, friendly faces, all bent upon her, made her -natural generosity burst forth like April's unending green at -the first warmth of the sun. Her eyes filled. "Thank -you—thank you all!" she cried. "I am so—</span><em class="italics">so</em><span>—happy!" And -she kissed Helen again, ashamed of her mean impulses -toward one whose aloneness and poverty commanded -kindness and consideration and help from another woman, -especially from a woman who had known the bitterness -of dependence and aloneness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Good sense and decent instincts, having driven off -jealousy, held the field—not without occasional alarms and -excursions, but still decisively. It was the merriest party -that had gathered about the mahogany dining-room table -since Colonel 'Kill imported it from beyond the mountains, -along with sundry novelties in those parts, in that -early day—carpets and curtains and window glass, wall -paper and carved beds and crystal chandeliers. In Colonel -'Kill's time the atmosphere had been genial but austere; -Aunt Eudosia, during her brief reign between his death and -her own, had maintained his traditions reverently; and -Courtney had struggled not altogether with success, though -bravely and resolutely, against the atmosphere that lingered -on after all her brightening changes. But that night, the -spell was broken. Dick put aside his chemistry; Basil and -Courtney forgot him and their burden of deceit. Helen -belied her mourning which, as Courtney had shrewdly -guessed, was mere formality anyhow. Everyone was gay, -even jealous little Winchie, devoting himself to Helen, -determined to make her love him. And Courtney was gayest -of all; was not that vacant place at the table filled once -more? Her heart overflowed with joy and her lips and -eyes with laughter each time she looked in that direction -and saw—</span><em class="italics">him</em><span>! Everyone was gay except old Nanny, -listening sourly to the merriment that came through door -and hall into kitchen and sounded like a burst from a -ballroom whenever Lizzie was passing in or out. "Poor -young man!" muttered Nanny to her dishes and pans. -"If he only knowed the whited sepulchre he's living amidst, -what a holocaust there'd be." She did not know what -holocaust meant, having got merely its vague sense from a -sermon; thus, it gave her a conception of anarchy and chaos -far beyond the scope of words she understood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's emerald eyes, dancing and laughing though -they were, scrutinized Basil. Not that she really -suspected him; she simply wished to fortify herself against -the folly and the unhappiness of suspicion—as women look -under a bed before getting into it. Having fortified -herself, she concentrated on Helen—Helen, the homeless, the -unmarried, the eager to be married. There the results of her -scrutiny were not so satisfactory. Basil would have called -Helen's manner mere civility; and perhaps, in strict -justice, it was nothing more. But Courtney the woman, -judging Helen the woman, saw the hidden truth beneath the -surface truth—saw that Helen was not without an instinct -for a possible customer for the virtue so carefully nurtured -against the coming of an opportunity for it to expand in -the garden of matrimony with the flower and leaf and fruit -of wife and mother. Courtney judged fairly, conceded that -Helen was the reverse of forward, was using no arts, no -subtleties. But the candidate for matrimony showed in -her charmingly receptive and appreciative attitude toward -the young man. The danger which Courtney foresaw and -feared lay in the fact that Basil and Helen were both -attractive. To Courtney it seemed a question of a very -brief time when, without any effort whatever on her part, -Helen must fall in love with him. What then? A -well-bred, pretty woman in love is always more and ever more -attractive to the man she centers upon. And Helen was -free—and could be honorable throughout!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Courtney undressed for bed, these reflections, so -forbidding of aspect, faced her whichever way she turned. -"I like Helen," she thought, "and it's decent and right -to give her a home. If I were what I ought to be—ought -to try to be—I'd give her every opportunity to win Basil. -She's got to have some one to support her. I'm provided -for. It's mean of me to stand in her way." She found -some cheer in the reflection that, while most women would -straight off hate Helen and look on her as an impudent -interloper, she herself had generosity enough to be just -in thought at least. "But I'm human," said she. "Helen -has got to go. She doesn't love him. I do. She doesn't -need him. I do. She's got to go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was her habit to sit on the rug before the fire in her -sitting room, and do her hair for the night; then she would -sometimes stretch herself out flat upon her breast and read -by the fire light or watch it and dream or think. She was -lying that way, head pillowed upon a book and face toward -the fire, when Dick opened the door, glanced in, entered. -So absorbed was she that she did not know he was in the -room until he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's like what Nanny would call a special providence, -isn't it?" said he, seating himself on the sofa parallel -to the fireplace but well back from it. He had a long -dressing gown over his pajamas and was smoking a last -cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Special providence? What?" inquired she without -turning her head. His entrance had not interrupted her -train of thought. Her answer was, as usual, a reflex action -from her surface mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Basil's coming back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No reply. She was not thinking of Dick's statement -of Basil's return as coming from him but as if she had -herself begun to revolve it of her own accord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Helen's being here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A restless shiver. She was unconscious of Dick's presence. -She was gazing absorbed at the proposition: Helen -is here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's just as we wanted it," he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lithe, delicately formed body grew tense. "Speak -for yourself," she said curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard received this rebuff in silence. "I know you -don't like Basil," said he at length. "And, it's true he -was a tank and a tear-about at college——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There he stopped, shamefaced. He forgot he had told -her about Basil; he felt it was undignified and unworthy -gossip now that he had matrimonial designs upon him. -"That slipped out," he said to her apologetically. "I -never intended to tell you. Anyhow, he has dropped all -that sort of thing, and I don't believe he'll ever turn loose -again.... I wonder why that girl broke the engagement. -He tells me he's free, and I suspect he wanted to come -back because he's pretty badly cut up.... You will be -nice to him, Courtney?—and help him and Helen along? -They were intended for each other—height—contrast of -coloring——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney sat up impatiently, turned her back to the fire -to warm it, clasped her knees in her arms. She was -conscious of him now, vaguely, unpleasantly conscious, though -the ideas he had suggested still held most of her -attention. Gradually she became uncomfortable; no, it was -not the cold. Her wandering glance happened upon -Richard's face. His expression— That was it! Not cold, -but the sense of being looked at by eyes that had not the -right. She blushed furiously from head to feet, had an -impulse to snatch the rug about her and dart from the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are—</span><em class="italics">beautiful</em><span>!" he exclaimed, rising. "I was -just contrasting you with Helen March this evening. She's -undoubtedly handsome. Has height, and go, and, for a -girl, really a surprising amount of——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was not listening. She was thinking of her -oversight in not locking her doors into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of charm—aside from the freshness that's about all -there is to most girls, I imagine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She must be careful not to irritate him, not to rouse -him to the vigilance that nothing can escape. What a -luckless beginning of a new life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're so well now—so alive——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm all but dead," she declared, pretending a yawn. -"I must go to bed." She sprang lightly up. "Good -night," she said. And to take away the sting—for, his -slight wince showed her there was sting—she stood on -tiptoe, hands behind her and face upturned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lips touched her cheek hesitatingly; fired by the -contact, he took her in his arms and kissed her. She did -not draw away; an instinct of prudence, not a deliberate -thought, restrained her. She flushed from head to foot, -her modesty wounded, her pride abased. "Good night," -said he, lingeringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," she echoed, turning away to screen the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later all the lights in the house were out. -She had gone to bed, but not to sleep. She suddenly sat -up, gazed eagerly toward the window giving on the small -veranda. It was open for the night; the shutters were -latched, however, and through them came intensely cold -air and some faint light. She thought she heard a -tapping at the shutter—that shutter she had so often thrown -wide in the hope that Basil had secretly returned. She -listened. After a long wait, again the tapping—so soft -that only the attention of an expectant listener would have -been attracted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!" she murmured. "I must have been expecting him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was about to dart to the window when there came -a thought like a blow in the face flinging her back and -making her cover her head. First the one man; now the -other. "God!" she muttered. "How they will degrade -me, between them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, it should not be! She grew angry with Basil. At -the first opportunity, breaking his promise, trying to tempt -her to become what he could not but despise. </span><em class="italics">That</em><span> was -what he called </span><em class="italics">love</em><span>! And how poorly he must think of -her! ... She uncovered her head, listened. No repetition -of the sound. She ran to the window, opened the -shutter. No one! Yes—the snow on the rail had been -disturbed. She leaned out. Snow—the black boughs—the -biting midnight air—stars—the crescent moon with a -pendant planet—the distant muffled sound of a horse -stamping in its stall. She closed the shutter, went shivering -back to bed—heartsick with disappointment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xviii"><span class="bold large">XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When she at last went to sleep it was like a ship going -down in a storm. But she slept nine hours without a -dream; and she awakened in that buoyant mood with which -perfect health of body will triumph over whatever heaviness -of soul. Her troubles seemed largely fanciful, were -certainly anticipatory; she would push steadily forward, -and all would be well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she descended, the two men had breakfasted and -gone, and Winchie was out on the lawn playing at snow -man with the Donaldson children and their governess. -Helen, still at table with coffee and newspaper, greeted -her so honest of eye and of voice that she was altogether -ashamed of her thoughts of evening and night before. -Also, Helen did not look especially well in the mornings. -Sleep swelled her face, her eyelids; her skin inclined to -be cloudy; her hair hung rather stringily about her brow. -And in négligée the defect of too much bust and too short -waist seemed worse than it was. "I must see that she -gets a proper corset," thought Courtney. "Like so many -women, she doesn't realize that corset is three fourths of -the battle for figure." She studied Helen with an artist's -eye and an artist's enthusiasm for bringing out the best, -the beautiful. "Yes," she said to herself, "Helen can -be made a perfect wonder for looks. I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> try it." And -then she knew she had never really intended to send Helen -away. She who had suffered so much from the tyranny -of dependence—it would be impossible for her to exercise -that tyranny over another. "I don't want to send her -away. But if I did want to, I couldn't, no matter what -happened. I might think I would, and try to compel myself -to do it. But when it came to the pinch, I'd remember—and -I couldn't. No other human being shall ever know -through me the sort of humiliation I bear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was ashamed of her fears about Basil, too. "As -if he hadn't known lots of women. As if our love were -just the ordinary thing that passes for love. And Helen'll -help brighten things up—this house must not and shall -not be gloomy." Then too—and this idea she did not -definitely express to herself—Helen would give her and -Basil more freedom by pairing off with Richard when -they were all together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still more cheering were the thoughts that came from -her mail. From the bank's monthly statement she learned -that Richard had for the first time fixed an allowance -sufficient for the position she was expected to maintain. -There is a minimum amount on which a family can live in -a certain style; every dollar below that means pinch, every -dollar above it luxury. Courtney had at times been hard -put to keep from going into debt. Many a woman, bred -as she had been, as most American women are—with small -practical knowledge, with only the silly useless "education" -the usual school and college give, with no notion of -values or mistaken notions, with contempt for realities and -reverence for inanities—has in the same circumstances -become hopelessly involved. But whatever the shortcomings -in Mrs. Benedict's system of bringing up her children, she -had certainly inculcated a horror of debt. And as human -life and character are grounded upon material things if -they have any substantial foundation at all, this dread of -debt had been and continued to be one of the main factors -in Courtney's development. It is amazing how far a -single cardinal </span><em class="italics">real</em><span> principle, such as a fixed aversion to debt, -will go toward keeping any human being straight, toward -bringing them back to sense of the just and the right, -when they have been swerved by emotion or irresistible -gale of circumstance. But in human affairs all the truly -great powers are forces so quiet and move so close to the -ground that their existence is unsuspected; or if pointed -out, it is denied and scouted, and some windy fake of -philosophy or politics or superstition is hailed as the god -in the machine. Instead of going into debt and playing -the "refined, cultured lady," Courtney had set about -learning to economize without privation or meanness or tawdry -pretense, acquiring the supreme art of living—the getting -of its full value for every dollar. It had been a hard -schooling; she began to realize how valuable, how -invaluable. With this additional allowance Richard was now -making, she saw what wonders of improvement she could -work—she who had been getting out of the smaller income -what many women in Wenona, spending four and five times -as much, had not got. Certainly, the sky was brightening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you haven't taken a dislike to me," Helen was -saying, "and are going to let me stay a while, I'll make -myself useful. In fact, I'll not stay if I don't. I must -pay my way, and I can't pay in money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever you like," said Courtney, "if you'll only -stay. We want you. We need you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen never forgot the warmth that cordial genuine -tone sent through her. She didn't try to put her thanks -into words, for there are no words for such real and deep -feeling. She simply looked at Courtney—a look that more -than rewarded her. After a moment she went on in an -unsteady voice, "I could help—with Winchie. I took a -course in kindergarten work at Tecumseh—and in -housekeeping, too. They really teach things—real things—there. -Then, I sew beautifully—the finest kind of sewing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I see," said Courtney, looking at the sacque Helen -was wearing. She did not like the sacque, because she did -not like flummery and elaboration—and Helen had the -poor girl's weakness for both. But she did admire the -quality of the work that had been put into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must let me do some sewing for you. Do you -like fine underclothes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Crazy about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew you were," said Helen who, judging by Courtney's -dress and light way of talking, had already clearly -and finally made up her mind that the verdict of "serious -people" as to her cousin was just—a sweet, light, pretty -creature, fond of dress and all the frivolities. "Just you -wait! Mrs. Hargrave up at our town brought back some -things from Paris—perfectly wonderful! All the women -were excited about them. Well, I know how to make them—and -where the goods can be got. Not expensive, either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll get the material," said Courtney, "and you can -make some for both of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I took a course in fitting. Don't judge by the -things I wear. I somehow can't fit myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the corset," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so. I could never afford to have them -made—or to buy the best ready-made kind. But I can -do well for others. I can teach your dressmaker how to -behave herself. That'll save you a lot of time and worry, -won't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And work. Now, I have to remake most of my things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney began to respect Helen. The evening before, -the girl, bent upon making a favorable impression, had -been a wholly different person. She had seemed to Courtney -stuffed to bursting with the familiar, everywhere -admired and nowhere admirable "idealism" that chokes -thought with cant and cumbers action with pretense. She -had displayed a disquieting fondness for the "cultured" -drivel about art and literature, about morals and manners, -that destroys sincerity and simplicity's strength, and -creates the doleful dreary lack of individuality characteristic -of the so-called educated classes throughout the world. -Courtney had always had the courage to confess that these -honored frauds seemed to her ridiculous and wearisome. -She assumed that Richard's and Basil's admiring attention, -as Helen "showed off" after the manner of young -girls, was politeness—or tribute to Helen's good looks. -Now that she had discovered real virtues in Helen, she was -not alarmed; for, she had learned that men are not -interested in such virtues in young women but only in surface -charms that stimulate their sex illusions. "It'd take a -man who had been married at least once to appreciate -Helen," thought she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the time Courtney finished breakfast, she had -explained her plans and Helen had made many intelligent -suggestions. They lost no time in getting to work. The -morning flew, dinner was ready before they had given it -a thought. Yes, Helen was a genuine addition, was just -what she needed. "Yet I've no doubt Basil'll think her -stupid once he gets used to her beauty and her sweetly -pretty romantic pose for the matrimonal game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick and Basil came, and the merry party of the night -before was repeated. Courtney noted with pleasure that -Dick and Helen had taken a fancy to each other. Without -her realizing it, this was a thorough test of her absolute -apartness from him; for, many a woman who is not in -love with her husband, who actively dislikes him, will yet -be furiously jealous of him—and by no means entirely -from the sordid motive of fear lest his being attracted -elsewhere will end in lessening her own portion of the -income. Dick showed that he thought Helen, tall of stature -and serious looking, an appreciative listener to his -discourses on chemistry; and Helen's manner was indeed well -calculated to deceive—a man. After dinner Dick led her -up to his study further to explain some things they had -been discussing. Winchie hurried away to resume play -with the Donaldsons, their governess having come for -him—and Courtney and Basil were free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems too good to be true," said Basil. "How -much better this is—in every way—than what we've been -condemning each other to.... Courtney, I did a very -indiscreet thing last night. I came to your -window—climbed up by a ladder Jimmie had forgotten to lock up -in the woodshed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, rosy red, lowered her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't wonder you're angry. I'll never do it again. -When we have such happiness as this, we must do -nothing—</span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>—to endanger it. And I want to say, you -were right about—about what's best for us. The very -resolve to try has made everything seem entirely different. -I'm not ashamed when I look at Richard. I can meet his -eyes. And with your help I think I can wait patiently—and -hope! ... Don't you think it possible those two -might fall in love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was startled, then fascinated by the idea. "Why -not? If they only would!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's just possible—barely possible." They sat silent, -reflecting on this new hope. Presently Basil went on, -"They're both very serious minded. And Miss March -would be a real companion for him. She's thoroughly -intellectual, has quite a remarkable mind—more like a -man's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At "intellectual" Courtney thought he was joking. -She began to smile, rather reluctantly—for, she did not -like to laugh at so sweet and honest a girl as Helen, even -with one so near to her, so like another self. Then his -expression warned her that he was in earnest, that he -really regarded Helen's "cultured" conversation as an -indication of intelligence, did not see that it was merely -education of an elementary and commonplace sort—the sort -the colleges, those wholesale dealers in ready-made mental -clothes, dressed out all minds in, so that usually one could -tell a college man just as one could tell a ready-made suit. -It was at her face to laugh at him. What an instance of -woman's good looks blinding susceptible man to the truth -about her internal furnishing, as different from the real -thing as a hotel parlor from the drawing-room of a -person of taste and individuality. But she did not laugh; -that would have seemed meanness toward Helen—and -Courtney, no lenient critic of her own character, rather -suspected herself of a sly ungenerous envy of Helen's -stature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," pursued Basil, "Miss March has a remarkable -mind. But I'm afraid there's no hope—about her and him. -You see, she's not at all that sort of girl. She'd rather die -than commit any impropriety—that is, I mean of course," -he stammered, "she's horribly prim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney would have thought nothing of it, had he -not stumbled and hastened on to explain. But that -agitated, apologetic embarrassment changed "she'd rather die -than commit any impropriety" from a commonplace into a -tribute to Helen which was a slur upon herself. For her -love's sake she resisted the temptation to pretend not to -have heard or felt. "You like that sort of thing in a -woman, don't you?" said she, with a lift of the eyebrows, -those deep notes in her voice ominous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Miss March—yes," blundered he. "That is, in a -young girl." He halted, burst out desperately, "You're -always suspecting me of not respecting you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There began to gather in Courtney an emotion that -terrified her. It was not anger; it was not shame. It -seemed, rather, a sort of dread—though of what she did -not know—did not wish to know. "Please, no protests," -she said hurriedly. "Let's drop the subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do respect you," he said, doggedly. "But if I -didn't"—there, he looked at her—"I feel for you -something that's so much more than respect—I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew in her breath sharply, and her eyes gleamed -and glistened as they opened wide. She had a way of -opening her eyes upon him that made him feel as if he were -standing on a high place and about to plunge dizzily into -the sea at the call of a mermaid. The silence that -followed was interrupted—rudely it seemed to them—by the -return of Helen and Dick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I need somebody in addition to you, Gallatin, to help -out down at the shop," said Dick, "and Helen is going -to try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Cousin Courtney is willing," said Helen. "She -may need me here, as I told you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney had been standing with her fingers on the -edge of the chimney-piece, gazing between her arms into -the fire. She slowly turned and regarded Richard. Basil -and Helen working together!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, she doesn't need you here," asserted Vaughan. -And catching Courtney's eye, he glanced from Basil to -Helen and winked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney seemed not to see. "Helen doesn't want to -go down there," said she. "Richard imagines, if people -listen politely to his talk about chemistry, that they're as -interested as he."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really I'd like it," said Helen, a good deal of -nervousness in her enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She could try it anyhow," urged Vaughan. "We -need some one—don't we, Basil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Basil. "You remember, I suggested you -ought to ask Mrs. Courtney to take a hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" Vaughan laughed gayly. "She has no -fancy for anything serious. Now, Helen is masculine -minded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit," declared Helen, much agitated by such -an accusation, in presence of an eligible young man. "I'm -so much a woman that I'm what's called a woman's woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen prefers to stay here," said Courtney. "So, I -think </span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard stared and frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled at Basil. "Richard is getting broad -minded," she went on slowly, selecting her words. "A short -time ago the idea of a woman in that laboratory of his -would have upset him quite. I remember, when we were -first married, I made the most desperate efforts to get him -to let me help. He was finally quite rude about it." She -spoke with no suggestion of resentment; and, indeed, that -time seemed so remote, so like a part of another life or -another person's life that she felt no resentment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure—we'll—both—be glad to have you," stammered -Basil. He was confused before the instinct-born -thought that those few apparently simple words of hers, so -quietly and so good-humoredly spoken, were in fact the -story of the matrimonial ruin he had found when he -came—and was profiting by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come down to-morrow," Courtney went on. -"Helen can look after things here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen could not conceal her relief; when the men were -gone she said: "I'm so glad you got me out of that. Dick -would have discovered what a stupid I am in about one -hour, and he'd have despised me. I'd hate that, as I think -he's wonderful. How proud you must be of him. Of -course, Basil is very sweet—and </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> a gentleman—and -how well he does dress! But Dick— They're not in the -same class."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then Vaughan came hurrying in. "I forgot something -I wanted to say to you, my dear," he began. "Come -in here——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen took the hint and hastened away. Vaughan went -on, "Why on earth didn't you help me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney looked interrogative. She felt a curious -impersonal anger against him for having blunderingly -interfered in her affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you see," explained Richard somewhat irritably, -"I had it all fixed to bring those two together?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dull of me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not too late. All you have to do is back out and -send her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And have her exhibit herself before him at her worst. -And get him sick of the very sight of her." Richard began -to look foolish. Courtney went on in the same tone of light -mockery: "If you want a girl to marry a man, or a man -a girl, you mustn't let them see too much of each other. -If possible, make it hard for them to get at each -other." The emerald eyes were mockingly mirthful now. "No -such love-inducer in the world as holding two people apart. -And when two can see each other freely—to their heart's -content—and satiation—why—" She finished with a -shrug, her eyes looking straight into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. You women know each other best," said -he, uncomfortable, without being able to locate the cause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen will stay at home, like the homebody she is," -pursued Courtney. "And I'll come to help you. I've had -it in mind for several days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not in earnest about that!" cried Vaughan in -alarm. "Why, what'd you do there? You'd be in the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More than Helen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frankly—yes," said Richard bluntly. "As I said -before, serious things interest her. You know, I dislike -that sort of thing in a woman—am glad to see that you've -gotten entirely over it, as I knew you would. But I could -have put up with it—for a while—to help Helen to a good -husband and Basil to a fine wife. It wouldn't have taken -long—at least, I thought not. I admit I was probably -wrong, and you right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—now that I've said I'd come, I'll come," said -Courtney. "Helen'll take most of the detail here off my -hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you really want to come—" said Dick, reluctant. -"I suppose—after what I've said— Well, you can come -for a few days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was looking into the fire. Not for a "few -days" but for as long as Basil worked with those -dangerous chemicals. If anything happened—they would be -together. Richard was looking at her; but he thought it -was the fire light that was giving her the strange, somehow -terrible expression which yet enhanced her beauty and -her charm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How serious you look," said he. "Really, quite -tragic—in that light."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it must be the way the light falls," replied she. -"Or is it because I've mislaid my pet powder rag?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next morning as soon as Courtney dispatched her -household routine she went down to the Smoke House and -appeared before Richard in his laboratory for the first time -since that morning after the homecoming, long, long ago -in that other life. With a platinum rod he was slowly -stirring some fiery mixture of a dark purple color in a -big iron crucible. She saw that the fumes were poisonous, -as his nose and mouth were protected by a respirator. As -on the previous visit she stood silent in the doorway -watching him. She had long since passed the stage of -comparisons and contrasts; and her mind was altogether upon -the present and the future, as an intelligent young mind -is extremely apt to be. So, she was not thinking of that -previous visit, but was simply interested in what he was -doing—in his work, which she had now resolved, with an -experienced woman's determination, to make her own work -also, no matter what opposition she might encounter. Her -achievements in house and gardens, in bringing up Winchie, -in breaking through the barriers of moral convention so -powerful round a woman born and bred as she had been—these -feats had wonderfully developed her will, had replaced -shyness and timidity with quiet self-confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the contents of the crucible cooled and he took -off the respirator, she spoke. "I see you've run up a -partition."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her with a frown—not severe but -irritated, as at the persistent naughtiness of a sweet and -charming child. "Oh, you've come—have you? ... Yes—the -partition gives Basil and me each his own shop. I -like to work alone, whenever it's possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She advanced calmly, indifferent to his unfriendliness. -"Then you don't want me to help </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?" She put all her -diplomacy of tone and manner into that little speech. She -knew how much depended upon this "entering wedge"—this -getting tolerated within those walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a whimsical creature you are!" Dick was still -vexed, but half laughing, too. She was so delicate and -graceful, so fascinating to the eye; and she seemed to him -absurdly, quaintly out of place there. "Basil!" he called. -"Gallatin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin, in a blouse, rubber apron and gloves appeared -from the other part of the shop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—here's the—the 'prentice," said Dick. "You're -not busy nowadays. Take charge of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll be a great pleasure, I'm sure," he stammered. -He looked about as uncomfortable at sight of her as had -Richard. Demurely she followed him into his compartment. -As the partition did not extend to the ceiling, they -had to content themselves with an exchange of eloquent -glances. Then, taking the tone of gentleman chemist to -not overbright and densely ignorant lady visitor at a -laboratory, he began to explain to her the names and uses of -things, and to demonstrate how to use them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the entire morning he talked and illustrated, -thoroughly enjoying himself at making a fine impression with -his display of superior knowledge. He told her little she -did not already know. But she was not so tactless as to -spoil his pleasure or hurt his vanity. She listened and -tried; and when he complimented her on her quickness in -learning, she showed delight at being praised. In the -afternoon he allowed her to practice his teachings -unassisted—set her at weighing a little nitrate of potassium -precipitate in the gold and ivory and aluminum balances. -She had done this sort of things a hundred times, but was -meek under his elaborations of cautioning and explaining.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I worked a lot in laboratories at school," said she -ingenuously, when his guidance became a little tiresome. -"It's beginning to come back to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled in a way that reminded her of Richard. -"All right. Do the best you can," said he. "We'll not -expect much of you for the present. I'm afraid you'll soon -give up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him. "I'm here to stay," said she, -"You'll not get rid of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the work's very hard—not at all feminine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That suits me. For, I'm not at all feminine, -myself—what men mean by feminine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, went about his own business. As she sat -at the balances, her whole mind on the needle she was -watching through the reading glass, she felt herself caught -from behind. She turned her laughing face upward and -backward, and they kissed. "Isn't it splendid!" he -exclaimed under his breath. "Yes—you must stay." It had -been part of her plan of life that they should never caress. -Suddenly she realized how impossible this rule was—and -how foolish. On occasions—such occasions as this joy in -the unexpected kindness of fate—the rule must be suspended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long it's been!" he said in a low voice. "Not -since early September have I kissed you—and this is almost -February."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced warningly toward the top of the partition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Away at the other end," Basil assured her, "and -doing something that can't be left an instant for an hour -or more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then—" She blushed, hesitated, gave him a -passionate, longing look. "One more kiss—and we go to -work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself and drew her to his lap. With their -heads close together, they talked—of anything, of -everything, of nothing—and hardly knew what they were -saying—and cared not at all. "Oh, the happiness of it," she -murmured. "And we are to work side by side, too. It -seems a dream. I can't believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And soon it will be spring again, and we shall be a -little freer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be patient until I get everything settled," she answered, -"and we shall be free almost all the time. I have -thought it out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think of everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think of nothing but you—always you," she -answered. "What have I but our love? I want to make -the house comfortable, your apartment comfortable, myself -attractive—all, so that love will never begin to think of -taking flight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flight!" He laughed softly. "How absurd! Can't -you feel that I'm just wrapped up in you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She touched his tight encircling arms. "I can feel -that I'm just wrapped up in you," she retorted. "Now, -let me go. I am not to keep you from the work—or -you me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not just yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes"—firmly. "You don't take me any more seriously -than Richard does. But I don't in the least care. -If I am serious, what does it matter whether anyone thinks -so or not?" She laughed a little. "And I'm feminine -enough, I'll admit, to want to be what the man who wants -me wants me to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not listening. He held her more tightly, and -she knew what was coming before he began to speak. -"Let me come to-night, Courtney. Just this once. I -simply want to be alone with you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet," she replied. "Don't let's tempt each other -to risk years of happiness for a frightened moment." And, -afraid she would yield if he kept on urging, she abruptly -freed herself and sent him back to his seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour, and he came to her again. "I've been doing -nothing but watch you, and you haven't looked round -once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This work is interesting," replied she—and it was -the simple truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a good example I'm setting you. I always -used to like chemistry. And I was a harum-scarum girl -then. Now, I see I'm going to be tremendously fond -of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney—I can't stand—our—our compact. I simply -can't. I feel as if you had thrust me out of your life. -And— Have you no memory, sweetheart? Courtney, -we're only human beings, after all. And we've the right. -Aren't you my wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tempt me, Basil," she answered with a sigh. -"Do you suppose I don't feel it? Sometimes I get to -thinking what might be— But I will not! You do not -wish it." And she glanced meaningly at the partition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are mine!" he whispered, moved by the reminder -but not abashed. "If I had never known love in its -fullness, I might be able to endure this cold, repellent -pretense of virtue—for, it's nothing but a flimsy pretense. -Courtney, if you love me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your love only—</span><em class="italics">that</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you loved me," he repeated, "you'd not calculate -so puritanically. If I weren't seeing you, dear, I could -bear it. But seeing you all the time—touching you—kissing -you—Courtney, Courtney, how can you make me, and -yourself too, suffer so needlessly? If you really love, how -can you keep me out of your inmost life—as if I were not -everything to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I explained to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Explained! Explained!" he said, impatiently. "We -explain and explain, but it's all sophistry. The truth -is—what? That we are lovers. And, if our love is a sin, why -not take all its reward since we'll have to take all its -punishment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't harass me now," she begged, agitated and trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harass you!" He drew away offendedly. "I -thought I was pleading for you, as well as for myself. -If I am not, please forget what I said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I may come to-night—or you to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him a sad, pleading look. "Not to-night, -dear. Not just yet. We </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> wait till things are going -quietly in a routine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How easily you put us off!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!—</span><em class="italics">Please</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared sulkily out of the window. "It does sting -my pride that you care so much less than I. It does make -me—almost doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so loud!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't realize how far away he is, and how -absorbed.... I take back all I said." And he straightened -himself coldly and went to his own part of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A moment, and she followed him. "You are offended, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed. "I will come to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not wish to come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be honest, no. I should feel—" She hesitated. -She wished to be frank; but how could she be, when he -was in that mood of doubt? How could she explain again -that, in some respects, she loathed the memory of the times -they had been stealthily together—the alarms, the narrow -escapes from discovery—the commonness of it all—like -those low intrigues that get into the newspapers, to make -coarse mouths water and vulgar eyes sparkle? If she tried -to tell him, he would misunderstand. "Not just yet," she -went on. "I'm in a queer mood—not myself. You——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was so tender, so loving, so deeply distressed that, -in shame and contrition, he embraced her. "I'm sorry I -said anything. But you'll understand. How can I help -longing for you? It's your own fault—you beautiful, -wonderful </span><em class="italics">woman</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And their first clash ended in kisses, in serenity -restored, with him saying—and thinking—"How much -braver and better you are than I! Yours is the love that -makes a man stronger and decenter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her look was eloquent of gratitude and happiness. But -the happiness in it was forced, at least in part, was rather -what she felt she ought to feel than what she actually did -feel—as is so often the case. And she went back to work -with a certain heaviness of heart—and a foreboding. The -slightest alarm, however fanciful, was enough to call up -the specter of those months of loneliness and despair after -he left. That specter haunted her, was in her mind the -fixed idea that becomes an obsession. She knew that to -quiet it, she would if necessary stop at nothing. "I can -never give him up again. I'd do anything—anything—rather -than even risk it." Pride and self-respect were all -very well, but those who could put such things before love -had not loved. She hoped and prayed Basil would not -force her to the test. But—if he did— She sighed, and -bade herself wait until that situation arose before worrying -over it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xix"><span class="bold large">XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now that the throes of birth were over, their love bade -fair to be like those robust infants that almost kill mothers -in the bearing but thereafter give not a moment's anxiety. -Outdoors it was rivalling the previous winter; indoors—at -the house and at the laboratory—there reigned mid-summer -serenity. Nanny—always a shadow, though very -faint indeed latterly—had yielded before her arch enemy, -rheumatism, had been pensioned off, had gone to her -brother's, seventeen miles into the wilderness. She would -shadow them no more. Richard had come to another crisis -in his researches; and a mind in the act of gestation is like -a hen on eggs—solitary, brooding, best left utterly alone. -He was as unconscious of Courtney and Basil as of -himself; all three were, for him, simply instruments to the -strange and terrible marvels of chemical action that were -unfolding. Soon Basil felt about him as did Courtney—that -is, lost all sense of his being related to her or to the -life of the household. As they held to their compact, they -experienced none of passion's inevitable alternations of -rapture and revulsion. Habit is equally the friend of -virtue and of vice. It was not a matter of months but -of weeks when they were looking on their love as not only -moral but even exalted, since they were self-restrained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The chief factor in the tranquillity was the work. -Courtney began at the laboratory solely that she and Basil -might be together. Soon she had another reason—love of -the work itself. Everything worth while, whether for -achievement or for amusement, involves drudgery at the -outset—tennis or bridge no less than a trade or an art. -Although Courtney had done at school the worst part of -the drudgery in acquiring chemistry, it was nearly a month -before she began to enjoy. Then came the first haunting -alluring glimpses of the elusive mystery which makes -chemistry the most fascinating of the sciences; and from -that hour forth she forgot the difficulties in the delights. -She often stole in to gaze longingly at Richard's work—for, -he kept the main part of the great task of finding a -new and universal fuel altogether in his own hands and -used the other two as mere helpers. She would have liked -to work with him; and, as she understood better and better -what he was about, the temptation to try to bring her skill -and her knowledge to his attention became strong at times. -But she was afraid that if he began to think attentively -about her being there, he would send her away. No, it -was best to remain hidden behind Basil, to do nothing to -remind Richard of her existence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first Basil assumed she was toiling like another -Richard because she wished quickly to get knowledge -enough to make plausible her necessary pretense of interest. -But after a few weeks he saw she was in earnest, or -thought she was—for, he could not believe one so pretty, -so charming, so light of spirit and of mind, could be deeply -in earnest about such a heavy, unwomanly matter as -chemistry—or about anything else, except of course love. He -was fond of chemistry; but it was in the fashion of most -men's fondness for serious effort—to get excuse and -appetite for idling. However, partly through pride, partly -because her enthusiasm was contagious, he buckled to and -worked as Richard had never been able to make him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, you needn't crowd yourself quite so hard," -said he to Courtney, when his own energy began to flag.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to choose between being a drag and a help. -Besides—" She glanced down with the shy, subtle smile -he had learned to recognize as a cover for something she -meant very much indeed—"don't you find that being -occupied is a great aid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd not have thought it possible to live as we're -living—and be happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are happy?" As she asked this, she scrutinized -his face in woman's familiar veiled fashion. She was -always watching, watching, for the first faint dreaded sign -of discontent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So much so," answered he, earnestly, "that I'd be -afraid to change anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw that he meant it, that he felt it with all the -intensity of the fine side of his nature. And she breathed -a secret sigh of relief. She said: "Every day—time and -again—I say to myself, 'If only this will last!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will!" declared he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, pessimist though she had been made by disappointment -on disappointment in small things and large her -whole life through, she began to hope that this would -last, that the worst of her life was perhaps over, that her -life problem was settling and settling right. The -watchdogs of presentiment are like their much overrated -animal prototypes. They bark at everything, that they -may get credit for usefulness if by chance they once do -happen to vent their nerve-racking warnings in advance -of a real peril. Even presentiment called its dogs off -duty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been brought up among people who imagine -they see the operations of natural law in the artificial -conventions of morality that differ for every age and race -and creed, really for every individual. She had long -discarded as superstition the creed of her parents; but she -had not been able wholly to uproot all the ramifications of -beliefs dependent upon that creed for vitality. Thus, she -vaguely felt a relationship of effect and cause between her -sufferings in the autumn and early winter and those -fear-shadowed, shame-alloyed but ecstatic moments of joy in -the summer. And in the same vague way, there seemed -to her some sort of connection between their present -happiness and their self-restraint. She would have, quite -honestly, denied, had she been accused of harboring such a -"remnant of superstition." Nevertheless, it was the fact. -However, she did not analyze or reason about her happiness. -She simply accepted and enjoyed it—and forgot the -foundations on which it rested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the days—the long, long days that only people -who live in quiet places have—moved tranquilly and -happily by, swift yet slow. The weeks seemed to be flying, -and the days went very fast; but each hour presented its -full quota of sixty minutes for enjoyment. In those dreadful -days of the previous fall she had wished every hour that -she was living in a city, because in the city a thousand -resolute intrusions compel distraction, make the moments -seem to fly, whether the heart is heavy or light. Now, she -was glad with all her heart that she was living and loving -where there were no distractions, where each moment could -be lived as a connoisseur drinks his glass of rare old wine -drop by drop.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One day late in April she and Richard, it so happened, -were alone for a few minutes before supper. He -abruptly emerged from his abstraction to say, "Basil and -Helen are getting on famously."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She startled, then lapsed into her usual isolation when -alone with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect there'll be a marriage before the summer -is out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Courtney, absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's a good match. They're both comfortably -shallow. They're fond of the same kind of harmless -pretenses. They look well together.... I hope they'll stay -on with us—at least until the first baby comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered, rose abruptly. "Supper must certainly -be ready," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," pursued Dick, intent upon his train of thought, -"they might get the Donaldson place. The Donaldsons -want to sell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled ironically. "I suppose you've spoken to -Donaldson about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet. But next time I see him, I'll give him a -hint. He might sell to some one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil now came in. "Sell what?" he asked, to join in -the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing," answered Dick. "Courtney and I were -discussing the Donaldson place. Donaldson wants to -sell, and we thought we might get neighbors we didn't -like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Richard suggested," said Courtney, in her most -innocent manner, "that you might buy it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick looked alarmed. Basil, with his eyes on Courtney, -promptly said: "Maybe I will. It's second only to this -place. And I shall always live here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Richard thought it would be a good idea for you to -settle there when you and Helen marry," said Courtney, -with a smile only Basil could understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If anything, Basil looked more confused and nervous -than did Richard; he laughed hysterically. "Really—really—that's -very attractive—if—" he stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then Helen, out of hearing on the lake-front -veranda, happened to call, "Oh, Mr. Gallatin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered, and hastened out to join her. -Richard stared helplessly at his wife. "Now, why did -you do that?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You certainly are the most thoughtless, frivolous -person! I never knew you to be serious about anything—except -something that was of not the least importance. I -must remember to be always on guard when I speak before -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you ought to be careful. I'm not intellectual, -like Helen. But I was forgetting; now you say she's -shallow, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All intellectual women are shallow," said Dick. He -was ashamed of his heat of the moment before. "And I -never said you were shallow. You ought to be glad you -have no intellectual tendencies, but are a bundle of -instincts and impulses, as a woman should be. I guess you -didn't spill the milk, after all. If Gallatin loves Helen, -a little break such as you made won't scare him off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No indeed. When a man's in love, the sight of the -net doesn't frighten him. He helps to hold it open so that -he can jump in deep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney intended to tease Basil, the next time they -were alone. But it slipped her mind until nearly a week -later. Basil had got into the habit of going out for a -stroll and a smoke every morning about ten. She never -went with him, because she did not wish to interrupt her -work to which she could give only the mornings, as the -time for gardens and growing things was at hand. One -morning it so chanced that her task of the moment was -just finished when Basil moved toward the door. "I'll go -with you," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated, looked disconcerted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you don't want me," laughed she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I do," he hastened to say. "Only—usually -you don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went out together, walked up and down the wide -retaining wall of the lake, beyond the Smoke House. -Presently Helen appeared, on her way to the apartment over -the laboratory. Now that she had charge of the housekeeping, -it was part of her duties to look at the apartment -and see that Lizzie was keeping things clean and was -making Gallatin comfortable. At sight of Basil and -Courtney, she stopped short, colored painfully. She answered -their greetings with embarrassment, went with awkward -haste in at the apartment entrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen's extremely shy," said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> difficult to get acquainted with," replied Basil. -His manner might have been either absent or constrained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I haven't given you much chance," said -Courtney, merely by way of saying something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know her pretty well," Basil hastened to protest. -"There's a lot more to her than one sees at first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed there is," said Courtney, warmly. "I've -grown very fond of her—fonder than I ever thought I -could be of another woman. I don't care much for women. -They're so small toward each other—because they're all -brought up to be cutthroat rivals in the same low -business—husband-catching. But Helen isn't a bit small. -She has a real heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And real intellect, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's smile was absolutely free from malice. -"That's just what she has not," she replied, for she talked -with perfect frankness to him, her other self. "I suppose -the man never lived who could judge a good-looking -woman. Women don't always misjudge men. But men -always fancy beauty means brains, if the woman's heavy -and serious—and not downright imbecile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't call Miss March imbecile," said he. "Or -even heavy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now don't be cross because I hinted that women could -fool you," teased Courtney. "And I didn't mean to -suggest that Helen is imbecile or heavy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She knows an awful lot," said Basil. "She often -corrects me—in little slips about authors and poetry, and -so on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney could hardly keep from showing her amusement -that Basil should be impressed by what was really -one of Helen's weaknesses. For Helen, like so many who -have small or very imperfect knowledge, attached as great -importance to trifles of worthless learning as a college -professor; she became agitated if anyone showed lack of -knowledge of some infinitesimal in etiquette or grammar or -what not, just as fashionable people sweat with mortification -or distend with vast inward derision if some one, -however intelligent, however capable, appears among -them in an out-of-style garment or uses an expression -not in their tiny vocabulary. Courtney was striving -tactfully to open out a less ignorant point of view to Helen. -And here was Basil showing that Helen's weakness -was in reality a strength, highly useful in dealing with -men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney said: "Helen is a fine, sensible, capable -girl—about the finest I ever knew. And she has genuine -sweetness and good taste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She does dress well," said Basil warmly. "If she -had the means, she'd be stunning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could be, but wouldn't be," replied Courtney, perfectly -just and good humored, but perhaps a little weary -of hearing another young woman's praises in her lover's -voice. "She'd 'settle down' if she married. She's -resolutely old fashioned—hates to think or to exert herself. -She'll make a fine, old-fashioned wife for some man who -likes to be mildly bored at home and wants his fun -elsewhere. This reminds me. Richard has you and her -married—wedding in the fall—baby next spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil flushed at this teasing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't seem enthusiastic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care to hear a good young girl spoken of so -lightly," said he, with some stiffness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now Courtney colored. After a moment she said, -apologetic without knowing why: "Perhaps I shouldn't -have done it. But I always feel free to speak out to you -any stray thought that drifts into my head—without -choosing my words."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen now reappeared, cast a peculiar glance in their -direction, blushed rosily, hastened away toward the house. -"She'd better be careful how she blushes at sight of you," -said Courtney smiling, "or you'll be thinking she's in love -with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense!" protested Basil, again unaccountably irritated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How solemn you are to-day, dear. And, why shouldn't -she fall in love with you? I can see how a woman might."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not respond to her glance. He stared straight -ahead, answered awkwardly, "Helen and I are simply -good friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The phrase jarred upon her a little. "Simply good -friends." As she repeated it, she remembered suddenly, -vividly, the beginning of their own love. They too had been -"simply good friends." The phrase kept recurring to -her, dinning disagreeably in her ears. She frowned on -herself; she laughed at herself. But it continued to ring -and to jar. "I certainly have a nasty jealous streak -hidden away in my disposition," she said to herself. "I -mustn't encourage it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the next few days every time Helen and Basil -were together, she caught herself watching them for -signs—"Signs of what?" she demanded of herself. But in -spite of herself she kept on watching. That specter of -the dreadful days without him—that specter so easily -called up—began to glide about in the background of -her thoughts, rousing those fears before which she was -abject coward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen had the young girl's usual assortment of harmless -little tricks. Her favorite was to note when a man -made a remark which she thought he regarded as clever, -to go back to it after a moment or so, and repeat it and -laugh or admire according as it had been intended to be -amusing or profound. She was constantly doing this—with -Richard, with Basil, with every man she met. The -time came when the overworked trick began to get upon -Courtney's nerves, especially as Helen, being entirely -without humor and a close-to-shore wader in the waters of -thought, was not always happy in her selection of the -remark. Still, her intentions being of the best, Courtney -endured; and at times she got not a little secret -amusement from seeing how Basil and even Richard were -flattered by the trick, never suspecting, even after Helen had -again and again laughed or admired effusively in quite the -wrong place. As she watched Helen and Basil now, the -only "sign" she saw was this clever-stupid subtlety of -Helen's for flattering male vanity—Helen practicing it on -Basil, Basil purring each time like a cat under the -stroking of an agreeable hand. This certainly was not serious. -She laughed at herself with a reproachful "You don't -deserve happiness—trying to poison it with contemptible -suspicion." And the specter faded, and she no longer heard -the sound of rain beating, of rain drizzling, of rain -dripping through days and nights of aloneness and despair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Spring was smiling from every twig. The birds, impatient -at winter's reluctant leave-taking, had arrived before -the young leaves were far enough advanced to cover -them. So, every tree was alive with them, plainly in view, -boldly about their courting and nesting, like lovers who, -despairing of finding a quiet place, march along the -highway embracing in defiance of curious eyes. One morning, -half an hour after Basil went out for his habitual stroll -and cigarette, Courtney changed her mind and decided to -join him. She looked along the retaining wall. No Basil. -She walked up and down, noting, and feeling in her own -blood, the agitations of the mightiest force in the -universe—those agitations that in the springtime set all nature -to quivering. Ten minutes passed—fifteen—half an -hour—nearly three quarters of an hour. Still no Basil. She -decided he must have gone up to his rooms and fallen -asleep. She resisted the temptation to go and waken him, -and went slowly toward the laboratory doors. Just as she -was about to jump from the wall, out of the apartment -entrance came Helen, her face aglow, her eyes sparkling, -all the austerity gone from her regular features. "How -pretty she looks," thought Courtney. "I wonder what's -delighting her so. One'd think she was in love and was -loved. There never lived a sweeter, more unselfish girl. -Nothing petty in her. She even has a nice way of being -prudent about money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen did not see her, went quickly up the path and -into the wood between the Smoke House and the lawns -round the house. Courtney resisted the impulse to call -because she had already been out of the laboratory too -long. As Helen disappeared among the trees, Courtney -was astounded to see appear at the apartment door—Basil! -On his face a contented pleased expression, as if he were -reflecting upon something highly agreeable—Helen's -face—his face—Courtney stood for an instant like a flaming -torch planted upon that wall—a torch with a white-hot -flame of hate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Basil was taking a last puff at his cigarette, she -darted into the laboratory and sat at her case. When he -entered, she was just where she had been at his going out. -"Still at work!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still at work!" said she. She forced her lips to -smile, but she did not dare lift her fluttering eyelids. She -looked calm and, as always, sweet; but in those few -minutes all the sweetness of her nature had transformed, as -the thunderstorm changes milk from food to poison. And -the remembered horror of those days of desolation goaded -her toward a very insanity of fear and jealousy. That -smile on Helen's face—then on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood behind her. If she had had a knife she -would have whirled round and plunged it into his breast -and then into her own. But she had not; also, this -was twentieth-century and conventional life. She sat -rigid, intent upon the flame of the blast tube she was -using.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bent and kissed her neck. "Sweetheart!" he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fixed smile became a distortion, as she lowered her -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The spring—outdoors," he went on in the same low -caressing voice. "It's hard to bear. It seems so long—so -long—since—" His pause finished the sentence better -than any words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Long indeed, thought she; a singularly patient and -restrained lover; strangely respectful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are more kinds of happiness in love than I -imagined," he went on. "But do you never—never——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please," she interrupted. She found her voice could -be trusted; she ventured to test her eyes. She looked up -at him, taking pleasure in veiling her hate behind a smile. -She strove to make the smile sweet and tender. She felt -that she was succeeding. "How homely he is," she -thought. "And I love him—ugly and a traitor. I love -him, and I'll keep on loving him—for, he's all there is -between me and misery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard called them into the front compartment, and -the three worked together at the big retort the rest of the -morning. It was a strange hour and a half. She seemed -to be two distinct persons—no, three. One was hating Basil -and Helen—a being that seemed to concentrate all that is -venomous and malignant. One was watching with interest -and excitement the awful processes by which calm liquids -poured together suddenly became violent, colorless liquids -a marvelous radiance of exquisite color, heat became -infinite cold and cold became heat that consumed hard metals -as if they were bits of fluff. The third personality within -her was aloof and calm, and watched her other two and -wondered at them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At dinner time she and Richard walked to the house -together, Basil stopping at the apartment to tidy himself, -as usual. "Well, how do you think they are getting on?" -she asked carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell," replied Richard, "till I've got several -other reactions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen and Basil, I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know? All right, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you tell me, a week or so ago, you thought -it was a match?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it's a match," said he, as if there weren't -a doubt about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She quivered at this pressure upon the thorn that was -pricking and festering. "Why are you so positive?" she -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know as much as I do. He goes out to meet her -every morning, doesn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every morning! To smoke! In a series of internal -explosions whose flames scorched her soul she traced the -progress of that smoking habit of his. With an outer -calmness that amazed her she pursued her inquiries. "Are -they—affectionate when they're alone?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" Richard's mind was back at his experiments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She repeated her question in a voice that was under -still better control.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never seen them but once—one day when he was -helping her balance herself at the edge of the wall—she -was pretending to look down into the water at -something—the old trick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed. "The old trick—yes." She laughed -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all settled, no doubt," declared Richard. "And -good business!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney hurled a glance of fury at him. "Unless he's -making a fool of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—absurd. He's a gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentleman. That sounds as if it meant a lot, but -does it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard wished to think of his work uninterrupted by -this trifle of a love affair. "Why not ask her about it? -She's no doubt dying to tell—if you give her the excuse of -opening the subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney went up to her balcony, seated herself in a -rocking-chair. She rocked and thought, thought, thought—getting -nowhere, motion without progress, like that of her -chair. She did all the talking at dinner that day. She -took the relations of men and women for her subject and -shot arrows of wit at it. As Winchie was having dinner -next door with the Donaldson children, she did not need -to restrain herself. She was mocking, cynical, audacious. -Basil stopped laughing and stared at his plate. Helen, all -blushes, looked as if she would sink under the table. -Richard remained calm—he was not hearing a word. Basil's -gloom and Helen's shocked modesty delighted Courtney, -edged her on to further audacities. She looked from one -to the other, smiling, jeering at them—and she rattled on -and on, because she felt that if she stopped scoffing and -laughing, she would spring at him or at her. She had the -longing to do physical violence, like one in the torment of -a toothache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard and Basil had not been gone many minutes before -she began on the unconscious Helen. A sigh gave her -the opening. "Unhappy?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed," answered Helen. "If anything, too -happy. You know what this life here means to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must find it lonely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lonely! Not for an instant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've had almost no company this winter and spring. -I must hunt up some young men for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want them, as I've often told you." Courtney -remembered that she had, and muttered, "What a blind fool -I've been." Helen went sweetly on: "Beside such men as -Richard and Mr. Gallatin, the ordinary young man is -anything but interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still, you must marry. And you've got the looks to -make a first-rate bargain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen looked gently disapproving of this frank mode -of stating the case. "I could never marry for anything -but love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. But, being a well-brought-up woman, -you'll not have difficulty in loving any proper candidate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm well content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney bent low over the scarlet and pink and white -tulips in one of the window boxes. Content! This woman -who was stealing her lover—this woman who was thrusting -her back into the despair of those loveless, hopeless days -when Basil was gone and the icy rains poured on and on -upon her desolate life! She controlled herself, repeated -vaguely: "Content? Impossible unless you've got your eye -on a likely man. No single woman ever was since the world -began."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen blushed consciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he?" teased Courtney. She had seen the blush, -and her nerves were twitching. "Who is it?" she repeated -softly. "Basil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blush deepened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so!" exclaimed Courtney with laughing -triumph. "You've yielded to his fascinations, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen paled and her lip trembled. "Please don't," she -faltered. "Don't joke me about—about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney turned hastily away to hide the devil that -gleamed from her eyes; for she felt that her worst -suspicions were confirmed. "Tell me," she said, as soon as -she could find voice, and could make that voice gay with -good-humored raillery, "how long has this—this idyll been -going on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really—you're quite mistaken, dear," pleaded Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have you and he been keeping those trysts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're quite wrong. We've met by accident," -protested Helen. "We just happen to meet." She hung her -head. "I'll admit I—I arrange to go to look at the -apartment about the time I know he comes out to smoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was all smiles. "And he arranges to come -out to smoke about the time he knows you're going to the -apartment. How—delicious!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think he does it deliberately?" inquired Helen -eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was amazed at the girl's skill in duplicity. -She began to wonder how far they had gone. But her face -was bright and innocent as a poison locust bloom when she -said: "You sly child! What were you and he doing in his -apartment to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Helen, covering her face with her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's features were distorted with fear and fury; -the specter was stalking and leering. But her voice sounded -soft and seductive as she urged: "Go on, dear. You needn't -be afraid to tell me—everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen lifted her flaming face. "There's nothing to -tell," cried she. "When you asked me that question, -something in your tone made me feel as if I had done a—a -wickedly indiscreet thing. But it was all so harmless and -accidental. I came earlier than usual, and he was getting the -cigarette case he'd forgotten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Highly probable!" exclaimed Courtney, apparently -much amused. "And so, you could make love to each other -at your ease."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" Helen started up, horror-stricken. "Can -you think I'd let him lay the weight of his finger on -me?" And she burst into tears. "Oh, </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> have I done!" she -sobbed. "And it seemed perfectly innocent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Insane with jealousy though she was, Courtney could -not but be convinced. "Don't take it so to heart, my dear," -said she. "Tell me all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you could suspect me! But I deserve it. If I'd -been really a good woman, I'd not have thought of him -until he had spoken to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dry your eyes," said Courtney, calm and practical. -"How far has this gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," declared Helen. "We've never said a -word of love to each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As God is my judge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a kiss—no hand-holding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only looks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes—I've hoped—from the way he looked—" She -sighed. "But I'm afraid he meant nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney studied her ingenuous face as a bank teller a -note that is under suspicion of being counterfeit. -Yes—Helen was telling the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think he cares?" asked Helen wistfully. "He -seems to like to talk with me. And he's very eloquent about -sentimental things. He talks and he acts like a man in -love. But—at times I feel as if it were with another -woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney buried her face in the urn of violets. And -next to her feeling of enormous relief at the clearing of -Basil from the worst charge against him was gratitude that -she would not have to try to play the tyrant—try to send -Helen away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be some bad woman's gotten hold of him," -continued the girl reflectively. "He may be chained by a -love he's ashamed of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds like a weekly story paper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know there's </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> weight on his conscience," -maintained Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney looked strangely at her and laughed. "When -people look and talk remorse, they're only boasting. He's -trying to make himself interesting, my dear. He wants to -thrill you with the story of his life—some commonplace -adventure he exaggerates into an epic drama." She -laughed again, most unpleasantly. "Heaven deliver me -from these 'My God! How she loves me' men!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's not like that—not at all," protested Helen. -"But—oh, I wish I knew whether he cared for me. I -don't know </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> to do! I've given him every -opportunity—" She stopped short with such an expression of -horror at her slip that Courtney laughed outright. "I don't -mean I've done anything forward or unladylike—" -stammered Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a man of the world." She pinched Helen's cheek. -"He reads that innocent little mind of yours like an electric -sign."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen was hysterical with dismay. "You think he's -laughing at me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And getting ready to—to amuse himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney nodded and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He never could think so lightly of me. Never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lightly? He sees you are in love with him. Why -should he suspect you of being calculating?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Calculating? I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unwilling to give except for an annuity—for life -support."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen's honest brown eyes were big and round. "What -do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I say," was Courtney's reply. And in a, to -Helen, appallingly matter-of-fact way, she went on to -explain. "And what I say is simply the sense under all the -nonsense about marrying. You want to marry, don't you? -You're looking about for somebody to support you and your -children, aren't you? You say you love our homely, -fascinating, well-to-do friend Gallatin. But not enough to go -very far unless he'd sign a life contract. Didn't I hear -you say one day that you didn't think it proper for people -even to kiss until the preacher had dropped the flag?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen gazed at her with an expression of sheer horrified -amazement that delighted her. "How can as sweet -and pure a woman as you talk that way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed gayly. "Because she's neither sweet -nor pure. Because she's got intelligence and experience. -I just wanted to show you that while you were pretending -to think about love—ideal, romantic, unselfish love, you -were really planning for food, clothing and shelter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't want to hear such talk!" cried Helen. -"If I'm deluded, why, let me stay so. You are so -frivolous, Courtney! Don't you believe in love at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney reflected. "I don't know whether I do or -not," she finally said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen looked at her with sad sympathy. "And I -thought you were happy!" she sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," rejoined Courtney. "And I purpose to remain so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you are worried about me? You think -Bas—Mr. Gallatin is not a fit man for me to marry?" The tone -betrayed her anxiety, the importance she attached to -Courtney's judgment; for, while Helen's conventional mind told -her that Courtney was a "light-weight," like all lively, -laughing persons, her instinct made her always consult her -before acting in any matter from a man to what hat to wear -with what dress. "You think he's—not nice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney felt Helen's nearly breathless expectation; -she did not answer immediately. When she did it was from -the farther side of the room, with her attention apparently -on a window garden of hyacinths. "Be careful, my dear. -Remember, your primness is your chief asset. If he -thought—or hoped—you were—loose——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Loose!" Helen trembled, looked as if she were about -to faint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's ridiculous the way we women exaggerate the value -of our favors," philosophized Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you wouldn't make that kind of—of jests, -dear," pleaded Helen. "I know you don't mean a word of -it. You feel just as I do—that a man couldn't do enough -to repay any good woman for giving herself to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or a woman do enough to repay a man for giving -himself to her," retorted Courtney. "The account's even, -or the whole thing's too low to talk about. Still—you don't -understand—you can't. And so long as men think a -woman the grander the more conceited and selfish she is, -you're as well off, believing as you do.... As to -Gallatin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care anything about him!" cried Helen. -"What you've been saying has given me such a shock." She -paused, then went on in a low, awful tone, "Courtney, -I must tell you that I was alone with him in his sitting -room for over an hour!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?" asked Courtney, sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day—what we were talking about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Only</em><span> to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never before!" exclaimed Helen. "And never again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—perhaps—only perhaps, mind you," mocked -Courtney, "I'll put off speaking to Richard about it—and -writing Mrs. Torrey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen could not see any humor in the situation. "Do -you honestly believe, Courtney," she asked in deep distress, -"that he could have thought of me as if I were—were -a—a—</span><em class="italics">bad</em><span> woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's eyes were most unpleasant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you're disgusted and angry with me, dear," said -Helen, in tears again. "I know it was unwomanly of me -to think of him when he'd said nothing. But I—I couldn't -help it. I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> help it, though!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think you can?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen showed she was astonished and hurt. "Do you -imagine </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> could care for a man whose way of caring for me -was an insult?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney counseled with a vase of jonquils. "No, I -suppose </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> couldn't," she replied. "You don't know about -wild, free—</span><em class="italics">fierce</em><span>—love— Do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen's expression was of one appalled. "How can -you talk that way?" she asked. "You're very strange -to-day. You're not at all yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Self!" exclaimed Courtney, scornfully. "What is my -self? What is your self? What is anybody's self?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She no longer had the delusion of free will that makes -us talk about bettering the race by "changing human nature -from within"—the delusion that the individual is responsible, -though obviously the social system and the other -compelling external conditions move the individual as the -showman his puppet. She, helpless in the whirl of strong -emotions, was beginning to understand why, at the outset -of her married life, instinct had bade her arrange all the -circumstances round her and Richard so that they would -be compelled to live the life in common, the life of the single -common interest that holds love captive as the cage the bird. -She was beginning to realize how like water self is in the -grip of circumstances—how self is mill pond or torrent, -pure or foul, or mixture of the two, according as circumstance -commands. These demon impulses—they were not her self. -Self was amazed onlooker at its own strange doings—was -like helpless occupant of the carriage behind the runaway -team.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Helen spoke again, she showed that her thoughts -were still lingering longingly where they must not, if -Courtney was to be rid of the demons. "But if a man loves -a woman," said Helen, "why shouldn't he be glad to give -her honorable marriage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney hesitated, dared. "She might be already -married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" And her horrified eyes told Courtney -she had caught the intended hint that Basil was in love -with some married woman. "It isn't possible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't such things happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but— No married woman a nice man would -notice would ever think of another man than her husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know about a 'nice' woman," said Courtney, -slowly. "But I can imagine that a </span><em class="italics">human</em><span> woman—if -her husband neglected her, and chilled and killed her -love——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen was not listening, was not aware that she had -interrupted as she said, "Do you think Mr. Gallatin could -be in love with some married woman—of—of our class?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suspect so," replied Courtney, gazing calmly into -her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not believe it!" cried Helen. "I'll not believe it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're like all girls. Because your own head's full -of marriage, you think every man who's polite to you, or -flirts a little to make the time pass more agreeably, is about -to send for the preacher. Now, frankly, has Basil ever -made love to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," admitted Helen. "But—" She halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what?" came from Courtney sharp and arresting -as a shot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">feel</em><span> he is fond of me," confessed Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed harshly. "All men are fond of all -good-looking women—especially in the spring. Don't be a -fool, Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a married woman has no right to him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney flushed, and her eyes flashed. "And how do -you know? And what right have you to judge? Are you -God?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" cried Courtney. "How do you know what he—his -love may mean to her? How do you know but what -it may be the one thing between her and despair and ruin? -You, with your timid, proper calculating little love! Why, -if the woman cared enough for him—needed him so—that -she sacrificed self-respect—honor—truth—all—all—for -love—what could you give him to replace it? And what -are your needs beside hers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen's face grew hard as these words that outraged -every principle of her training poured recklessly from -Courtney's lips. "I'm astounded at your defending a bad -woman," she said. "You're </span><em class="italics">too</em><span> generous, Courtney. You'd -feel differently if she were taking Richard away from you. -But, I'm not in love with Basil. I see you know things -about him. I—I—despise him. I pity him, of course, for -he might have been a nice man. But I couldn't love him. -I'm glad you told me. I might have engaged myself to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's far from sane eyes twinkled at that last -ingenuous bit of maidenly vanity. Helen went about her -work, and she departed to the greenhouse. "She'll stop -loving him as easily as she began," said she to herself. -"What does her sort of women know about love? They're -faithful to whatever man they marry, as a dog's faithful to -whoever feeds and kennels it.... Basil Gallatin is mine! -And no man—nor no woman—shall come between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had not forgotten Basil's expression as he stood in -the apartment entrance, after his </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> with Helen. -"Now—for what's in </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> heart," she said. "I must know -just where I stand." She recalled how she had used to -say, and to think, that if a man was not freely a -woman's—freely—inevitably—without any need of being held by -feminine artifice—no self-respecting woman could for an -instant wish to detain him. And here she was, ready to make -any sacrifice to hold this man. Truly, fate seemed -determined to compel her to give the lie to everything she -had ever believed, to abase every instinct of pride that -had plumed or still plumed the haughty front of her soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard asked Helen up to his study after supper, to -take dictation of an article he was doing for a scientific -magazine; thus, Courtney had a chance to explore Basil. -She was seated beneath the tall lamp, a big hat frame on -her lap, ribbon and feathers on the small table. She knew -he was watching her over the top of a newspaper; and she -was not insensible to his extremely flattering expression—nor, -perhaps, to the advantages her occupation gave her in -the way of graceful gestures, effective posings of the head -and arms as she studied the effect of different arrangements -of ribbon and feathers. She glanced directly at him; he -glanced away, confused—the frightened zigzag of a flushed -partridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" said she. She felt more lenient toward him, -now that she had discovered his innocence of overt treachery, -at least; and the way he was looking at her when he -fancied her quite unaware was certainly reassuring. Also, -she realized now that she herself was largely responsible -for these errant springtime thoughts of his—she with her -struggling to keep both love and self-respect. "Well?" -she repeated, when he did not speak. "What guilty thought -did I almost surprise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No guilty thought," replied he. "I was loving -you—terribly—just then. I was thinking—how impossible it -would be for a man who loved you ever to wander."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's very nice," said she, with a mocking smile. -"So you have been—looking over the fence?" And she -went on with bending the brim of the hat frame to a more -graceful curve. She was placid to all appearances; but -once more the great dread was obsessing her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," protested he. "What fence? At whom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The fence of our compact—perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—well—" She laughed, eying the result of her -shaping, the hat frame at one angle, her head at the -opposite angle—"there's Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked grave reproach at her, altogether absorbed -in trying a long plume against the frame in different -positions. "Do you think, dear, it's quite respectful to -Helen——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your thoughts couldn't harm her," interrupted she—that -is, she interrupted him, but not her work. "If men's -thoughts smirched women, what an unsightly lot the -attractive ones would be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you get such ideas?" he exclaimed, trying -to conceal how her frankness had scandalized him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She worked on calmly. "By observing and reading -and thinking—and feeling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drummed uneasily upon the arm of his chair with -the tips of his fingers. At length he said with some -embarrassment, "It's hardly necessary for me to say that I have -the highest respect for Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and I also know she's very—very pretty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she is pretty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You respect her. You like to talk with her. You -think she is physically attractive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stiffly, "I have never thought about her in that last -way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, that's probably her chief charm for you," -observed Courtney, placid and reflective and industrious. -"When we think we don't think about things that are -worth thinking about, the chances are we really haven't -been thinking about anything else." With a smile and a -shake of the head that might have been for the plumes -which refused to please her, "I'm afraid you're falling -in love with Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied he judicially—and how he would have -been startled if he had seen her veiled eyes!—shiny green -and cruel as those of a puma stretched in graceful ferocity -along the leafy limb that overhangs the path. "No, I'm -not the least in love with her. But I do like her. Her -seriousness is very pleasant, now and then. If I did not -love you, I perhaps might have grown to care for her, in -a way. But—beside you, Helen is—tame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't call her tame—" encouragingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—perhaps not. She sometimes suggests a -person who could be waked up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a temptation, isn't it?" she asked. And she -looked straight at him over the top of the plumes. She -wished to see all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said he, positively. "To be quite frank I'd never -give her as a woman a thought—if I weren't—" He stirred -uneasily, burst out in confession. "You were right a while -ago. Men often don't understand themselves. But we'll -not talk about that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was such love and tenderness in the gaze meeting -hers that all the squalid thoughts her mind had been fouled -with the whole day washed away like the dust and dirt on -the leaves and petals of her flowers in a sudden rain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He said with a gentle, manly earnestness that thrilled -her: "There's only the one woman for me. And—I want -our love to be what you wish. And it shall be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lowered her head, the tears welling. The others -interrupted, and Helen sat beside her advising about the -hat. When it was finished, she made Helen try it on. They -all admired, and it certainly was becoming. "Now, you -try it on, dear," said Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, don't take it off," Courtney answered. "It's for -you, of course." And she kissed her and, laughing away -her thanks, went upstairs. She sat down at her dressing -table and, with elbows resting on it and face supported by -her hands, gazed into her own eyes. "If you do not wish -to lose him," she said slowly aloud to her grave face imaged -in the glass, "you must take away from him temptation to -wander. A door is either open or shut. A man—a man -worth while—won't stand at the threshold long. He comes -in or he goes away. Basil does not realize it, but that other -side of his nature will compel him to go away—unless—" Compel -him to go away? She was hearing again the monotonous -fall of those icy rains, was feeling again the monotonous -misery of those days without love and without hope. -She must choose. Choose? "The woman doesn't live—doesn't -deserve to live—who'd hesitate. There's no choice. -There's simply the one way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well—since it must be so—what would be the event? -Would she lose him anyhow? Would she merely be putting -off his going? Would her complete yielding end in disaster -of some kind, as she had feared? Or, wasn't it possible -that, while most people were tangled and finally -strangled by the web of their own deceit, a skillful few could -use it dextrously to snare the bright birds of joy? ... She -stood up, stretched her arms, swayed her slim supple figure -gently. "He shall have no reason for letting one single -thought wander. He shall be mine—all mine! I'll take -no more risks." She continued to sway gently, her eyes -closed. A look of scorn, of disgust came into her face. -She shuddered. "How hideous it is to be a woman! -Always slave to some man! Gold fetters cut as deep as iron, -and they're heavier." She stopped swaying. "I can see -how I might come to hate my master in trying to hold his -love.... Love! To keep our love warm, we have to bury -it in the mire."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xx"><span class="bold large">XX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Because of the light the tables in the inner laboratory -were so placed that Courtney and Basil worked at opposite -sides of the room with their backs toward each other. As -ten o'clock approached her agitation increased; but the only -outward sign was frequent stolen glances at the clock on -the wall between the windows. When the hands pointed -to ten, her heart fluttered; for, she heard him push back -his chair and knew he was rising from his case. He stood -at the window toward her side of the room. As he was -gazing out over the high sill, she was free to look at him—at -his back, at the back of his head. She felt the struggle -raging in his mind. Her hand, blundering among the -burettes and bottles on the glass shelves before her, tilted a -test tube from its support. It fell, broke with a crash on -the porcelain surface of the table. She gave a low scream -it would have been loud had she not, swifter than thought, -clenched her teeth and compressed her lips. He startled -violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good God!" he cried and his tone showed that his -nerves were in the same state as hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beg your pardon," she murmured, mechanically apologetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he heard, he gave no indication of it. He continued -to stand motionless at the window, staring out over the lake. -She tried furtively to get a glimpse of his profile, but could -not. At ten minutes past ten he moved. When she saw -him about to turn, she bent over her work—pouring calcium -lactophosphate into a small agate mortar as if any relaxing -of attention would be calamitous. He was standing at the -end of her table, was looking down at her. It took all her -self-control to refrain from looking up to see what was in -his eyes. He was bending over her; his lips touched her -hair—the crownlike coil of auburn on top of her head. She -tingled to her finger tips; she knew she had won, knew he -had thought it all out and had seen that his meetings with -Helen were in the direction of disloyalty to the woman he -loved. She looked up at him now. At first his expression -was guilty and embarrassed, but the radiance of love and -trust in her eyes soon changed that. He became very pale -as his glance burned into hers; he turned away, and she -felt that it was because he feared lest in the rush of -penitent passion he would confess things it was unnecessary and -unwise to put into words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it's ten o'clock," said she carelessly. "Aren't -you going out to smoke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause, then he answered "Not to-day" in a boyishly -ill-at-ease way that brought a secret tender smile to her -lips. She liked these evidences that it was impossible for -him to conceal himself from her because any attempt to do -so made him feel dishonorable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's beautiful outdoors. I'll go with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not just now, Courtney. I—I—that is, I think -I'd best finish. Vaughan may need all four of the sulphates -any moment." And he sat down before his case and began -to fuss with evaporating dishes and crucibles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the first day you've missed in I don't know -when," said she. It was just as well he should know she -had begun to take note of his habit; that knowledge would -strengthen his resolve to avoid in the future appearance of -of evil and temptation thereto. "You've been very regular -for weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a waste of time," he replied, after a pause. -"You're right, uninterrupted effort's the only kind that -counts." And both went to work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Courtney did not overestimate her triumph. Often -day completely reverses the night view of things. But -now, in the fancy-dispelling day more clearly than in the -fancy-breeding night, she saw she must remove the temptation. -If she had been a small or a stupid woman—or both, -for the two qualities usually go together—she would have -laid all the blame upon Helen and would have sent her -away—and in vanity as to her power over him would have -imagined herself once more perfectly secure. But the -impulse to blame Helen and to get rid of her did not survive -the second thought. It was not Helen's fault, or Basil's; -it was nature's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Looking back on those months under the compact she -saw how she had let foolish vanity and still more foolish -hope befog and mislead her intelligence. To remove Helen -would avail her nothing. The law of his nature would -continue to press him on; and sooner or later, in spite of love -for her, in spite of loyalty, in spite of constancy, he would -be swept away from her. The compact was a beautiful -ideal, but it was not life—and, so, it must yield. "I must -be all to him, or I shall soon be nothing to him." And -that afternoon she fixed her resolution—after thinking the -situation out sanely—as sanely as she could think in those -days. For she, completely possessed by her need of Basil, -was like all the infatuated. That is, she was in a state not -unlike those demented persons who seem to be, and are, -quite sane and logical and self-possessed, once you get -beyond the fixed delusion which determines the posture and -outlook of their entire being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the way to dress for supper she glanced in at Helen's -open door. The girl was sitting near a window giving upon -the small west balcony, her attitude so disconsolate that -Courtney was at once striving with a rising wave of pity -and self-reproach. "Helen will soon get over it," she -reassured herself; and good sense reminded her that a young -girl has not the experience of love which teaches the -experienced woman to value it and makes her unable to do -without it. "The love-sickness of a young girl, especially prim, -unimaginative girls like Helen, isn't really personal; it's -little more than a longing to be flattered and to get married -and settled." But such small progress as head was making -against heart was lost when Helen looked at her with a -pathetic attempt to smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where have you been all day?" asked Courtney, eyes -sinking before Helen's. She felt a most uncomfortable -contempt for herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Wenona—lunching and shopping with Bertha Watrous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney entered, seated herself on the bed. Despite -her lovelorn condition, Helen winced. "You old maid, -you," laughed Courtney, rising. "I never saw any woman -anywhere, not even old Nanny, not even my sister Ann, so -opposed to sitting on the bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been brought up to think it was—wasn't right," -apologized Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't ladylike, you mean," said Courtney. She -disposed herself in the window seat. "What are you blue -about, dear?" She knew she was not intruding; Helen -liked to confide her troubles—and people of that fortunate -temperament were cured by confiding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not blue," declared Helen. "I've simply been -thinking of what you said, and if anything I'm angry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—Basil? Did you see him to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not." Helen tossed her head. "I went -about my work as usual—went to the apartment. If -he'd been lying in wait I was ready for him. But he -wasn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney understood what this really meant, though -Helen didn't. Probably Helen would not have believed -she had in fact lain in wait for Basil, even had Courtney -pointed out to her the obvious meaning of her action. She -was of the large majority—who do not know their own -minds, who cannot explore them with a guide however -competent, who when shown their own motives hotly and -honestly deny. "Basil was busy to-day," Courtney -explained. "Some sulphates Richard was in a hurry for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen looked relieved. But, still not in the least aware -of her own state of mind, she went on, with a toss of the -head: "Well—whenever I do see him alone, I'll make him -realize I'm not the sort he thinks. The more I look at it, -Courtney, the more convinced I am that he was simply -leading me on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Helen!" laughed Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen colored. "I admit," she said, shamefacedly, "I -got what I deserved for being so—so forward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the truth—you were forward." Courtney's -tone made this necessary thrusting home of the painful -truth gentle but not the less insistent. "We must never -fool ourselves, dear. We women can't afford to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Studying Helen, so clearly fascinated still by the idea -of winning the young eligible from the East and redeeming -him, Courtney realized that if the girl was to stay on there -in peace she must be made to see the absolute uselessness of -angling. So long as she thought of Basil as a possibility, -however remote, so long would she be in danger of falling -utterly and miserably in love with him. Yes, Helen must -be cured—but how? There was no way. Not until Basil -was married would Helen cease to hope. "For her own -sake, I ought to send her away," Courtney was thinking as -the two sat there in silence. But Helen had no other place -to go. True, she could go out and make her own living as -a teacher—Courtney envied her the training and the -certificate that were practically a guaranty of independence. -But Helen abhorred independence, looked on a woman's -working, away from the shelter of domesticity, as the Hindu -looks on loss of caste. No, Helen must stay on, might as -well stay on.... An impossible situation. And from this -unanticipated quarter came one more imperative reason -for making Basil wholly her own. He must be in such -a state of mind that he would do nothing to encourage -Helen's hope to put forth even the feeblest of its ready -sprouts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney rose and moved toward the door. "I must -dress." She leaned against the jamb, her cheek upon her -crossed hands. "Well, my dear, remember the rhyme about -the lady who went for a ride on a tiger, and how, when -they came back, he had the lady inside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're laughing at me," reproached Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's eyes were fixed dreamily upon vacancy, a -strange sad smile about her lips. "I am not laughing," -she said slowly. "Or, if I am, it is not at you.... Not -at you, but at—" She could not tell Helen that she was -drearily mocking her own entrapped and helpless self. -"Take my advice, child. Don't </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> lead a tiger out for -an airing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, Helen should stay on, as long as she wished to -stay. "And hasn't she as much right here as I—just the -same right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At two o'clock that night, as Basil was leaving, he -said—"You've hardly spoken since I came. Is it the darkness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—the darkness," she replied in the same undertone—the -doors were very thick, but instinct made them -careful about speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never knew you to be so silent—or so strange, now -that I think of it." He held her by the shoulders. -"Courtney, did you want me to come to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clung to him. "Do you love me, my Basil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How queer your voice sounds. Are you frightened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, you're not telling me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing. Just a—a notion. There won't be so -much of it next time. And still less the next time. And -soon I'll be quite accustomed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'm sure there's not the least danger," said he, -wholly misunderstanding.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxi"><span class="bold large">XXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One afternoon she was reading in the hammock on the -balcony before the upper sitting-room windows—the sitting -room she shared with Helen and Winchie. She heard some -one in the room, glanced up—Richard was before her. -"Glad to find you alone," said he. "Do you realize it's -several weeks since we've exchanged so much as a single -word in private?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something wrong at the shop?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I came especially to talk with you. How'd you -like to go away for a week or so—to the sea or the -mountains? We might take that trip through the Great Lakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been working very hard down at the shop. -And by the way, you've caused an amazing improvement -in Basil's work. He doesn't make those stupid mistakes -any more. He used to make them every day. Yes—you've -worked hard—and well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had no pleasure in these incredible compliments -from Richard the difficult to please in chemistry. It was -too disquieting to have him thus watchful and interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's start at once," he proposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I couldn't do that. I hesitate to leave here—when -everything's at its best. In the fall—or next winter——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you don't want to go—with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone compelled her to look at him. His eyes—grave, -searching—were fixed upon her. Instinct suddenly -warned her of danger—what danger or where she could -not see, but the warning was imperative. "Indeed I do," -protested she, with a deceptive show of interest, though -her skin burned as her fundamental and incurable honesty -cried shame upon her—as it always did when she, compelled -by her circumstances, could not avoid the lie direct. -"But," she went on, "you can't expect a woman, with a -household like this on her mind, to drop everything and -fly at a few hours' notice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reflected, nodded. "That's true. Though, really, -the servants are so experienced they'd go on just as well. -My dear old aunt was thorough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a little bitterness of hurt vanity in her -smile of recognition at this ancient notion of Richard's -about her part in that household. She felt that the -</span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> had already lasted too long. "Was Winchie in -there?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't see him," replied Dick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She moved toward the nearest sitting-room window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter?" he cried, irritated. "Where -are you going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After Winchie. I haven't thought of him for an hour. -Helen's away—at the Foster picnic——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy's all right. Sit down here and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she was gone. She did not slacken her speed until -she was safely clear of him. This new development of -his threatened to become an annoyance, thought she; -however, it couldn't last much longer; she would continue to -keep out of his way; the laboratory would take hold of -him and she would be once more forgotten and free. -Meanwhile, she would avoid him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And soon he did become once more absorbed, and resumed -his accustomed shadowy place in her life—seen yet -not seen, heard yet not heard, present yet absent; neither -liked nor disliked, but unknown and unheeded—the place -of many and many a husband in a marriage that seems -happy and successful to the very servants in the household, -to the husband and wife themselves. One evening he -abruptly left the table. She saw, but did not note, his -departure. When supper was over and she and Helen and -Basil strolled into the sitting room, Basil took advantage -of Helen's being apart to say to Courtney, "What's wrong -with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure I don't know," replied she. "Nothing, I -guess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you notice? He was staring furiously at you, -and left in a rage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged her shoulders. That night she was in -one of her reckless moods, was nervous, excited, with eyes -the more brilliant for the circles round them. Richard -appeared in the farthest of the long open windows. He -frowned at Basil, said sharply to his wife, "Courtney, I'd -like to speak to you out here a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's chilly there," objected she. "Come in." And -she went toward the piano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick entered. His long aristocratic face was stern -and his eyes glowed somberly. "Then let's go into the -library," said he, in a tone so positive that from him it -sounded like a command.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, reflectively caressing one slim tapering -arm. "Very well," said she, and passed into the hall, he -standing formally aside at the doorway. In the library, -she faced him with eyes half closed and chin thrust up -and a little out. "Well?" she inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he looked at his sweet frivolous little child of a wife, -his manner softened toward that of one rebuking a child's -trespass. "I want you to go upstairs and wrap up your -shoulders—or change your dress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced down. The bodice did not cover the upper -curve of her bosom, had no straps across the shoulders or -on the arms. In the back, it dipped almost to the waist -line. She looked at him with a quizzical expression. "I'm -quite warm enough, thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand me," said he, more severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed straight into his eyes before answering. -"Yes, I do. But I prefer to pretend not to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've spoken to you about my wishes in this matter -before. Do you know what made me notice your—your -nakedness? Pardon me for putting it that way, but I see -I must speak plainly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face expressed faint, contemptuous indifference. -"I cannot talk with you. Your ideas of women ought to -be buried in the grave with your grandfather. I do not -dictate the cut of your clothes. You will not dictate -mine." And she moved toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put himself between. "I saw Gallatin looking at -you with an expression—" He made a gesture of rage—a -quiet gesture but significant. "I don't blame him. It's -your fault. You've no right to tease a man who can be -nothing to you. I speak frankly because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gallatin has seen thousands of women in just such -dress as this," interrupted she. It enraged her to hear -her lover's feelings for her, in which flesh was mere medium -between spirit and spirit, thus leveled to the carnality of -his own passion. "You," she continued icily, "read your -own poisonous, provincial primness and—and vulgarity -into his look, no doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an innocent, pure-minded woman, Courtney," -said Richard, with more gentleness. "You follow a -fashion, thinking of it only as a fashion. I assure you, that -sort of fashion is devised in Paris by cocottes for the one -purpose. If you knew men better, you'd appreciate it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She appreciated the penetration of this remark, -puncturing the pretentious haughtiness of her protest. She -was surprised at his reasoning so shrewdly about a matter -she would not have suspected him of having given a thought. -But she must not let him interfere in her personal affairs. -"Whatever its origin," said she, "it's the conventional -fashion for women. I shall continue to wear it." And she -looked into his eyes pleasantly. Now, it struck her as -amusing, the anger of this alien, about the exhibition to -others of what he regarded as his own private and -personal treasure. Just one stage removed from the harem, -such an idea as his. "And," she went on, aloud, "if your -satrapship commands me to wear a veil over my face and -muffle my figure in a loose black bag, I shall make the -same reply. You can't realize it, but the old-fashioned -ideal of good, pure woman was really something to be -handled with tongs and disinfected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're talking of things you, being a good woman, -know nothing about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At any rate I know a mind that ought to be -quarantined—when I smell it." And she made a wry face -and started to leave the room. When she had got as far -as the threshold, he cried, "Courtney!" and his tone told -her that he had caught sight of the reverse view of her -costume—the unimpeded display of slender dimpled -shoulders and straight smooth back almost to the waist line. -She pretended not to hear, went on to the sitting room. -Yielding altogether now to the imp of the perverse, she -displaced Helen at the piano and sang the maddest, most -melting love songs she knew. Basil tried to keep to the -far part of the room; but gradually the enchantment -compelled. Forgetting Richard—though he had seen him -glowering and fuming from the darkness of the veranda—he -leaned upon the end of the grand piano. His eyes -were down, but his burning face and his trembling fingers -as he raised or lowered his cigarette proclaimed how the -deep passionate notes of her voice were vibrating through -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was somewhat later than usual when she went upstairs. -As she pressed the button just inside her bedroom -door and the light came on—a soft pale violet light that -seemed to permeate rather than to shine—she saw -Richard in the window. His back was toward her and he was -smoking so that the odor and the smoke would not come -into the room. He threw the cigarette over the balcony -rail and turned. The instant she looked at him, little as -she knew of his character or noted his moods she saw she -had gone too far. But she held a calm, undaunted front. -"How you frightened me," said she, in a tone that had no -fright in it. "I'm horribly tired. I must stop eating -desserts. They wear one out." She stifled a yawn, took the -small diamond sunburst from the front of her waist and -laid it on the bureau. She seemed all but unconscious of -his presence; in reality, by way of the bureau mirror, she -was watching him as a duelist an adversary. "I shall -fall asleep before I can get into bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall detain you only a moment." His grave, -exaggerated politeness did not decrease her inward agitation. -"I simply wish to tell you," he went on, "that, as you -seem determined to persist in your own mistaken way, I -shall be compelled to ask Gallatin to stay away from the -house in the evenings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her impulse was to smile disdain at the infantile -futility of this. And the smile did come to her lips, and -lingered there to mask the feelings that came surging with -the second thought. For she instantly realized how -helpless she was. This man had no part in her life nor she -in his; yet he could impose his will upon her absolutely -because he could take Basil away from her—not merely for -the unimportant evenings, but altogether. He could make -it impossible for Basil to remain—could do it by a mere -word to him. And she who fancied she had provided -against every possible contingency had never even thought -of this, the most obvious peril, and the greatest! Faint, -she leaned upon the bureau, spreading her arms so that -she seemed to be merely at ease. "But why tell </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> about -it?" said she to him. "Why didn't you simply say it to -him?" She smiled contemptuously. "And what will he -think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick's calm vanished. "I don't care a damn what he -thinks," he cried. "At least, he'll not be sitting round -watching you half dressed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew herself up haughtily. "Good night," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was out on the veranda," Dick rushed on. "I saw -him. He forgot Helen—forgot decency—honor—everything—and -leaned there, giving himself up to a debauch. -Yes, to a debauch! And </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> are responsible. Not -he—not at all. You, alone. At least, anger doesn't make me -unjust. And I will say too, you were innocent in the -matter—like a willful child. Good pure women don't -appreciate——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> do," interrupted she. "I'm not the imbecile -Aunt Eudosia sort you admire so much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, the man's in love with you," cried Richard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She all but staggered before the shock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, in love with you. That's why he came back here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As steadily and indifferently as she could contrive she -went to the sofa, seated herself. "Why, you yourself told -me he was in love with Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was mistaken. How could he be in love with her, -when you're about? A man always takes to the -best-looking woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed with friendly conciliating coquetry. "I'm -afraid you're prejudiced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw it this evening. The way he was listening to -those love songs!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure he was thinking of me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps Helen's equally sure he was thinking of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Under cover of the talk she—hardly knowing what she, -or he, was saying—darted this way and that, seeking an -escape from the horror closing in upon her. She felt like -a hiding slave, hearing the distant bay of the bloodhounds. -How escape? How throw him off the scent? Was there -only the one way?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, he cares nothing about Helen," Richard was saying. -And clear and soft in his voice now was the note she -dreaded. "At least, he didn't this evening. How could -he when you were there? Courtney, you simply can't -understand. You're modest and pure minded and innocent——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it was only this evening?" she interrupted. -"I was hoping you had real reason for flattering me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flattering you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. Wouldn't it flatter you if I were to tell -you Helen was in love with you? She's in love with -somebody, by the way. It must be you—how could she think -of any other man when you were about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick half smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I must begin to tear my hair and foam at the -mouth, I suppose," continued she. She rose, stamped her -foot, in melodramatic imitation of jealous fury. "Helen -shall keep to her room in the evenings! Do you hear, sir? -When I think of the times I've let you take her up to your -study—alone!—under pretense of working! You—with -your shirt sleeves rolled up and your collar open!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You silly child!" Dick was amused now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't blame Helen. How could she help it—with -you leading her on——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick laughed. "That's very shrewd," said he. "I -own up. I guess I was having a jealous fit. But you'd -understand if you could see yourself as I see you." And -he clasped her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no!" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Completely possessed by his mood he was too much -the man to have the power to see that her mood was -different. Holding her tightly, he said: "I do believe you -acted that way this evening just to make me jealous. I -admit I seem neglectful. But I love you, just as I always -did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was struggling to escape as strongly as she dared—more -strongly than her instinct of prudence approved—more -strongly than her physical self desired, for she realized -with horror that his mood was hypnotizing her will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, dear," he said. "I've got a confession to -make. While I was raging up and down on the veranda, -all sorts of devilish thoughts came to me—suspicious——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She ceased struggling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got to thinking how long we've been living -apart—and how, every time I made advances, you seemed to -evade——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt herself growing cold. He must have felt it, -too, for he hastened on: "Please, little girl, don't get cross. -I didn't </span><em class="italics">really</em><span> suspect. I'm not so ridiculous. I know a -good woman could no more be false even in thought to her -husband—than a nightingale could change into a snake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was pounding, pounding at the walls of her brain -that he was on the very verge of the discovery; that -unconsciously he was fighting against a suspicion which too -long-pent passion was thrusting at him ever more pointedly. -Another repulse, another jealous fit, and—five lives -overwhelmed in ruin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lay quiet in his arms.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In those next few days she was whimsical, capricious, -fantastic. Richard, once more wholly the man of science, -was as unconscious as mountain peak of storms in the -valleys far below. Basil and the others, but particularly -Basil, watched her with a kind of dread. "I need a -change—in fact, I must have it," she announced at the supper -table. "Helen, let's go to Chicago and shop. The things -in Wenona are hideous this spring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I need a change too," Richard startled them all by -saying, "I'll go with you—and Helen can take care of -the house and Basil—and Winchie, if you'll leave him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to be left!" cried Winchie. "You -wouldn't leave </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, mamma?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney did not hear. She was looking at Richard -as if his words jarred upon her savagely, goaded her to -the verge of outburst. She had been feeling toward her -husband as she would have felt toward an inanimate object -which had bruised her when she by accident stumbled -heavily against it. She did not seek the source of this feeling, -or let it disclose itself to her. She simply felt so; and -when he spoke of going, it seemed as unthinkable that she -should let him go as that she should leave Winchie behind. -When she had herself in hand, she said: "This is a -shopping trip. No men wanted or allowed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, mamma?" pleaded Winchie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except you," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the two women and Winchie went the following -day, to spend a busy fortnight in the Chicago shops buying -for all three and for the house. As Courtney had limited -means and exacting taste, the labor of shopping was hard -and tedious, especially in those vast modern stores. For -there the satisfaction of having everything under one roof -is balanced by the vexation of the search for the needle of -just what one wants and can afford through the mountainous -haystack of what one does not want or cannot afford. -The toil almost prostrated the two women—and poor -Winchie who had to drag along since there was no one at -the hotel to whom Courtney would trust him. But she felt -more than repaid, not so much by her purchases, though -she was on the whole content with them, as by the complete -change in her point of view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The atmosphere of the city is wholly different from that -of such a place as Wenona. In Wenonas, the individual is -important; the sky seems near, and its awful problems of -the eternal verities—life and death, right and wrong—thrust -at every one every moment of day and night. In -a city, the sky yields to brick and stone; men see each -other, not the universe; the eternal verities seem eternal -bores, and life, of the day, of the hour, tempts with -its—"Since you are mere maggot in rotten cheese—tiny -maggot, one of billions—tremendous cheese—since you are to -die to-morrow and decay and be forgotten—since you can -fret and fritter all your years away over life and death, -over right and wrong, without getting a hair's width nearer -solving them—why not perk up—amuse yourself—do as -little harm as is consistent with getting what you need, -and have all the fun there is going? Don't take yourself -solemnly!" The city's egotism is showy, but shallow; the -country's, hidden but profound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Viewed from Chicago, all the beauty, all the possibilities -of happiness in her life in that lovely place on the shore -of Wenona Lake stood out as in the landscape of a master -painter; and all that fretted and shamed her and shot her -joys with black thread of foreboding seemed the work of -her own tainted imagination. "I'm harming no one," she -now argued. "I'm free—Richard freed me when he made -me realize I was to him not a wife but simply a carnal -incident. And I am helping to make life there peaceful and -even happy. The trouble with me is I'm still under the -blight of my early training—a training in how to die, not -in how to live. True, I do lead a double life. But how -few human beings do not lead double lives of one kind or -another? And where am I worse than thousands who long -but have not courage or chance? Isn't it better to live in -deceit with a man one loves than to live in deceit with a -man one loathes?" If she and Basil were found out, they -would be classed with the rest of the vulgar intriguers. -But that did not make them thus low; it was not their -fault that the world saw only coarseness for the same sort -of reason that a man in green spectacles saw everything -green.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came back as much improved in mental health as -in dress—and certainly the new clothes were a triumph. -Also, her sense of self-respect seemed to be restored—"and -whether I'm right in my way of looking at things or am -deceiving myself, I'm certainly much the better for feeling -I'm right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They brought part of the spoils of the city with them, -but most of it came by freight a week after their return. -Courtney and Helen were almost as excited as Winchie—and -Winchie was quite beside himself—when the great -packing cases and crates were opened, and the treasures of -dresses and underclothes and "stunning" hats and fascinating -shoes and slippers and parasols and blouses, and the -furniture and pictures came into view from endless wrappings -of paper and bagging and excelsior, of boxes round -and square, boxes small and large, boxes fancy and plain. -Everything, with not an exception, looked better than it -had in the shop when it was bought. "You are a wonderful -shopper, Courtney. These things seem as if they were -made especially for us," Helen asserted. And Winchie, -literally pale with emotion, screamed, "Mamma Courtney, -let's go back and buy some more!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For several days the agitation continued. Indeed, it -was a month or longer before the last ripples died away, -and the normal calm was restored. Helen had new clothes -as well as Courtney—and never had she looked so lovely. -Winchie was the most stylish person of his age in all that -region. The Donaldson children had theretofore been -disposed to feel somewhat superior because they had a real -imported French governess; they now paid court to him -and accepted his decisions about games as reverently as a -company of New York men accept the judgments of any -man with millions. And the new furniture and dishes, the -new wall paper, the new cooking utensils, the new -contrivances for plants and for cut flowers, some of which -Courtney had had made from her own designs, were as -successful as the clothes. Also, Courtney—and Helen -too—had, through the stimulus of the city, a multitude of new -ideas for house and grounds and gardens. These they -proceeded to carry out, Basil assisting whenever he could -get an afternoon away from the laboratory where Richard -had now buried himself, oblivious of her, of them all. -Altogether, May and June of that year made a new -high-water mark of happiness. And when Helen, going to -Saint X to visit and display her finery, returned in a -self-complacent state of mind that indicated a complete cure, -a complete restoration of her old-time content, Courtney -felt as if the last cloud had disappeared from her horizon. -Again and again during those tranquil, sparkling days she -told herself—and almost believed—that at last her life was -"settled right"—as nearly "right" as a human life -could be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night when she had an appointment with Basil she -found Helen still up as she was about to descend and admit -him. Helen did not put out her light until nearly three -quarters of an hour after the time. When she opened the -lake-front door no one entered; not a sound. She looked -out. The veranda empty; the lawns dreaming undisturbed -in the moonlight; wave on wave of the heavy perfume of -summer's flowers. But not anywhere Basil. Her trembling -ceased; she darted to the edge of the veranda, everything -forgotten but the supreme fact—he was gone. Gone! Why, -she could not doubt; for, from time to time she had seen -in his eyes the suspicion which, unjust though it was, she -dared not discuss with him. Where had he gone? She -must know, must know at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave not a thought to leaving the house—the dangers -that made it impossible for them to meet at his apartment. -She sped across the lawn, along the path through -the pale splendor of the east flower garden and blossoming -shrubbery, into the dark wood. And with her sped her -old enemy—the specter dread of losing him—the ghost so -easily started from its unquiet grave. She flitted on until -she stood at the edge of the clearing, with wildly beating -heart, looking up at the solitary building, gloomy in its -creeper draperies. There was light from his bedroom -window. She gave a quick gasp of relief. At least he -was still within reach. The phantom beat of icy rains -falling, falling ceased to freeze her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Panting from the tumult of her thoughts rather than -from the run, she knocked on the entrance door—knocked -again, loudly—a third time—a fourth. She was shaking -from head to foot. No answer—none. She tried the door; -it yielded. She darted up the stairway, her body now fire -and now ice. He was in his bedroom door, was watching -her. As the light came from behind him she could not -immediately see his expression; but she felt it was dark -and angry. She flung herself on his breast—"My love—my -love!" she sobbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arms hung at his sides. He stood rigid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil! Put your arms round me. I'm cold—and so -frightened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pushed her away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned against the door frame sobbing into her -hands. Her long plaits hung one over either shoulder. She -looked like a child, a broken-hearted child. "And you've -been pretending to love me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do love you. That's the worst of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love!" She turned upon him passionately. "You -call </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>—love? No matter what I did, wouldn't you know -I'd done it for our love's sake? Yes, you know all that's I -is yours—every thought—every heart throb." She was -sobbing again, her arm on the door frame, her face against -it. She was thinking how unsympathetic he was, how -selfish and cruel—was asking herself why she did not -hate him, cast him out of her life. But the very -suggestion made her heartsick. Cast out him who was her -life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean it," he pleaded. "I was crazed with -jealousy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jealousy! Basil—Basil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't help it. I'm human."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But don't you know me? Oh, sweetheart—don't take -from me all the self-respect I've got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself, stared doggedly at the floor. There -was a long, a heavy silence which he finally broke. -"Courtney," he said, "we're both going straight to hell." He -looked sternly at her. "We've got to get away from here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw the resolve in his eyes, trembled, grew still. -Then she remonstrated gently, "You'd forbid me to treat -Winchie so, if I wanted to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He continued to look straight and stern at her. "Either -you go with me or I go alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her knees grew weak. The room swam before her -eyes. The big wave in the picture on the opposite wall -swelled, lowered, seemed swooping down on her. "Oh, -no—you wouldn't do that," she murmured. "No—you -couldn't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll leave in the morning, unless you say you'll leave -with me the day after."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him, relentless and utterly inconsiderate, -and her anger rose. "You've no right to go!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must," he replied. "Do you mean to say you'll let -me leave without you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—if you'd do it," replied she. "But you wouldn't. -You'd not leave me to bear the whole burden alone. You'd -not be a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His florid face became crimson. He fought for self-control, -gave up the hopeless struggle, flung himself down -beside her. "I can't go—I can't," he cried. "But—how -can I stay? It's dragging us down—down." He was -almost weeping. "Courtney, you must see it's dragging -us down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time she had the sense of strength in herself -greater than his, of weakness in him. She caressed his -fair hair tenderly. "It's only a mood, dearest—only a -mood. It'll pass—and we'll help each other, and be strong. -We'll look forward to the end of this. For, in a few years -Winchie'll be off to school. Then—I shall be free to make -my own life. I'll go away to visit—stay on and on—and -gradually——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must promise you will not live with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will do my best. But—I must protect Winchie—and us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He grew red, then pale, was silent for a time. Then -he said irritatedly, weakly, "But don't you see what a -position it puts </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> in!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And me?" She said it very quietly, with a certain -restrained pathos. But he sat glum and moody, thinking -of his own plight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He roused himself. "All right," he cried, in a tone -of contempt—for himself and for her. He embraced her -with a kind of insolent familiarity. "Then I'll stay. If -I went, I'd only come sneaking back. I'm no longer a -man. I'm a slave to you." And he held her at arms length -and eyed her with an expression that told her he was -making inventory of her charms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't talk that way," she begged, offended and -wounded by that expression in his eyes more than she dared -admit to herself. "I know you don't mean it. I know -you—love. I know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love—let's only talk of love," he interrupted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fell to wondering whether, when they were together -in the dark, his unseen eyes had this look—and why it -made his words and his caresses seem so different from -the words and caresses of the darkness. She had never -thought of it before; she hated to learn it then—just then; -but she could not push away the monstrous truth that love -and lust have the same vocabulary, the same gestures, the -same tones, differ only in their eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you thinking about so solemnly?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't thinking solemnly," she protested with a -hastily forced smile. "I was simply remembering how -rarely we've been together alone—really alone—except in -the dark, for a long long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's good to be able to see you," said he, and she felt -like hiding in shame from his eyes. "You streamer of -flame that's burning up my soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her lips echoed his laugh. "What nonsense," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the truth," declared he. "But—burn on! I -can't live without it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The smile left her lips—it had not been in her eyes. -"If I thought you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped her mouth with a kiss. "Only love!" he -commanded. "No thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," she cried eagerly. "No thought! Just -feeling—just love. We must not think. It's the cause of -our unhappiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she tried to be as good as her word. "I do love -him, and he loves me," she rebuked herself. "I'm -unstrung—hysterical—full of crazy fancies. I -mustn't—</span><em class="italics">mustn't</em><span>—fret at his way of loving. -I must always think, 'What -would become of me if I lost him?'" And she pretended -to be in his mood; for the sake of a passion that had been, -she simulated a passion that was not.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxii"><span class="bold large">XXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Masculine moral struggle is usually noisier than -feminine—unless the woman is seeking to impress some man, -before yielding of her own free will what she wishes him -to fancy his superior charm and force and subtlety are -conquering. Thus, woman being by nature freer from the -footless kinds of hypocrisy than man, it was only in the -regular order that while Courtney quietly accepted the -situation and conformed to it, Basil should accept it with much -moral bluster. He accused now his own wickedness, now -the wickedness of destiny, and again woman's sinful charms. -Still, the masculine conscience no less than the feminine is -bred to be an ultimately accommodating chaperon; and -Basil's conscience would soon have gone to sleep had it not -been kept awake and feverish by a contrasting presence. -That contrast was Helen's virginal beauty and virginal -purity—both of which fascinated his overstimulated and -degenerating imagination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen was, as Courtney had said, a girl of the -old-fashioned type. This does not mean that she was a rare -survival of an extinct type, but simply that she was the girl -of yesterday as distinguished from the girl of to-morrow, -and from the girl that is partly of yesterday, partly of -to-morrow—all three of whom we have with us in this -transitional to-day. Helen had by inheritance and training all -woman's ancient instincts to be a possessed and protected -property. These instincts originated in the necessities and -the ignorance of former societies; but they are cultivated -and clung to because masculine vanity dotes on the superior -attitude, and because the female very humanly finds it more -comfortable to be looked after than to look after herself, -to have her thinking done for her than to think for herself, -to be supported than to support herself, to be strong through -weakness than to be strong through strength. The male -wants to pose as master. The female yields, since the usual -cost to her is merely putting up with airs of superiority at -which she can secretly laugh; at worst, the cost is only that -intangible thing, self-respect. So, why not? Self-respect -is purely subjective, unseen. It provides no comforts or -luxuries. Lack of it attracts no attention in a world that -sees only surfaces. So, why not sacrifice it, when it -becomes inconvenient? Men do. Why shouldn't women?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen had no desire to be of full human stature—to be -free. She wished to be a "true woman," meek servant of -a lord and master, and never under the painful necessity -of taking responsible thought for herself. Having no -capacity or desire for comradeship with men, she denounced it -as unwomanly. Her physical virtue—"purity," she called -it—she regarded as her chief glory. She was glad it was -still woman's chief asset in the struggle for existence; for, -she could not help knowing she had beauty, and it is beauty -that makes virtue valuable, though of course beauty adds -nothing to its glory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen certainly had beauty, nearly as great beauty as -she imagined in that heart of hearts where our vanity feels -free to spread its tail to the last gaudy feather and to strut -as no peacock or gobbler ever dared. Her skin was white -as milk, her features were classically regular, and she was -now a shade taller than Basil, could almost look level-eyed -at Richard. Her dark hair was commonplace in color and -texture, was rather short, did not grow especially well about -her brow or behind the ears; but it was thick and abundant, -and the brow and the ears were charming in themselves. -Thanks to Courtney's skill in devising a corset, the defect -of waist too close to bust was no longer conspicuous. She -had sound teeth, good arms and legs, narrow hands and -feet. Her large brown eyes were of the kind that has been -regarded as ideal for woman from the days of Homer -singing the ox-eyed Juno, down to our own day when intelligence -is trying to get a place among feminine virtues and -the look of intelligence among feminine beauties. She had -learned from Courtney—who knew—a great deal about -dress—dress that all women talk, but only the rare -exceptional woman knows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Also, she had from her a practical training for what -she regarded as woman's only sphere, the home. Courtney -had taught her how to keep house with comfort, order and -system. As Courtney had none of the teacher's vanity but -used the method of suggestion, she fancied she had learned -and was learning from herself; the more so, since she in -defiance of daily experience could not credit a woman of -Courtney's lively and, because light, undoubtedly thoughtless -and careless temperament, with enough seriousness to -be a good housekeeper. Helen there showed herself about -on a level with the human average; for all but incredible -is the stupidity of our misjudgments and mismeasurements -of our fellow beings. There was not in her the capacity -to reflect who thought out the new ideas that were constantly -being put into effect, who told her what to do and who -quietly and tactfully saw that she did it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The most obvious improvement in Helen was through -her unconsciously acting on Courtney's advice of delicately -veiled suggestion and dropping the culture pose. She was -now patterning upon Courtney's naturalness so far as she -could. She had the handicap of an ingrained and incurable -passion for those innocuous little tricks of manner with the -men; also, she was greatly hindered by a conventional assortment -of the so-called "lofty ideals." Still, she was letting -much of her own natural personality appear. She was only -slightly exaggerating her bent toward sweetness and -sympathy. She was not quite so strenuous in advocacy of fine -old-fashioned womanliness—heart without mind, purity that -is mere strait jacketed carnality; virtue that, when it yields, -makes lofty pretense of yielding only in reluctant -tolerance of man's coarseness and of nature's shameful way of -reproducing. At Tecumseh, when Dr. Madelene Ranger -delivered a course of lectures on the profession all young -women are candidates for—that is, on matrimony—to the -girls of the senior class of the college of liberal arts, Helen -was one of those who refused to attend and signed -the—unheeded—protest to the faculty. She was no longer so -proud of this as she had been, although she still thought -she had done what ought to be right though it rather seemed -foolish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the greatest improvement of all in Helen was the -subtlest. She had come there, expecting to be a dependent, -feeling and, in a sweet refined way, acting like the poor -relation, harbored on sufferance. Women, trained from the -outset to be dependents, easily degenerate into sycophants, -like men who have always looked to others for employment -and have lost self-confidence if they ever had it. But lack -of self-reliance, a vice in a man, is regarded as a virtue in -a woman; so, women have absolutely no restraint upon their -abandoning even the forms of self-respect, once they get in -the way of degenerating. Thus, Helen's relations with -Courtney might easily have become what is usually seen -where there is intimacy between a poor woman and a woman -of means. But Courtney—not deliberately but with the -unconsciousness of large natures—made this degradation -impossible. It was not merely that Helen had not been made -to feel a dependent; it was more—far more. It was that -she had been made to feel independent, more independent -than Courtney herself felt. And this fine feeling, this -erectness of spirit, permeated to every part of her character, -would have made a full-statured human being of her, had -she had the mentality to shake off her early training as mere -conventional female.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard frankly declared her an ideal woman; Basil -secretly agreed with him. Helen became the constant -reminder of his lost honor, of the heaven he had given up -for the forbidden delights. He reveled in Courtney the -tempest; but during the lulls his eyes turned yearningly to -Helen, the serene and pure calm. Courtney represented -sinful excess, Helen righteous restraint. Courtney's was -love the devastator; a love for Helen would be love the -uplifter. He wanted Courtney; he felt that Helen was what -he ought to want. And in the lulls, with passion exhausted -and needing the stimulus of contrast—he sometimes -fancied that, if he could somehow contrive to assert his -manhood and escape from slavery to Courtney, he would be -happy with Helen, and once more noble and good. Like -many another, he flattered himself that he had an aspiration -to a better life when in reality he was making pretense -of virtuous longing merely to whet his appetite for vice. -He shut his eyes to the obvious but rarely seen—or, rather, -rarely admitted—truth that a man is as he does, not as he -pretends or dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before finally and fully condemning Basil—or Courtney -or anyone—for anything he or she may have done -contrary to our views of propriety and morality, it would -be well to reflect upon the true nature of conscience—to -which Basil and Courtney and all of us habitually refer all -moral questions for settlement. As we grow older we are -awed or amused rather than shocked—and, unless we have -lived as the moles and the earthworms, are not astonished -at all—by the wondrous ways in which our conscience -adjusts itself to necessity—or to what overwhelming -inclination makes us believe to be necessity. But in unanalytic -youth such adjustments take place unconsciously to -ourselves; the mind, in the parts of itself hidden from us, -concocts the proof positive that what we desire is necessary -and right; all we are conscious of is that we suddenly have -the mandate of necessity and the godspeed of conscience. -Thus, conscience in youth can be as flexible as occasion -may require, yet can, without hypocrisy, be for the conduct -of others a very Draco of a lawgiver, a very Brutus of a -judge. This, in youth only. But— How many of us -ever do grow up?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The free-and-easy mode of life at the house made it -impossible for any two to be alone, except by stealth, -without everyone's knowing it. As a man who since early youth -had led the "man sort of life" he was thoroughly used to -associating the idea stealth with the relations of men and -women. However, flexible though conventional "honor" is, -he had misgivings about bending it to the requirements of -desire in this particular case. But as his longing for such -a moral invigorator as Helen's innocent purity grew in -intensity, he began deliberately to revolve contriving to see -her alone again, and by stealth. His first success was -accidental—callers occupying Courtney when he came seeking -her. As he turned away from the house he spied Helen, -seated under a maple tree sewing near where Winchie and -the older Donaldson boy were playing ball. She colored -faintly when he dropped to the grass near her and lit a -cigarette. He so placed himself that he commanded all -approaches from the house and could not be taken by -surprise. "Why is it," he began, "that I don't see you at all -any more—except at the table?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fact that he did not pursue when she began to avoid -had disappointed her keenly. But it had given her a better -opinion of him. It showed—so she told herself, perhaps -by way of consolation to vanity—that however bad he might -be he yet had redeeming reverence for purity. But she had -long been weary of the dutiful struggle against his charm -of the worldly and the rich for her the unworldly and the -poor. So, her manner was not wholly discouraging as she -said, in reply to his respectfully regretful question, "I've -been very much occupied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her swift white fingers a while, then stared -gloomily out toward the lake. She stole a pitying glance -at him. "Poor fellow!" thought she. "He's suffering -terribly to-day. That dreadful woman! How could -Courtney, generous though she is, defend a creature who is -simply wrecking his life?" As she had kept close watch on -him all these months, these signs of his sufferings were not -new to her. But never had she seen them so movingly plain. -"Poor fellow!" thought she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he said: "Won't you talk to me? I feel like -a—a damned soul to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen thrilled. He looked so distinguished, was so -elegantly dressed in his simple manly way, had that gloss, -that sheen, which marks all the kinds and conditions of -anglers for the opposite sex. "What shall I talk about?" -she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her sympathetic smile, showing her excellent teeth and -lighting up her dark eyes, changed for him her common-place -query into a stimulating exhibit of depth of soul. -"Anything—anything," he said. "You've got such an -honest, sweet voice that whatever you say makes one feel -better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is troubling you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't want to talk about myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But her instinct told her he had brought his stained soul -to confessional. "It might help you," she suggested, -blushing at her own boldness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked gratefully at her and away. "It seems to -me," said he, "you've been avoiding me. Is it so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen bent her head low over her work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it was instinctive," he went on. "To you, -I'd seem— Sometimes I feel that, if you and I had kept -on with those talks we were having last spring, things would -have been different with me. However, it's too late now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen's eyes filled. "Oh, no. It's never too late," -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed and rose—Courtney was coming toward them. -Helen took no part in the conversation that followed. She -was pondering the few meaningless and youthful phrases -he had uttered as if they were freighted with wisdom and -destiny. And she continued to ponder them after he and -Courtney and Winchie went away for a drive to Wenona. -The more meaningless a thing is, the more food for thought -to those incapable of thinking. When it is clear, it is -grasped at once and the incident closes; but let it have no -meaning at all, and lives will be devoted to cogitating upon -it, and library shelves will groan with tomes of exegesis. -Helen found in Basil's words what she wished to find—found -a plain mandate of duty to help him. He couldn't -be so very bad—probably not so bad as Richard was in his -bachelor days, before chemistry and Courtney calmed him. -And look at Richard now!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not know the very particular dangers for Basil -in drink. But she saw that he was taking a great deal more -whisky and water than formerly, and she felt that it had -to do with his obviously desperate depression. Her one -chance to see him, she knew, was when Courtney was -occupied; for, had she not led Courtney to think that she did -not wish to be left alone with him ever? She decided it -was best not to tell Courtney she had changed her -mind—somewhat—about him; Courtney would misjudge, would -think her careless about principle, weak, love-sick—worst of -all, would probably advise against her talking with him. -Thus it came to pass that when Courtney was safely -occupied—with callers, with Winchie, at sewing or painting or -dressing—Helen put herself oftener and oftener in such a -position that Basil could find her if he chose. She did not -dream that he also wished to be stealthy; she thought the -stealth was all on her own side—and he, seeing this, soon -pretended to himself that he thought so, too, and had not -the slightest sense of guilt toward Courtney. It did not -take him long to find a satisfying explanation for Helen's -aversion to having it known that they met alone; here, -decided he, was another evidence of her modesty, her delicate -sensitiveness of the good woman who can't bear being talked -about lightly—and, if they talked alone where others could -see, there would surely be joking and teasing and gossiping.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once more habit gave illustration of its subtle grasping -of ever more and more power. Before either was aware of -it, they were meeting clandestinely with clocklike regularity. -And Helen's life filled with sunshine of the most delicious -warmth and sparkle. And Basil, keeping steadily -on at his drinking, and never relaxing in his devotion to the -sweet sin of which Courtney was the scarlet altar, reveled -in those agonies of a sense of utter depravity that are about -the only charm of wickedness. "I am not fit to live," -reflected he with comfortable gloom, as he sat in his -apartment alone drinking after an afternoon with Helen and a -late evening with Courtney. Here was excellent excuse for -drinking and gloriously damning himself. He did not go -to bed until he had finished the bottle and the last cigarette -in the big silver box on his table. Also, between spasms of -self-damning he had contrived to finish a novel of intrigue -that had as its villain-hero just such a devil of a fellow as -he felt he himself was—or was in delightful danger of -becoming.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>How it ever befell he never could remember. But the -day came when he, sitting with Helen in the summerhouse—the -summerhouse!—found himself holding her hand. He -stared at the pretty white hand, large and capable yet -feminine in every curve. He noted that it was lying -contentedly, confidingly upon the brown of his palm. He lifted -his dazed eyes. Her lashes were down, her cheeks overspread -with delicate color; her bosom, like a young Juno's, -rose and fell with agitated irregularity. It was not -poisonous mock morality, it was the decent human man -underneath, that sent an honestly horrified "Good God!" to his -lips. He laid her hand gently in her lap, stood up, thrust -his hands deep into his trousers pockets. His face was red -with real shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've often told you," said he, "that I'm no fit -companion for a pure woman—that my life's ruined past -redeeming——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say those things," she implored. "They hurt -me—and they're not so. I know </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Past redeeming," he repeated. "It's the God's truth. -I must keep away from you. I've no right to see you—to -care for you—to tempt you to care for me. I can't tell -you—but if you knew, you'd loathe me as I loathe myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you—do you—" Her voice faltered. But she had -wrought herself up to such a romantic pitch about him, and -his earnestness was so terrifying and so real to her, that -she dared to go on—"Do you care for some one else?" And -she looked at him in all the beauty of her romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know—I don't know," he answered, in great -agitation—physical, though he of course fancied it moral. -"Not with the love I might have given a pure woman, if -fate and my own vile weakness hadn't conspired to ruin me.... -What am I saying? I can't talk to you about it. -Think me as bad as your imagination can picture—and I'm -worse still."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a low wail that came straight from her honest -romantic young heart and went straight to his heart. He -sat beside her, took her hand. "Be merciful to me," he -begged. "At least I'm not so bad that I don't know -goodness when I see it. And you'll always be the ideal of -goodness in my eyes—all I once sought in love—all I once -deluded myself into believing I had won."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrilled. Those words made her feel that he -belonged to </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>. She laid her other hand on his. "Basil," -she appealed, "you are young, and brave, and noble. You -can free yourself—save yourself——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew away, went to the rail of the pavilion, seated -himself there. "No," he said. "I'm past saving. -And—we must not meet any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because—I am not free—and never shall be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that true?" Her eyes looked loving incredulity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am more tightly bound—by honor and by—by -habit—than if I were married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a long sigh—of despair, she thought, but in -reality of hope, for, at least he was free. Marriage was -the only real bond. As for honor—what honor could there -be in any tie not sanctioned by religion and society?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a cur I am!" he exclaimed, put to shame by her -sigh and her forlorn expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't!" she begged. "I understand—as far -as a girl could understand such a thing. And I know it's -not your fault. And—even if we can't be anything more -to each other, still I'm not sorry we've had what we've had. -I'm—I'm—glad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the glory of her purity beaming upon him like -heaven's light on the bleak, black-hot peaks of hell. He -longed to linger, and talk on and on; but his sense of honor -had reached the limit of its endurance for that day. Without -touching her hand he said good-by as if they were never -to see each other again and went as if his heart were broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thenceforth Helen let her longing for romance centre in -him without concealing the fact from herself—or from him. -And her castle-building had an energy it would never have -had, if she had not imagined she felt it was hopeless. -Nothing so dynamic as the hopelessness that hopes. Believing -that he loved her, that she was his one chance of redemption, -she continued to give painstaking attention to her -toilet, to refresh her memory of those of his favorite poets -with whom she was acquainted, to learn lines from those -she knew less well, and to put herself in his way—always -without forwardness. And he continued to drift—held fast -to Courtney with senses so enchained that he would have -fought against release like an opium fiend for his drug; -fascinated also by the woman he could dream he ought to -have loved, and might have loved. Two restraints he laid -sternly upon himself. Not to talk of love in a </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> -with a woman—that would be impossible. But he would -see that the talk was kept to the general, that it never -adventured the particular. Also, he would never again so -much as touch Helen's hand when they were alone. Were -he bred to be as expert at moral truth as at moral sham, -he might have found a key to his true state of soul in the -tantalization this self-restraint caused him to suffer. There -were times when her physical contrast to Courtney was as -alluring to his keyed-up, supersensitized nerves as was her -moral contrast to his morbid moral sense. If he had had -the intelligence and concentration necessary to candid -self-analysis, he would have been startled—perhaps benefited—by -the discovery that he was in the way to become one of -those libertines who in all sincerity teach prayers to the -innocence they are plotting to debauch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all the time he was drinking more and more deeply—not -for the moral reasons he fancied, but for the practical -physical reason that a disordered nervous system craves the -stimulants that will further aggravate its disorder. Helen's -father had carried his liquor badly; a little was enough to -upset him a great deal. Basil was one of those men who -are able to drink heavily without showing it, even to the -most watchful eyes. Often, when she had not the faintest -suspicion he was in liquor, he was in fact so far gone that -he had to keep his surface preternaturally solemn in order -to conceal the disorder of his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day did not long delay when, under the influence -of drink, he suddenly seized her and kissed her. She did -not resist; but the shock of the contact, instead of -inflaming him, instantly restored him to his senses. He was -conscience-stricken; also he saw the impossible complications -he was precipitating. In shame and fright—in fright more -than shame—he fled from her presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far as outward effect is concerned, the action is -everything, the motive nothing. But so far as inward effect is -concerned, the action is nothing, the motive everything. In -action Basil and Courtney were essentially the same—equal -partners in intrigue. But her motive of seeking strength -through love availed to hold her steady, even to lift her up; -while his motive of sensuality ever less and less refined and -redeemed by love was thrusting him down and down.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiii"><span class="bold large">XXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Richard and Courtney were walking up from the -laboratory together. In his abrupt fashion Richard broke -the silence with: "I wonder if it isn't Helen that's hanging -back and not Gallatin. She's innocent as a baby, but her -experience with her father must have taught her about that -one thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What one thing?" asked Courtney, startled out of her -abstraction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drinking. Helen must have noticed how Gallatin's -mopping it up these days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense," said Courtney sharply. She was much -irritated—as human beings are extremely apt to be, when -some matter they are making determined efforts to ignore is -forced on their attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was so drunk this morning that he had to go out -and take the air. That's what made me think of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drunk! She winced at that bald revolting word. She -flamed at what she tried to think was an injustice. "This -morning?" cried she. "Why, that's absurd. I'd have -noticed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're another innocent. He carries a package well—always -did." There Richard laughed at memories of his -and Gallatin's "wild-oats" days of which he fancied -Courtney knew nothing—and he would have been panic-stricken -had he thought there was danger of her finding out about -them. "Yes," he went on, "Gallatin's been going some -for several weeks now. But this daytime drinking is a -new development."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure you're mistaken," said Courtney, her irritation -showing in her color now. "You both drink at supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He about six to my two. I never take more than two. -And every once in a while I see Jimmie or Bill carrying a -case of bottles to or from his apartments. I can understand -a boy's doing that sort of thing. A boy wants to try -everything. But how a grown man can keep on at it is beyond -me. Still, he hasn't much mind. He never says or thinks -anything he hasn't got from somebody else. But—women'd -never notice that." This last sentence half to himself, not -at all for her hearing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was all a-quiver with anger. For, his shrewd -observation on Basil's mentality compelled her to admit to -herself another truth, indeed a whole swarm of truths, she -had been hiding from herself—how Basil's conversation, -when they were all together and the subject was necessarily -other than love, no longer seemed brilliant or especially -interesting even; how at the shop he made an extremely -poor showing, was now pupil, and rather backward pupil, -to her who almost daily had to cover up his blunders; how -in helping her with the gardening he never went beyond -either approving her ideas or offering suggestions already -stated in the books; how she was constantly coming across -things she had thought original with him only because she -happened not to have read the books that contained them -or to have known the phase of life in which they were -familiar commonplaces. Angry though an untruth about -anyone or anything we love makes us, that anger is as -equanimity itself beside the anger roused by a disagreeable -truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the house she quickened her pace, -hurrying not so much from Richard as from her own -thoughts—the thoughts his words had startled from unexpected -lurking places as a sudden light sets bats to whirling. -Courtney was loyal through and through; also, she clung -to Basil like a shipwrecked sailor to a life raft. The -stronger the waves of adverse destiny or of doubt, the -fiercer she clung to her life raft. In face of the clearest -proof from without against Basil, she would have shut her -eyes and held fast to him. Yet with devilish malice and -merciless persistence circumstances were now constantly -taking her blind resolute loyalty by surprise and forcing upon -her exhibitions of him as a shallow and sensual person. A -proud, intelligent woman's love could reconcile itself to -either of these—to a shallow man whose passion was simply -symbol of deep and sincere love; or, to a sensual man whose -grossness was the coarse rich soil that sent up and -nourished high intelligence, fascinating and compelling. But no -woman worth while as a human being could continue to love -a shallow man treating her as mere "symbol of the sensual -side of life" because he was incapable of appreciating -any but physical qualities, and then simply as physical -qualities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was with a heart defiantly loving, defiantly loyal, -that she met Basil at eleven that night to admit him. He -had not appeared either at the house or at the laboratory -during the afternoon or for supper or afterwards. So, she -had not seen him since Richard's "attack on him behind his -back"—for, she had succeeded in convincing herself that -Richard's accusations were an outcropping of prejudice -against him. She felt humble toward him because she had -listened without bursting out in his defense—this, though -to defend would have been the height of stupid imprudence. -As he entered the door she softly opened, he lurched against -her, stumbled over the rug, saved himself by catching hold -of her and almost bringing her down. A wave of suspicion, -of sickening fear and repulsion shuddered through her. -But she frowned herself down, took him firmly by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful," she whispered. "The floor was polished -only yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He mumbled something affectionate and without waiting -for her to close the door, embraced her. From him -exhaled the powerful odor of mixed tobacco and whisky -that proclaims the drunken man to the most inexperienced, -to those blindest of the blind—the blind who dare not see. -She gently released herself. Several times of late he had -come to her in almost this condition; she had forced herself -to deny, to excuse, to minimize. Now, however, it was -impossible for her to risk admitting him; and also, she -suddenly realized she had reached the breaking point of her -courage to keep up her self-deception. "You must go at -once," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. His befuddled -mind reverted to Helen as if Courtney knew about -her. "What right have you got to be jealous, if I'm not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not puzzle over this remark. "Basil, you must -go at once because you've been drinking too much." The -danger was too imminent to be trifled with in diplomatic -phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood, swaying unsteadily, his head hanging. "If -you think so—" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She urged him gently toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I beg your pardon," he mumbled. "I—I guess -you're right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He backed two steps. As soon as he was clear of the -door she closed and locked it. Slowly she went upstairs, -dropped wearily into bed. She lay quiet a few minutes, -staring at the arc of the night lamp. Then on an impulse -from an instinct that could not be disobeyed, she rose, took -a dark dressing gown, wrapped it round her. She glided -along the hall, descended the stairs, opened the lake-front -door. Closing it behind her, she stood at the edge of the -veranda. The sky was black; a few drops of rain were -falling. She made an effort, ran down the steps, hurried -across the lawn and along the path to the Smoke House. -The entrance door to the apartment stairway was open. -She hesitated, slowly ascended. He did not appear at the -sound of her steps. His bedroom door was open. She -glanced in. His bed was turned down, his pajamas lay -ready upon the folded-over covers. But he was not there. -She went on to the door of his sitting room. It too was -open. At the table desk and facing the door he sat, -half-collapsed on the chair, one hand round a tall glass of -whisky and water, the bottle and a carafe at his elbow. -Though her mind was on him, her eyes took in and forced -upon her every tiny detail of the room; she had made it -over that his surroundings might always remind him of her. -He lifted his heavy head, blinked stupidly at her. She -noted his face with the same morbid acuteness to detail—his -swollen eyes, his puffy lips, the veins in his forehead, -his brows knitted in a foolishly solemn expression. Never -had he seemed so homely, since her first glance at him when -he came there a stranger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a moment of dazed sodden staring at her, he -remembered his manners, rose not without difficulty and stood, -stiff and unsteadily swaying. "Give me some of the -whisky," said she, advancing. "I feel sort of queer." She -dropped to the chair he had just left and took up his glass. -"May I have your drink?" she asked, and without waiting -for a reply drank eagerly. Color returned to her cheeks, -and her eyes became less heavy and dull. "I'm better—very -much better," she declared, as she set the glass down -empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had seated himself lumpishly on the sofa. They -remained silent, gazing out through the open window into -the darkness and hearing the soothing musical plash of -rain on lake. In upon them poured a freshness rather -than a breeze and the pleasant odor of drenching foliage. -"As I lay there thinking," she said presently, "it -came to me that I mustn't let this night pass without -seeing you and making it smooth and straight between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shock of her appearing had for the moment beaten -down his intoxication. It was now boiling up again, -heating his nerves and his imagination, though he seemed sober -and self-possessed. "All right," said he. "I know you -didn't mean to insult me, and I'll forget it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed quickly at him in amazement, started to -speak, checked herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I want to tell you," he went on, his tone and -gestures forcible-feeble, "I want to tell you this business -of my being shut out has got to stop. You must arrange -for Vaughan to come down here to live, and for me to -take his rooms up at the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This demand seemed to her as utterly unlike him as -the dictatorial tone in which it was made. To condemn -him—no, more—not to love him the more tenderly—because -he was in this mood of distracted desperation would -be unworthy of the love she professed. She crushed -down her sense of repulsion, went to him, laid her cheek -against his hair. "My love," she murmured. "We -mustn't ever forget that we have only each other. We'll -never let any misunderstanding come between us, no -matter how blue we get." And she turned his head and kissed -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With an intoxicated man's fickleness, he switched -abruptly from anger to sentiment. His eyes became moist -and shiny. A sensual drunken smile played round his -heavy mouth. She saw though she was trying hard not -to see. He reached round and drew her toward his lap. -She gently resisted, while she was nerving herself to -submit—would it not be a very poor sort of love that -would let itself be chilled by a mood—a mood in which -all love's warmth, all love's gentleness were needed as -they are not needed when everything is pleasant and -easy?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tears of self-pity welled into his eyes. "God, how -low I've sunk!" He got himself on his uncertain legs, -arranged his features into a caricature of an expression of -dignified command. "I want you to send Helen—Miss -March—away," he said, waving his finger at her. "She's -a pure woman. She mustn't be contaminated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at him in horror. "Basil!" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I mean it. Oh, you understand. I'm not fit to -'sociate with her—and neither are you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a wild cry, she turned to fly. He lurched -forward, caught her by the arm. "But we're just about fit -for each other," he said. "And that's the truth—if I am -drunk." He nodded at her. "I should say, 'That's the -truth </span><em class="italics">because</em><span> I am drunk.' It's giving me the courage -to speak out a few things that've been gnawing at my -insides for weeks." And his fingers clasped her arm like -steel nippers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil! You're hurting me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what I feel like doing." And in his eyes as in -his fingers there was revealed the sheer sensual ferocity -that drink had freed of the shame which at other times -held it in restraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hung her head. In a low voice she stammered, -"You're making me feel there isn't any love for me -anywhere in your heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love?" he said, swaying to and fro and opening and -closing his eyes stupidly. "Love. Oh, yes there is. Yes, -indeed. Sometimes I think not, but it isn't so. It's because -I love you that I go crazy at the thought that I'm sharing -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sharing me!</em><span>" She wrenched herself free, put her -arm over her eyes as if she could thus hide from herself -the sight of his soul which in drunken abandon he had -completely unmasked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be frightened," he maundered on. "I'm a man -of honor—'honor rooted in dishonor' as Tennyson says. -I'll not go. I'll submit to it—all right. Love gives a man -a stomach for anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wished to fly, but her legs would not carry her. -She had to stay—and listen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How I've been dragged down! How a woman can -drag a man down! Not Helen—no—she's an angel. But -those good women never are as fascinating as you others.... -Love?" He beamed upon her like a drunken satyr. -"Let's love and be happy. To hell with everything but -love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she listened and looked she, for the first time since -they had been lovers, felt that she had sinned—had sinned -without justification. The judgment of guilt dazzled and -stunned her as the sun's full light eyes from which the -scales have just fallen. She stood paralyzed, yet -wondering how she could remain erect under the weight of her -vileness—for, her sin seemed as heavy and as vile as ever -celibate fanatic asserted. When her lover moved to -embrace her, she, with the motion of shrinking from him, -found she had strength and power to fly. She rushed from -the room, he stumbling after her, and crying "Courtney! -Don't get jealous and go off mad——"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxiv"><span class="bold large">XXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She knew the truth at last—the whole truth—what he -was in mind and in heart, what his love was, what he in his -inmost soul thought about her, about himself. The man -who could believe he was sharing her could not but be -shallow indeed, stupid, and also incapable of understanding -the meaning of the word love; the man who could -keep on with a woman he believed he was "sharing," -must be sunk in a wallow of sensuality—and as weak as -low. She knew the truth. Hearing she might have -disputed and in time denied. But there was, and would be, -no evading the records stamped clear and indelible upon -her memory by that sensual, maudlin face. To falsify those -records was beyond even a proud, lonely, loving woman's -all but limitless powers of self-deception in matters of the -heart. The coarseness of that self-revelation of his was -the liquor; but the revelation itself was the man. He did -not love; he lusted. He did not love; he despised—her -and himself. He did not love—and he never had loved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is in every one of us a chamber where vanity -and hope live and ever conspire to deceive, and if possible, -destroy us. From that secret chamber she now wrenched -an amazing secret. She discovered that from the -beginning—yes, from the beginning—she, determined to satisfy -the craving of elemental flesh and blood, had been lying to -herself about Basil Gallatin. Passion had taken sly -advantage of her loneliness and her longing for sympathy and -companionship; it had beguiled her imagination into -creating out of the very ordinary materials of his true -personality the lover she had been adoring. One by one she -took out and reëxamined all her memory plates of him. -Now, a memory plate is like any other photographic plate; -it has a surface picture and it also yields to a close scrutiny -a thousand details which do not appear upon the surface. -Long before she finished, she was realizing that she had -all along, with the deliberate craft of self-deception, been -hiding from herself the trick her feelings were practicing -upon her intelligence. Basil—pleasing manners and dress, -amiable disposition, animalism agreeably disguised by -education—Basil had been plausible enough to pass muster -with her, ready and eager to be deluded because of her -craving for love. True, he had posed to a certain extent. -But he was not really responsible for the fraud. The -blame was hers—all hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But disillusion no more destroys a love longing than -lack of food and drink destroys hunger and thirst. High -above moans of shame over the pitiful collapse of her -romance rose the defiant clamors of hunger and thirst. -They had been lovers, he and she; and that fact in itself -was a bond which a woman, at least a woman of her -temperament of fidelity, could not easily break. She feared -when he, sober and a gentleman once more, sweet and -winning, came to her and pleaded for forgiveness she would -forgive—would in her loneliness and heart hunger take -what she could get rather than have nothing and the ache -of nothingness. It is—at least, it has been, up to and into -the present time—second nature to woman to depend upon -a man, to select some one man, the best available, and stake -everything upon him. Basil Gallatin was that man for -her. And—not in novels, but in life—before any woman, -however high minded, goes away to utter aloneness from -a man who cares for her, he must have disclosed some -traits more abhorrent than any such human traits as those -of Basil. Yes—human. Was it his fault that he had not -given her the kind of love she wanted? Was it not -probably her fault that he had not been inspired to that kind -of love? Perhaps, too, the love of any man, could it be -seen in the nakedness of drunkenness, would be much like -Basil's. "I'm only a woman," she said. "I mustn't -forget that. I've no right to expect much." And then she -shuddered; for in her very ears was the sound of those -cold rains falling day and night upon her loneliness and -despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw herself accepting; for, a great deal less than -half a loaf is better than no bread. And if she accepted, -she must adapt herself—must force herself to acquire a -liking for what she must eat or go altogether hungry. She -saw herself wending down and down—to the level at which -he had from the beginning thought her arrived. She -looked all around. Nothing—no one—to save her. For, -what could she hope from Richard?—from any man? Was -not Basil giving about the best man had to offer woman -in the way of association? There was the Richard sort of -man—an abstraction—an impossibility. There was the -Shirley Drummond sort of man—a human incarnation of -Old Dog Tray—equally impossible. There was the third -sort of man—the Basil sort, somewhere between the two -impossibilities. Life must be lived, and with human -beings. Of the three available kinds of associates, was not -the Basil sort the most livable? Rather Basil than -being frozen to death by a Richard or bored to death by -a Shirley. The conclusion seemed cynical; but there -was no cynicism in the sad woman who faced that conclusion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not go down to breakfast; and Basil, she -learned, kept away also. When he did not appear at -dinner she knew he had determined to wait until he should -surely see her alone. The emotion that stirred in her -because his place at the table was vacant gave her more -and sadder light upon how little the heart heeds the things -that impress the mind and the self-respect. About the -middle of the afternoon she was at the small antique desk -in the corner of her sitting room, trying to write a letter. -But the charm of the day, the beauty of full-foliaged trees, -of lake and cloudless sky seen through the creeper-framed -window, would not let her write. As she gazed, her -unhappiness calmed and all her senses flooded with the joy that -laughs in sunbeams, in light and shadow floating on the -grass, in flight and song of birds, in grace and color and -perfume of flowers, the joy that mocks at moral struggle -and flutters alluringly the gay banner of the gospel of -eat, drink and be merry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she took her pen to go on with the letter, Lizzie -appeared in the hall doorway. "Mr. Vaughan asked me -to tell you," she said, "that he'd gone out and might not -be back for supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said Courtney, not turning round. It -flitted across her mind that this was an extraordinary -message for Richard to send—Richard who came and went -as he pleased and sent no word when he was not coming -to dinner or supper. "Where's he gone?" she asked—an -extraordinary question from her to match the extraordinary -message from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was in a hurry and didn't say," replied Lizzie. -"I'll find out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. It doesn't matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lizzie went, and in her dreaming and thinking -Courtney soon forgot the incident. Again Lizzie's voice -interrupted—"Mr. Vaughan's gone to see old Nanny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nanny!" said Courtney. She never thought of -the old woman except as the memorandum of her pension -check appeared every three months in the household -accounts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. She's dying. She sent for him. Such dreadful -roads too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's pen halted on its way to the ink well. The -room seemed to her to have become terribly still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She sent him word," Lizzie went carelessly on, and -her voice seemed to come from a distance, through a -profound hush, "that she had something on her conscience -and couldn't go without clearing it. I reckon she's gone -clean crazy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not fear that made nerve and muscle tense. -It was not self-control that held her motionless. The peril -was upon her; there was no time to waste in emotion. All -along, she had pretended to herself that Nanny knew -nothing, had at worst a dim suspicion. Now, she realized -that she had always feared the old woman had seen and -had heard. And those words of Lizzie's made it -impossible for her to doubt what was about to occur. No time -for terror, for hysteria or fainting or futile moaning. Her -whole being concentrated on the one idea, What shall I do? -Calmly she said to Lizzie, "Has he gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten minutes ago—maybe fifteen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he take the motor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am. She's near dead. He went in a great hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Idle then to think of overtaking him, of bringing him -back with a story that Winchie was missing, was perhaps -drowned in the lake. Her mind—it had never been clearer -or steadier—gave Richard up for the moment, turned to -another phase. "Where is Mr. Gallatin?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out on the lake. Winchie's with him—fishing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When they come in, please tell him I wish to see him -at once." The events of last night were as if they had -not been. Wounds closed up like magic; once more it was -she and Basil her lover united against the whole world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can call him from the wall," suggested Lizzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—please do." She dipped the pen as if about -to go on with the interrupted letter. Lizzie went. She -laid the pen down, leaned back in the chair, clasped her -hands behind her head, gazed unseeingly into the huge -tree almost directly before the window. The irony of it! -Through Nanny whom they had forgotten! The blow was -about to fall—utter ruin—the end of love—of life -probably. A few hours and there would be a convulsion of the -most awful passions. She looked round. Everything calm, -bright, beautiful. Reason told her what was about to occur; -but there are calamities which the imagination cannot -picture, and this was one of them.... Should she tell Basil? -"Nanny may be dead before Richard gets to her. If I -tell Basil—and Richard comes, only suspicious—Basil's -manner may confirm him." It was still more significant -that it did not enter her head as even a possibility that -Basil might be able to help her devise some plan to avert -or to mitigate the blow.... In the midst of her debate -whether to tell him, she suddenly gave a terrible cry, sprang -to the window, her expression wildly disheveled. The -thought had flashed, "If Richard hears and believes, he -will </span><em class="italics">kill</em><span> Basil!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before she reached the balcony rail, reason took her -by the shoulder, drew her back to her chair. "I must -keep my head!" she exclaimed aloud. And she fought -down and triumphed over the terror that had all but -mastered her. At Gallatin's step on the threshold she did not -turn. "Shut the door," she said in her usual voice. Then, -after the sound of its closing, "Nanny, on her deathbed, -has sent for him—to confess something. He's gone to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him slowly cross the room, knew he was -standing at the window. After a while she stole a glance -at him. His skin was gray, his profile set; there were deep -lines round his mouth. She liked his face, it was so manly; -a wave of love surged out from her heart. "How long -shall we have to wait?" he asked. The voice, though -wholly unlike his own, had no note of cowardice in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's been gone about half an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only half an hour!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw the sweat burst out upon his forehead. She -saw the muscles of his face trembling. There was agony -in his eyes—not fear, but that horror of suspense -which makes the trapped soldier rush upon the bayonet, -makes the man on the scaffold assist the leisurely hangman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence, except the chirping of the birds. A bumblebee -buzzed almost into his face; he did not wince. A black-and-gold -butterfly fluttered in at the window on the other side -of the desk, hovered, settled upon the lid of the stationery -box, rested with wings together as one. She turned her -eyes from him to watch it, said absently:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have to go at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him turn full toward her. She was expecting -that quick movement, but she could not help shrinking -a little. However she went on evenly: "You can cross in -the motor boat, take a trap at Wenona, catch the -four-o'clock express at Fenton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I deserve that," he said, and she knew he was referring -to last night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, went straight at it. "I'd forgotten last -night since Lizzie told me about Nanny. It's wiped out. -So, you need think only of going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "I—go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was ready. She turned upon him a look of -well-simulated surprise. Then— "Oh!" she cried. "I've -been thinking it out, and you haven't. At first glance it -does look as if we ought to face it together. But as you -consider it you'll see you've simply got to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself, took out his cigarette case, lighted -a cigarette. "If I go anywhere it will be in his direction, -to shorten the wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," said she, leaning toward him, her forearms -on the desk, her hands clasped. "He'll have but one idea—to -kill you. If you're here, the very sight of you will -set him wild. He'll kill you—how can you defend -yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't. Vaughan has the right to my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She winced at this unconscious ugly reminder of what -he really thought of their romance. She waved her hand -as if brushing something away. "No matter about that," -said she. "I'm thinking how to save Winchie from -disgrace—and my own life. If you're here, there's no hope. -If you're gone, he'll have the chance to reflect. And I -shall know what to say and how to say it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe she knew anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Basil!" His eyes shifted. "Don't you </span><em class="italics">remember</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both were hearing the mad flapping of that frightened -bird in the copse round the summerhouse. She shivered; -he moved uneasily. "Even if she knew," he objected, -"she may be dead or in the stupor of death before he gets -to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he'll hear nothing, and there's no reason why -you shouldn't go. I'll say you got a telegram from your -mother——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he comes merely suspecting and uneasy, and I'm -gone——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still he'd not be sure," she interrupted. "And if he -were, he'd not have the sight of you to inflame him." She -rose. "There's no time to waste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He settled himself. "I shall not go. We face him -together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clock on the chimney-piece struck. She gave a -cry, rushed to him. "Basil—my love!" she implored. -"If you love me, go—go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pressed his hands to her cheeks tenderly, smiled -at her with the gentle tolerance of superior male for female. -"I understand, dear. This is like you. But my honor -will not let me go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She released his hand, stood gazing at him. In the -beginning she had urged only because she had wished -to save him. But she had been convinced by her own -arguments; and it amazed her that he was refusing to see -what was so clear. "You—will—not—go?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Courtney. I cannot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She brushed the strays of hair from her brow. She -laughed scornfully, with a contemptuous shrug. "Whether -you two men kill each other or are only wounded, still -Winchie and I will be disgraced. You may be only -wounded—may get over it in a week or so—or you two may only -have a vulgar fight—with the servants looking on. In any -case </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am done for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was like a horse when the spur is bidding it advance -and the curb is bidding it halt. "If I stay," he cried, -"you'll despise me. If I go, you'll despise me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you stay you destroy me. If you go, I can save -myself. Will you go or not? Oh, after last night—this on -top of that— And, after last night, you can debate whether -or not I'll despise you! Go, I tell you! You couldn't -sink any lower than you have—and you may redeem -yourself." They were facing each other, he white before her -scorn and fury. "But not," she went on, "if to what you -said and did then you add debating a point of cheap pose -when I and my child are at stake. What a shallow, vain -creature you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean these things? Or are you only pretending, -to make me fly and save myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean every word. In spite of last night, of all it -taught me, I was still hoping—or, trying to hope. But -now— Thank God I had Winchie when I met you, and wasn't -free to make an utter fool of myself. A man who could -betray his friend for lust, and then betray his mistress for -vanity!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes blazed mingled hate and passion at her. "But -you'll go with me now!" he cried, in triumphant fury. -"Yes, we'll take that train together. The jig's up, and, -damn you, you witch, you've got to go with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was shaking with fright. For the moment she -could think of no answer. She was under the spell of the -terrible expression of his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he comes looking for some one to kill, he'll kill -you if he can't get us both. So—we go together, or die -together, as you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said she, seating herself. "Oh, how like -you this is! You know that if we fly, my boy is smirched -for life—and I too. You know that if I stay, I may save -everything—even your life. If we went, Richard would -never rest till he'd hunted us down and killed us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've lost you," said he sullenly. "I don't care what -happens. I feel like killing you myself." He straightened -up. "Why not?" he cried. "Kill you, then myself—get -it all over with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silence was broken by a shout from Winchie playing -with the neighbor's children on the lawn. That sound -compelled her to another effort. She went to Basil, laid -her hands gently on his shoulders. "Basil," she pleaded, -tears in her eyes, in her voice, "for my boy's sake—for -my sake—go! Now that you think about it you can't but -see it's the decent, the honorable thing to do. Let's not -quarrel—we who have been so much to each other. Go and -let us save everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked into her eyes, and she knew that if he had -drunk as much that day as he did the day before, he would -have killed her and himself. But she saw that he, sober, -was hesitating, was moved by her appeal to his generous, -kind nature, overflowing with sentimentality. "Dear," she -said, "you can row out on the lake. And if everything's -all right I'll hang something white on this shutter here. -Then you can come back. Even if he comes home suspicious -he'll not think it strange that you're on the lake late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he may come to kill, and before I could get back——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he will not kill me, I tell you. I'm 'only a -woman.' I know him. You know, too. And if he would, -how could you save me? Would I want to live disgraced?" The -clock struck again. She gave a scream, flung her -arms round his neck. "Save me, Basil! Go—quick!—quick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the frightful things she had said to him and he -to her, there was left him only the choice between going -and killing her and himself. On the threshold he, with -tears in his eyes, embraced her and kissed her. "God help -me, I don't know what to do," he said. "I'll go. If it -turns out wrong, remember how you perplexed me—and -try to forgive me, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was so genuine, so manly and loving and she felt -so grateful to him that her own eyes filled and she gave -him her lips with her heart in them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood at the window; she walked up and down the -balcony. But she watched the lake in vain. Five minutes -ten—fifteen, and no Basil—Winchie came with his usual -rush, flung himself into the hammock. "What is it, -mamma?" he asked presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She startled, turned on him with eyes wild. "Oh!" -she gasped, her hand on her heart. "I didn't know you -were there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you watching for Mr. Gallatin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because, if you are, he came in with me a long time -ago and isn't out there any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence, she trying to keep her gaze off the lake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like him," the boy went on. "At least, some better -than I did. He knows a lot about fishing. When papa -blows himself up and never comes down any more, as -Jimmie says he will some day, I think I'll let Mr. Gallatin -stay on with us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney scarcely heard. She was grinding her palms -together and muttering incoherently when at last she saw -his boat pushing leisurely in the direction of Wenona. She -drew a long breath. But as the boat glided farther and -farther away, her sick heart failed her. She felt -abandoned—and afraid. For, she had not told the truth when -she said she knew Richard would not kill her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie stayed on, talking incessantly and no more -disturbed by her inattention than babbling brook or trilling -bird by lack of audience. His chatter fretted her like the -rapping of a branch on the window of an invalid. But -she would not send him away. If Richard should come, -Winchie's being there would halt him—perhaps, just long -enough. After an hour Winchie grew tired of talking and -ran off to play. She did not detain him—why, she did not -know—probably, because to detain him would have been to -encourage a fear that must be defied if the coming battle -for Winchie and reputation and life was not to be lost -before it began. She must not seem to be afraid. That -would be fatal. And the sure way to seem unafraid was to -be unafraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paced the floor. She watched the distant boat with -its single occupant. She sat and tried to finish her letter. -She roamed through the house. "I'll meet him in the -grounds," decided she—and, compelling herself to walk -slowly, she paced the road between gates and house—up -and down, up and down. Back to the house again, to her -room. "Yes, we'll not wait supper," she said, in answer -to Lizzie's inquiry. At supper, the sound of Helen's and -Winchie's voices rasped on her nerves. "Will he never -come?" she muttered. And without explanation, she left -the table, went again to her sitting room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you ill, dear?" asked Helen, putting her head -in at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied she, curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen went, but Winchie came. "You must hear my -prayer, mamma."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen taught it to you. Let her hear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. She's busy downstairs, and I'm in a hurry to go -to sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—just say it by yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems foolish to say it, with nobody to listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat on the floor beside his bed. He knelt before -her, eyes closed, hands folded as Helen had taught him. -She was listening—listening—listening. "If he came -now—" thought she—one of those sardonic fancies that leer -even from a coffin. She stayed on with the boy, getting -him to tell her stories, she the while listening, listening for -sounds on the drive, on the stairs—and hearing only the -sound of the seconds splashing one by one into eternity. -Winchie fell asleep. She kissed him, fled from his -room with a choke in her throat. She composed herself, -descended to the kitchen. Lizzie and Mazie were -there, and as she opened one door Jimmie entered by the -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She became suddenly weak, but contrived to say to him, -"Didn't you bring Mr. Vaughan back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ma'am—an hour ago—most. He got down at -the gate and went to the Smoke House. He wanted to see -Mr. Gallatin—said for me to send him if he was up here. -But Mr. Gallatin's went out in a boat and ain't in yet. -Guess he's spending the evening over to Wenona."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She closed the door, leaned weak and sick against the -wall of the passageway. Richard knew! Back to her -room. She walked, she sat, she lay down. She watched -the clock. The moments were aging her like years. Each -second was dropping into eternity with a boom that echoed -in her shuddering heart. She looked at herself in the -mirror. Skin ashen; lines round her mouth—the gauntness -of age peering ghastlily through her youth like a -skeleton with a fresh young mask over its face bones. A -black band all round each eye, the eyes blazing out -feverishly. "He must not see me like this," she cried. She -went down to the dining room, trembling and listening at -every step, like a thief. She drank a glass of brandy at -the sideboard, fled to her rooms again. She took the pitcher -of ice water into the bath room, emptied it into the bowl -of the stationary stand, bathed her face. She pressed a -lump of ice against her blue-black burning lids. "Why -don't I wake?" she said, for throughout she had the sense -of unreality that attends but does not lessen an impending -horror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twelve o'clock—"I'll go to bed. I'll take Winchie -into bed with me. Not because I'm afraid but because I'm -lonely." She felt a great longing to live. She felt young -and strong, and the look and the odor of life were delicious. -If only this crisis could be passed! No matter how—no -matter how! "I've the right to live!" She lifted Winchie -gently from his bed, carried him to hers. The warmth of -his vivid young body stole sweet and sad through her thin -nightgown, through her flesh into her heart. He half -awakened, half put out his arms to embrace her, murmured -"Mamma"—was asleep again. She sobbed a little in -self-pity, dried her tears for shame, lay down beside her boy, -nestled one hand under his body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment she felt better. Then up she rose, bore -him back to his own bed, returned. But as she was closing -the door, she hesitated—"It's not hiding behind him. -If I have him with me, it may save him from disgrace." She -was about to open the door, when she turned away -abruptly. "No! If I did that, I'd deserve to die. Why -should I hide behind Winchie? Why should I hide, at all? -I may have done wrong, but I wronged myself, not -Richard. I may have done wrong. But I had the right to do -wrong." She put out the light, lay down again, somewhat -calmer. Suddenly she sat bolt upright in the darkness. -She had forgotten all about Basil! Had he rowed back, -had he and Richard met——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hall door of her bedroom opened softly—she had -intentionally left it unlocked. She sank back against the -pillows. Her heart stooped beating as she listened. No -further sound. When she could endure no longer, she said, -"Who is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick's voice, saying, "Oh, you aren't asleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What time is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About half past one." It was Richard's voice, yet -not his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence. She could hear her heart beating—the -ticking of the little clock on the night stand—the murmur -of the breeze among the boughs—and another sound—she -thought it must be the beating of his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he: "May I turn up the light—just for a minute?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll turn it up." She did so, and as she lay down -again saw with a swift furtive glance that his face -was haggard, that his eyes seemed deep sunk in black -pits, and that he was gazing at the floor. And still -she had the sense of unreality, of the dream that will -pass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He advanced a step or two. She felt him intently looking -at her. Again that breathless silence. Then he gave -a great sigh, bent over her, gently kissed her hair. "What -glorious hair you have," he said. "And what a pure, -innocent face. It's only necessary to see your face, to know -you are good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wondered why her skin was not burning, why her -lips did not open and her voice cry out. "But when -</span><em class="italics">this</em><span> is past," she said to herself, "no more lies—never -again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," he was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," she murmured, the sense of unreality, of -the passing dream, stronger than ever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him cross the room, heard the door close -behind him. She leaped from her bed to lock it. As she -was halfway across the room, the door opened. Mechanically -she snatched from the sofa a dark kimona, drew it -round her. "I forgot to turn out your light," he said. -"Oh—it was the night-stand light, wasn't it?" Then she -had the sense of impending disaster and— His whole -expression, body as well as face, changed. His eyes seemed -starting from his head. "You—you"—he stammered—"That -night when I came home unexpectedly—" He flung -out his arms, dropped heavily to the chair behind him. -"It's true!" he gasped. "It's </span><em class="italics">true</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The kimona that had helped to remind him and to -betray her had dropped from her listless shoulders to the -floor. She seated herself on the edge of the bed, her hands -clasped loosely in her lap. She looked calmly at him. -She now felt as much her normal self as she had up to the -moment when Lizzie brought her the news that he had -gone to Nanny. She was glad the crisis had come. -More—she was glad he knew the truth. "Now," she said to -herself, with dizzy elation, "I'll either die or begin to live. -'Nothing is settled, till it's settled right.' My life will -be settled right, at last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made several attempts to look at her, could not lift -his eyes. As they sat there she seemed innocence and he -guilt. "Nanny told me," he said, as if feeling round for -a beginning. Then, after a long wait, "She said she -couldn't die with it on her conscience. I thought her mind -was wandering—but—somehow—I couldn't—" He broke -off. Another long wait. He ended it with the question she -had been expecting: "Where's—he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another pause, longer. "I'm stunned—stunned." He -stared at the floor, his head between his hands, his elbows -on his knees. "So—he ran away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sent him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad. I might have—" He did not finish. -"I'm stunned," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clasped her hands round one knee—a favorite -attitude of hers—and waited. It was a time for her to be -silent, to watch, to wait. A word, any word, from her -might cause the explosion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you send him away?" he asked. It was -as if he were talking with a stranger about an indifferent -matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he has nothing to do with this. It's between -you and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their eyes met. "Nothing to do with this?" he -repeated, as if trying to understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's between you and me," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes turned away, as if he were reflecting upon -this. Silence again. Then he: "I don't know what to -do. I know it's so, but I can't believe it. It's not like -you—not at all." He looked at her. She met his gaze steadily. -His eyes shifted. "Not at all," he repeated. He -was still talking as if to a stranger. She understood why; -it would have been impossible for any force, even such a -discovery as this, to galvanize into a living personality, -with a mind to think and to will, the woman who had for -six years been mere incident in his busy life, "Not at all -like you," he again repeated. "Yet—why did I feel it was -true as soon as Nanny told me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She remained silent and motionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't you speak?" he demanded, trying to rouse -himself to reality. "Why don't you defend yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So long as she did not defend, he could not attack. She -did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not deny. You admit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is safe, so long as he keeps away. You need not -be afraid to confess that he took advantage of a moment -of weakness." It was an offer of a defense he would -accept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She refused it instantly. "That is not true," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is," he insisted. "He took advantage of my -absence——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I did," she interrupted, "was of my own free -will—was what I felt I had the right to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes lifted to hers in amazement. Again they -found her gaze steady and direct. "Don't you realize -what you've done?" he exclaimed. Such an expression as -hers must mean either innocence or a shamelessness beyond -belief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I realize," she answered in the same calm -colorless tone in which she had spoken all her few words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How like a child you are," said he gently—and child-like -she certainty looked, sitting there all in white, so small -and lovely and sweet, with her heavy braids twisted round -her little head, giving her appearance a touch of -quaintness, of precocious gravity. "A mere child. You don't -even understand what you're accused of. It simply can't -be true—it—" He started up. "My God—if only I -hadn't seen that room that night!" And she knew he was -seeing what she was seeing—Basil's disheveled room—and -she in it, like it. "Courtney! Courtney! How could -you—how could you!" And down he sank with face buried -in his hands and shoulders heaving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hung her head in shame. In vain she reminded -herself how he had refused to treat her as a human being, -how he had spurned all her appeals, how he had refused -to let her live either with him or without him—would give -her neither marriage nor divorce. All in vain. Before his -grief she could feel only her own deceit. It might be true -that he had not allowed her to be honest; it was also true -that she had not been honest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she looked at him again, she was fascinated by -the expression of his long aristocratic profile—stern, -inscrutable. "I realize," he presently said, "that I don't -know or understand you at all. But of one thing I'm -certain—that you are not a bad woman. I've been recalling -you from the beginning—from our childhood even. You -never were bad. I can remember only sweet and -beautiful things about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She covered her face with her arm. "Don't!" she -murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't saying that to make you ashamed," he -hastened to explain. "I can't help feeling that somehow -or other I am more to blame than you. But that's aside. -The main thing is, we must both do the best we can to -straighten things out. Isn't it so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To straighten things out! Not to rave and curse and -kill—not scandal on scandal, disgrace on disgrace—but—"to -straighten things out." She pressed both hands to her -face, flung herself upon the pillow and sobbed into it—an -outburst like a long-pent volcano relieving itself of the -fiery monsters that have been tormenting its vitals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll not talk of it," he went on, as the storm was -subsiding, "until we're both of us calmer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long pause, the silence broken by the sound of her -sobs which she strove in vain to suppress. Then she heard -his voice gently saying "Good night." And she was alone, -dazed and shamed before this incredible anticlimax to her -forebodings.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxv"><span class="bold large">XXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At nine the next morning she appeared at the laboratory -as usual. As she was passing through Dick's room, -he glanced up. Their eyes did not meet. "Good morning," -she said without pausing. She was in the rear room -and out of view when his cold answering "Good morning" -came. She went about her work, and several times she -carried in to him the things she finished. He was absorbed, -seemed as unconscious of his surroundings as had been his -wont. It was the rule there never to interrupt; she did -not break the rule. Toward noon the quiet was disturbed -by the telephone buzzer. She answered. In Lizzie's voice -came, "The grocery over to Wenona wants to speak to -you." She knew at once that it was Basil. "Ask them -to call up again about four," replied she and went back to -her table. At noon she stopped work and left for the -house. At the usual time Richard appeared, had dinner -with them all, sat calm and silent and aloof, acting much -as he always did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the warm part of the year, with the gardens to look -after, it was her habit to spend only the mornings at the -laboratory. She sent Helen to the Donaldsons with Winchie -about three. When the telephone bell rang she herself -answered. First came the voice of some clerk, then -Basil's—"Is that you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm at Fenton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you—well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never better. Some one may be listening along the wire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand. You are </span><em class="italics">sure</em><span> all's well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure. Wait in New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand. Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she hung up the receiver and turned round, she -startled guiltily. There was Richard, just stepping from -lawn to veranda, his eyes upon her. She felt as if she -had been caught violating in stealth an implied compact -not to communicate with Basil. Dick's expression told her -that he was reading in her eyes with whom she had been -talking. When they were face to face, he on the veranda, -she one step up in the doorway, she said: "He wanted to -reassure himself before starting East."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick's lips curled slightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't fair for me to let you think him a coward. -I made him see so clearly that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were right," he interrupted. "I wish to hear -no more about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes flashed at his peremptory tone, reminiscent -of his habit of brushing her aside as merely woman. But -the thought of Winchie was a talisman against any attack -of temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You said last night," he went on, "that this is between -you and me only. You were right. So—I've wiped -him off the slate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they crossed the lawn toward the water's edge, she -felt a fear of him deeper than any that physical force -could inspire. If he had threatened—had reviled—had -done her physical violence, she would have met him with -contempt, with a sense of her own superiority. But how -deal with this intelligence? She had always known it was -an intelligence; she was realizing that it was an intelligence -she did not understand, was therefore superior to -her own. When they reached the benches near the -landing and sat, she was so weak that she could not have -walked many steps farther.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," he began, a quiet sarcasm in his tone that -did not lessen her uneasiness, "you rather misunderstood -me last night. In such circumstances, I believe, a man is -expected to tear his hair and paw the ground and do -violent things. I confess—" He hesitated an instant before -going on—"I've had that inclination several times since -I recovered from my stupor. Tradition and instinct -and—vanity—are strong. I'll have to ask you to be a little -careful what you say to me—not for your own sake but for -mine. I have some emotional dynamite in my nature. I -don't wish it to be set off. To mention only one thing, -there's Winchie to be thought of. I have no desire to -punish you. I feel too human myself, to play the part of -judge or executioner. But, most of all, I'm determined that -Winchie shall never know—which means that the world -must never know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her clenched hands relaxed as she drew the first free -breath since Lizzie told her where he had gone. Now, she -felt she could face him for the struggle for Winchie on less -unequal terms—not on equal terms, for he had the power -to take Winchie away from her—had the power -and— </span><em class="italics">How</em><span> could she prevent his using it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But when you came into the laboratory this morning -as if nothing had happened," he proceeded, "you showed -that you misunderstood me." He looked away reflectively. -"I don't know just how I restrained myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were mistaken," said she. "I went because it's -been my habit to go. I went just as you did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fixed his gaze upon her, danger in it. "You count -too much on your success in deceiving me thus far," he -said. "I must ask you not to do so—not to try to deceive -me. Do you suppose I don't know now why you've been -coming to the laboratory?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His menacing gaze did not daunt her. She met it -fearlessly. "That was the reason for a while—at first. -But for a long time I've been going because I liked the -work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He studied her with those eyes that saw into everything, -once they were focused properly. "I beg your pardon," -he said with formal courtesy. "It's true you couldn't -have worked so well if you hadn't liked the work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've loved it." And her tone put her sincerity beyond -question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced away. After a pause he said, "To go to -the point—the future. I thought at first that I'd decide -alone what should be done. Then it seemed to me I hadn't -the right to act—about Winchie—without at least finding -out what your ideas were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited long; she did not speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You feel, I suppose," he said gently, "that you've -forfeited the right to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not venture to contradict him. Anything she -would say, however guarded, might anger him—and -Winchie was at stake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I told you last night, I know you are somehow -not a bad woman. Until yesterday, I'd have said there -were just two classes of women—the good and the bad. -But I'd also have said that I'd have killed both you and -him. I find I've got to revise many ideas I had. Just -how, I don't know. I'm realizing in regard to my -grandfather what I've long realized about everything -else—that nothing from the past is trustworthy. The -wisdom of yesterday is the folly of to-day." He roused -himself from his half abstraction, said, "So—you -need not be afraid to speak out whatever is in your -mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On impulse of response to this breadth—an impulse that -was yet, perhaps, not without quick feminine wit to see -and seize advantage—she said, "You make me feel that I -can trust to your sense of justice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled satirically. "I see you still don't -understand. You fancy I'm more than human because I don't -act as if I were less than human. I know you are a woman, -but women have been given mind enough to distinguish -between right and wrong, between honor and dishonor. -And— Is it necessary that I give its plain name to what -you've done—to what you are?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said in a suffocating voice. Only her boy -was saving her from bursting out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—don't try to cajole me with talk about my -sense of justice. What do you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All in an instant—whether because her natural bent was -for the frank and courageous or because instinct told her -it was the only hopeful course with him—she resolved to -act as she felt, to speak her thoughts. "What do I ask?" -she repeated. "First, that you stop posing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flushed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you really mean," she hastened on, "that you're -acting as you have thus far because it's the right way to -act, because the way men usually act is wrong and -degrades them, why, you'll stop trying to convince me that -you're giving a wonderful exhibition of gracious generosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had no such intention."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why do you treat me as if I were an object of -charity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can hardly expect me to treat you as if you had -done something noble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say I'm not a bad woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They looked at each other in silence. "No, you are -not," he said. "You have acted like a bad woman, but you -are not a bad woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," she went on slowly, never taking her grave, -earnest eyes from his, "I want you to ask yourself how -it happens that the girl who, you said last night, was good, -the girl who loved you when she married you, has become -the woman you are condemning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence. He looked away, looked again—and his -gaze remained fixed upon her face. Then, in a low, -hesitating voice: "Well—how did it happen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you did not love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know better than that," he cried. "I've never -given any woman but you a thought. I've never—" He -broke off abruptly, grew angry. "But you're simply -trying to improve your position by putting me on -the defensive. And I ask you again not to goad -me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you did not love me," she repeated. "Your -anger shows that you are trying to deny the truth to -yourself. You married me on an impulse of passion. Oh, -you had the usual romantic deceptive names for it—the -words that make the man feel spiritual and tickle the girl's -vanity. But you've shown what it really was by giving -me only an incidental—carnal thought now and then. -That's been our married life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you not tell me you had these false, unjust -ideas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they're not false, not unjust," she rejoined. -"What do you know of me except my outside? What's -my mind like? What's my heart like? What do I, a -human being like yourself, think and feel? You don't -know. You've lived on your grandfather's pompous old-fashioned -ideal—that lust is love, if the preacher has christened -it—that a woman's whole life is the good pleasure of -her husband's various appetites."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused for breath. She was not so carried away -by the tempest of her emotions that she did not note that -he was listening and thinking. He presently said: "Even -so, how does that excuse </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?—you, the mother of -Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paled, and her hands clasped convulsively in her -lap. But she went boldly on. "I had a heart and a mind, -like you. How could a human being live the life you -assigned me? When I pleaded for a share in your life -you refused. When I begged for freedom you refused. -What I did was my compromise between the woman and -the mother. A mother isn't less a woman, Richard, but -more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose in his excitement; for, his keen mind -penetrated to her purpose. "You want your freedom and you -want my son!" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her gaze was steady but her deep voice trembled as -she answered, "I want my freedom and I want my child—the -child I brought into the world—the child I've watched -over from birth. Be fair—be just, Richard. What have -you done for him except provide the home the law would -have compelled? You've amused yourself playing with him -a few minutes now and then. You've asked me to buy him -a present now and then. And never even inquired whether -I'd done it. Do you know his birthday? Do you know how -old he is? Do you know anything about him? Why then -do you call him your son?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been in such struggle with his fury that he was -unable to check her torrent of half-defiant half-piteous -appeal. He now mastered himself sufficiently to say, -"How dare you talk to me like this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," replied she, quick as a flash, "I respect -your intelligence, even if you don't respect mine. You -asked me to speak freely. I've done it. Would you have -preferred me to lie to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked away from her to the edge of the lake, -immediately returned and sat again at the other end of the -bench. He eyed her passive figure—hands quiet in her lap, -gaze upon the town across the lake. Her face was quiet, -but all the intelligence and character which her gayety and -small stature and young loveliness veiled from unobservant -eyes were clearly revealed now. "It's a succession of blows, -these discoveries that you are so different from what I -imagined," said he. With bitter reproach, "When I think -how I exalted, how I idealized you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I ask you to do it? Did I tempt you by -hypocrisy? ... Whenever I'd try to show you what I was, -didn't you stop me or refuse to listen? And—is it true that -you idealized me? Is woman as mere female—mere flesh -an ideal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have told you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," she interrupted appealingly, suddenly all -animation, "you spoke without thinking. Think of me as -you'd think of one of your problems of chemistry. Don't -let your grandfather do your thinking—or the hypocritical -world—or the shallow people round us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent. Presently he rose to pace the retaining -wall. As she watched him there was no outward sign of -the dread that was licking at her heart like a flame at living -flesh. "And what of me?" he said, wheeling abruptly -upon her. "You say it was my fault that you did what -you've done. Do you mean to tell me you think you're not -to blame at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't think that," she answered. "If I'd been -brought up brave and independent, instead of to be a -cowardly dependent— Oh, the crime of it! To take a being -with a mind and a heart and, simply because it's female -instead of male, to bring it up so that it's unfit really to -live—to forbid it to live—to make it afraid to live! If I'd -been brave I'd have spoken out frankly. I'd have demanded -my freedom—I'd have taken it. As it was—I broke my -marriage promises—as you broke yours. It was chiefly -your fault." And she went on, with flushed cheeks and -accusing eyes: "I don't say it because I wish to shirk, but -because I must tell the whole truth so that you won't do a -cruel injustice. You promised me love and care and you -gave me lust and neglect. We were joined in equal -marriage. You treated me much as if I were a slave you'd -bought. And I had to submit. For, I really was a kind -of slave, and I hadn't the courage and the skill to go out -and make my own living—and anyhow, you could and would -have taken Winchie away from me, if I'd tried to do it. -Isn't that so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw that he was impressed. Again he reflected a -long time pacing up and down the wall. When he turned -toward her once more he said: "But listen while I state -plainly what you ask. You ask me to reward your treachery -by letting you marry the man who betrayed me—and -you cap it by asking me to let you make my son his!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Richard," she protested. "I simply ask you to -let me keep my child on any condition you make. I'll -promise not to see—him. I'll take Winchie and live on the -farm with my people until he's old enough to go away to -school. I know the law puts me at your mercy. But I -don't believe you'll use your power to crush me." She was -choking, was fighting back the tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to the retaining wall, gazed into the water -until she should fight down the evidences of weakness which -he could not but see she was ashamed of. When he joined -her again, it was to say in a voice that reassured her: "I -want to do what's best for us all—especially for Winchie. -It's very difficult.... When I think of the misery I might -have caused, if I had believed Nanny and hadn't had time -to reflect—I must not act until I've seen every -side—Winchie's—yours—mine——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of the supper gong came floating across the -lawn. Courtney rose mechanically and in silence they -returned to the house. Helen and Winchie had enjoyed -themselves at the Donaldsons, and told all about it. The -strain between Dick and Courtney passed unnoticed. When -Winchie went up, Courtney accompanied him. Toward ten -she left the book she had been pretending to read and sat -in the hammock on the balcony. The moon, huge and ruddy -through an opening among the boughs, poured its flood of -elfin light over lake and lawns and gardens. The soft -shadows, the vague vistas, the overpowering perfume of -honeysuckle and jasmine and rose combined to beguile her -out of all sense of reality. "I've been dreaming—dreaming," -she murmured. And what an incredible dream! No -man—least of all Richard, the prejudiced, the domineering—would -have acted so in real life. "A dream—a dream." It -was impossible, this experience of hers that belied all -she had read, all she had been taught, about the relations -of men and women. She, a married woman, had taken a -lover—and, instead of its degrading her, it had made her -better than she had been when she thrust love out of her -life and tried to live by rule of duty to husband. And -now—instead of her husband's killing her or of her killing -herself or of any of the various kinds of violence prescribed -for such situations, her husband had acted like a civilized -human being, gently, considerately, at the dictates of -humanity and not at the dictates of vanity. And instead of -abysm below abysm of disaster and death in punishment for -religion's scarlet sin of sins for woman, there was prospect -of a life in which she could profit by the experience she -had gained. "A dream—a dream." Or, was a new world -dawning?—a new way of living that made the old way seem -a grotesque carnival of the beast in man?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As she was dressing next morning, in came Winchie. -"Has papa gone away?" he asked at the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused with the eye of her belt at the prong of its -buckle. "Why?" said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know whether I dreamed it. I thought it was -so. I thought I waked up and there was papa kissing me. -And I thought it made me sad. And he said, 'Good-by, -Winchie. Take care of your mother and do what she says, -and don't forget me.' And I kissed him and said, 'Can't -Mamma Courtney and I go too?' And he said, 'No, dear.' And -I said, 'All right. Bring me a gun, like Charlie -Donaldson's.' And then I fell asleep again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the mirror she saw him run to the door into the hall, -pick up a letter which had evidently been thrust through -the crack. She turned and held out her hand. He brought -it to her, spelling out the "Courtney" written on it as he -came. "Go take Aunt Helen down to breakfast," she said. -When he was gone, she opened the envelope and read:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The important point is Winchie. I am going away to try -to think it out. However, one thing is certain. There must be -a divorce. In a few days I shall send you a formal notice of -abandonment, and you will begin an action at once. Until we -are free—perhaps so long as you are alone—it is best that -Winchie stay with you. I leave him on one condition—that -you keep him here, carrying on everything exactly as usual. -He must see no sign of change.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please let me know whether you accept. A line, in care of -my lawyers, James & Vandegrift, will reach me.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"R.V."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"So long as you are alone." Courtney felt as if the -air had suddenly changed from the leaden oppressiveness -of before the storm to the buoyant freshness afterwards. -With the paralyzing dread about Winchie removed, she -could think of the rest of the situation. She read the letter -again and again. The regularity of line and word, the -precision of phrasing indicated a carefully copied final draft. -There was not the faintest clue to the feelings of the -writer. She recalled those last two talks with him. At -both she was in no condition to observe him, so absorbed -was she in the things immediately at issue. But now, as -she went over his words, looks, manner, she saw a personality -wholly different from the Richard Vaughan she had -known—or had fancied she knew. That Richard Vaughan -really had no personality beyond a chemical intelligence, -was an abstraction like an algebraic formula. This Richard -Vaughan was a flesh-and-blood man; but—what sort of a -man? And his conduct toward her, did it not mean that he -had eliminated her as one empties out a test tube when the -experiment ends—in failure? Did it not mean supreme -indifference? Yes—it must be so. Still, no ordinary man, -however indifferent to wife and child, could act in such -circumstances so absolutely without personal vanity, with -such obvious determination to do nothing small or revengeful. -On any theory, there must be behind those curiously -unemotional lines a character big, generous, incapable of -meanness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at this newly revealed large personality, with -a depressing sense of her own contrasting smallness. In -the last few years of widening intelligence her sex vanity, -so diligently fostered throughout her childhood and -girlhood, had received many a rude shock from within as well -as from without. But none so rude, so demolishing as this. -"He's a man really worth while," thought she. "And -women are too insignificant either to be loved by such a -man or to love him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been bred in and to the American feminine -ideal—the woman graciously deigning to permit some man -to support her in idleness; the man more than repaid by -the honor of being allowed to support her; whatever -further he might get, a voluntary largess from his royal guest, -to be given or withdrawn at her good pleasure. This -delusion was a distorted tradition from a bygone era—an era -of conditions around the relations of the sexes that are -forever past. In that "woman's paradise" women were scarce -and men plenty; and there was the constancy that is natural -in a narrow life of severe toil, with the intelligence too -little developed to be restless or critical, with the passions -undisputedly in the ascendant. This feminine tradition had -been dying hard, as delusions flattering to vanity, -encouraging to laziness, ever do. She had tried to keep on -believing the lies she heard and read everywhere—especially -novelists and preachers dependent on unthinking women for -a living—the romantic exaltation of woman's love as of -value star spaces beyond the value of man's love. She had -tried to suppress her sense of humor and to be impressed -when she heard women speak of kissing a man in reward -for some service as if one of their kisses made an -archangel's diadem, in comparison, a cheap bauble. She had -tried not to see how intelligent men scarcely restrained the -grin of insincerity as they poured out extravagances to some -woman whom their whimsical passions chanced to covet. -She had struggled against the disillusionizing thoughts -about her own sex's private opinion of itself that would -arise as she noted how often women treated lightly -the man who took them seriously and all but offered -themselves to him who winked as he bought or passed -on untempted or cynically inquired for the inside price.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Step by step she had been thrust out into the truth that -the whole feminist cult was a colossal fiction, that in the -actualities of the life of this new era woman's value was -precisely like man's—the usefulness of the particular -combination of mind and heart, intellect and character, that -made up the personality. She began to suspect that woman's -ability to sway man through his passion was more often -a handicap to her, and to him, than a help to either. She -began to realize that learning how to use that ability wisely -was the supreme hard problem the life of to-day set for -woman to solve or perish. While passion sometimes had -made one man for a moment slave to some one woman, or -a few men slaves to any woman, it had through all time -made womankind slave to mankind. And in the new era, -while the slave was still willing, the master was becoming -weary, was demanding something less burdensome, more -companionable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she stood at the bureau, buckle still unfastened, eyes -and mind upon those few calm, precisely pruned lines of -Dick's, there came a thought that dealt a deathblow to her -long dying feminine </span><em class="italics">folie de grandeur</em><span>. While it was true -she had not sought nor wished Dick's interest of any kind, -the fact remained that he, after living in daily contact with -her for six years, had been so little affected by her -personality that he was letting her go without any sign of -emotion. "But I am as indifferent to him as he to me." she -urged upon herself in hope of some slight consolation. She -instantly remembered that it was he, not she, who had -begun the indifference. And then came the stinging, -blood-heating recollection that he had used at his pleasure the -only part of her that had been able to impress him as -valuable to a man of purpose and achievement. Nor could she -dismiss him with a contemptuous "low minded and -unworthy," for she knew he was neither. Squirm how she -would, she could not get away from the humiliating -fact—"six years of me, and not even enough physical value -to make his jealousy for a single moment triumph over -his sense of self-respect!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie had finished breakfast and was playing with -his wagon on the veranda. Helen was still at table. "Has -Mr. Gallatin gone East with Dick?" she inquired, turning -rosy red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Courtney, not noting Helen's color. If -she had, she would have suspected nothing. When Helen -came home in good spirits from that visit to Saint X, after -the Chicago shopping trip, and was no longer ill at ease -with Basil, Courtney—eager, as we all are, to seize the first -pretext to be relieved of a weight upon conscience—assumed -that she had got completely over her fancy. As for Basil, -Courtney trusted him absolutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he's away, isn't he?" persisted Helen, after a -pause. "Lizzie tells me his rooms haven't been disturbed -for two nights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He went day before yesterday, I believe," said -Courtney. "Did you see Richard this morning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a minute. He was hurrying for the train when -I came down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought he didn't look very well, last night," -pursued Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen, absorbed in her own agitating thoughts, failed -to respond to this lead; so she put the question direct. -"How did he look this morning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About as usual," replied Helen. "I didn't notice any -change. He had on that new gray suit. It's very -becoming. When's he coming back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney seemed not to have heard. "He forgot to -give me his address. Did he leave it with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Willard in Washington, then the Astor in New -York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be I'll want to write him or something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think so!" cried Helen. "You and he write -every day, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to each other," said Courtney dryly. "We never -did establish the daily letter. That's one of the dreariest -farces in married life. It belongs to the kind of people -who think they're happy because they're too stupid or too -bored to quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had eaten the tip end of a roll and drunk a -little coffee, she went out on the veranda, sent Winchie to -the lawn and asked Helen to sit with her at the western -end where no one could hear or overhear. "You asked me -when Richard was coming back," she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was simply a chance question," apologized Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's not coming back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not coming back!" echoed Helen. "You're going to -move East?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The emerald eyes met Helen's excited glance placidly. -"We are going to get a divorce," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen's big brown eyes opened wide. With lips ajar -she stared at Courtney. Then she gave a little laugh that -sounded as if the shock had unbalanced her mind and -reduced her to imbecility. "A divorce," she murmured -feebly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We both wish to be free," continued Courtney, talking -in the matter-of-fact way that was the surest preventive -of hysteria in herself or in Helen. "So, he's gone -away. I'll stay here a while, then— But I haven't made -any plans. There's plenty of time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence, Helen gazing at Courtney, at Winchie -racing along the paths with his red-striped wagon, at Courtney -again, at trees and lake, as if she doubted the reality -of all things. "I don't know what to say!" she exclaimed -at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," replied Courtney, "since there's nothing -to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There aren't two people better suited to each other. -Why, you never quarreled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it. I love contention. He wouldn't give it to -me. So—pop goes the weasel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you! When your heart must be breaking." Helen -put aside her stupefaction and brought the tears to -her soft brown eyes in tardy conformity to the etiquette for -nearest female friend on such occasions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, dear, please don't cry. You know that I know -how easy it is for women to cry, and how little it means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen hastily dried her eyes. "Oh, dear! It must be -fixed up!" she said in a more natural tone, genuinely -sympathetic and friendly. "He doesn't mean it. I'm sure he -doesn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed—rather disagreeably. Helen was -confirming her own newly formed, anything but exalted -opinion of herself as a human value. "I suppose it'll never -for an instant occur to anyone that I might be the -discontented one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you know, yourself, Courtney," stammered Helen, -"it doesn't seem likely a woman'd give up a good husband -and a good home——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's arresting smile was bitterly ironic. "Indeed -it doesn't," assented she. "Give up what she married for? -Not unless she was sure of a better living. Men think they -marry for love—but it's really to—I'm not equal to -saying why men marry. You can find the reason in Ben -Franklin's autobiography, if you care to look it up. As for us -women—it's the living."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not true of me!" cried Helen, who had in all its -amusing, or exasperating, efflorescence the universal -feminine passion for drawing everything down to the personal, -for seeking a compliment to herself or a reflection upon -herself in any and every remark addressed to her by man or -woman. "Poor as I am, I'm——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, dear," said Courtney with good-humored -raillery. "At your age I was talking the same way. -You'll find out some day that the hardest person in the -world to get acquainted with is your real self. Why, there -isn't one human being in ten million who'd know his real -self if they met in the street." She rose to inspect the -thick mat of morning-glories trellised up the end of the -veranda. "And most of us, if we were introduced to our -real selves, would refuse to speak to such low -creatures—especially the romantic people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> I'd not marry for </span><em class="italics">anything</em><span> but love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney, her back to Helen, was busy with the -morning-glories. "Of course," said she. "One may eat because -one is fond of the dinner—of the dishes, of the way it's -served, of the company, and so on, and so on. But what's -the </span><em class="italics">real</em><span> reason?" She turned on Helen with a mocking -smile. "Why, because to live one must eat. That makes -the rest incidental. A sensible person tries to take the most -favorable view of the food he has to eat or go without. A -sensible woman does her best to love the man that asks her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you wouldn't say that sort of things, Courtney," -Helen cried. "I know illusions are illusions, but I want to -keep them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's expression changed abruptly. The deep-green -eyes looked dreamily away. "If only one </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> keep -them!" she said. "But one can't." She shook her head -sadly. "One can't." Then her face brightened. "My -dear, it's better to throw them away oneself and get—perhaps -something better—certainly something truer—in place -of them. Sooner or later life will snatch them away, -anyhow—and leave one quite naked." She turned sad, -mysterious eyes on the girl. "You don't know," she went on, -"what it has cost me, this being bred in illusions. -Illusions—everywhere! Illusions for and about everything and -everybody! Oh, Helen—Helen—that's what's the matter -with us women. That's why we're such poor creatures—why -we make such bad marriages, why we're such imperfect -wives and mothers. We don't think. We purr or -scratch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long pause, then Helen sighed. "And I believed you -and Richard were happy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Courtney, her smile mocking, but pain -in her eyes. "But we're going to be—if we can get over -what our illusions have cost us and can set our feet on the -solid earth. No more lies! And the biggest lie of all is -that lying can ever bring real happiness." She was -standing in the long, open window. She thought a moment, then -said with an energy that frightened the girl: "And I'm -sick—sick—sick of perfumes that end in a stench!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That afternoon she sent an acceptance of Richard's -proposition—a "line" as he had suggested: "Winchie and -I will stay on here until the divorce—and, if you so wish, -so long as I am alone. I will keep Helen here, too." On -the fourth morning after the dispatch of this, there came -a letter from James & Vandegrift, inclosing one, unsealed, -from Richard. She read the inclosure first:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"MADAM: From this date I cease to be your husband. -You may take such legal action as this may suggest.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"RICHARD VAUGHAN."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She understood that Dick was simply meeting the legal -requirements. But, these curt words made her tremble, -made her skin burn, made her eyes sink with shame, though -she was alone. A few moments and she glanced at the -accompanying note from the lawyers. This sentence in it -caught her eye: "As two years is the legal period in this -State in actions on the ground of abandonment, you will -observe that the date of Mr. Vaughan's letter enables you -shortly to begin suit." She took up Dick's letter, looked -at the date—August 17th, two years before. Then in a -few weeks she could sue; in a few weeks more, she would be -free. Free! That charmed word had no spell of -exultation for her. She sank down by the window with heart -suddenly faint and terror-stricken. She had been looking -forward to a long time in which to plan—about Winchie, -about her future, about Basil. And she would have only a -few weeks. A few weeks—and her whole future to be -decided—and she without experience, without anyone she could -rely upon or even consult, without resources.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>August 17th—why had he chosen that date? With so -many serious things to think of, her mind kept swinging -back to that triviality—why August 17th? All at once it -flashed upon her. August 17th—that was the date when -Nanny had spied on her and Basil at the summerhouse. -She covered her face, and the blood surged in hot billows -against her scorching skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen came, crying: "Oh, there you are. Winchie wants -ice cream for supper. Don't you think— Why, Courtney, -how solemn you look!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would, too," said Courtney, "if your hair -had been falling out the way mine has lately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be so foolish," reassured Helen. "You could -lose half of what you've got, and still have more than most -women.... Perhaps it's worry that's making it fall?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—worry? How absurd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't believe you ever do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's have the ice cream. Chocolate. And I feel -just like jelly roll."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvi"><span class="bold large">XXVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The pause before the first decisive step toward -freedom—and perhaps away from Winchie—had shrunk to a day -less than two weeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is mercifully not in human nature vividly to anticipate -catastrophe. Death is the absolute certainty; yet no -living being can imagine himself dead. And it was anything -but certain that Dick would ever assert his legal right -and take away her child. In her anxiety about Winchie, -she had been giving much thought to Dick's character, -which would be the deciding factor. And she was surprised -at the knowledge of it she had unconsciously absorbed. -Except among fools—who, whether they look within or -without, see nothing—it is a commonplace of experience to -discover that what we fancied we thought about a certain -person or thing is precisely the opposite of what we really -think when compelled to interrogate ourselves honestly. -That is why the whole world can live and die by formulas -in which it has not the least actual belief. These discoveries -of our self-ignorance always astonish us, no matter how -often they occur. Courtney had got many surprises of this -kind in the past two years; yet this find—her intimate -knowledge of her "abstract" husband's character—seemed -incredible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It wasn't strange that she should know how he took his -coffee, his favorite brand of cigarettes and of whisky, that -he detested cold baths and would not wear underclothes with -silk in them, or, if it could possibly be avoided, starched -shirts—that he hated low shoes and high collars. As a -"dutiful wife" she had made it her chief business, after -Winchie, to see to her legal husband's material comfort, -so far as he would permit it. But how had she come by a -deep conviction of his honesty, of his truthfulness, of his -incapacity for meanness of any kind? Where had she got -her confidence in his sense of justice—he who had alienated -her by his stubborn and tyrannical injustices to her? Why -did she summarily dismiss as absurd the suggestion that -his recent conduct was dictated merely by indifference to -her or selfish consideration for his own comfort? These -high ideas of him certainly did not date from their -courtship and honeymoon; for, then she had no more interest -or discrimination as to character than the next young -person. There was no accounting for it. She simply found -that these beliefs were immovably lodged under the -opinion of him she had supposed was hers—the opinion that -had made her love for Basil seem as right as if she had been -a girl. So, while she feared he would take Winchie away -from her, with a fear dark enough to shadow her days and -make many a night uneasy, she was always saying to -herself believingly, "He could not do anything unjust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One evening she fell into a somber mood. It wasn't so -clear as usual that Dick would see the to her obvious -injustice of separating mother and child. She left Helen, went -up and stole in to sit by Winchie's bed—a habit she had -formed lately. She got so low spirited that, when she heard -Helen go along the hall toward the upstairs sitting room, -she slipped downstairs and out into the air to wander among -the flowers and beneath the scented trees. There was a -thin moon and one of those faint, soft, intermittent breezes -that give the disquieting yet fascinating sense of spirit -companionship. She strolled to the edge of the lake; the -fireflies seemed the eyes of the breeze spirits that were -whispering and friendlily touching her. She saw a boat with -a single occupant a few yards down the lake, close in shore. -Even as she glanced, a low voice—Basil's—came from the -boat: "Courtney—may I come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not startled. Before the voice she had thought, -"Basil will probably be trying to see me before long." She -answered in the same undertone, "Helen may be looking -this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you sit on the bench down here, I can come to you. -The shadow's deep enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, went to the bench he indicated. The -press of the immediate had been all but keeping him out of -her mind. But whenever she did think of him it was as her -lover. With a nature as tenacious as hers habit is not -dethroned in a day or demolished all at once by any convulsion -however violent. Also, the more she suffered and the -lonelier she felt—not a soul about to whom she could speak -or hint any part of what was harassing her—the more -tender grew her thoughts of the man in whom she had invested -so much. Throwing good love after bad is not a rare -human weakness—and Courtney was by no means certain in -those depressed days that her investment had been bad, -as such investments go in a world of human beings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He soon had his boat opposite the bench, made it fast. -He sprang to her, seized her hands and was kissing them. -"No—no. You mustn't," she protested, drawing away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me all about it!" he cried. "How I suffered till -I heard your voice on the telephone! I was watching the -house with a glass all afternoon until dark. I was in the -boat, lying a few rods up there all night. And from dawn -I was across the lake watching with the glass again. So, -I knew everything was quiet. But until your voice came, -I was mad with dread—though I had seen you, just like -your usual self, in the grounds and on the veranda hours -before. But—tell me all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing to tell," said she. His recital had -seemed to her as if it were of something in which she had -neither part nor interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows, doesn't he?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—he knows." And there she stopped because she -never had discussed and never would discuss with anyone -what happened between her and her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is he going to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But— Don't keep me in suspense, dear. Is he -going to get a divorce?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I'm to get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your voice is very queer. Aren't you—glad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid about Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—of course. Does he threaten to—" Basil halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But— Basil, you must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go? It's perfectly safe here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But I've no right to see you, after the way -he has acted—until I'm free." All true enough; yet she -could not make her voice sound right to herself. "It isn't -wise and it isn't honorable," she ended haltingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw, or rather felt, him eying her somberly. "When -will you be free?" he asked in a constrained tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a few months—I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then we shall marry at once." He said it in the -tone a man uses when he wishes to convince himself and -another that what he is saying is the matter of course.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed unpleasantly. "You don't seem overjoyed -at the prospect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm thinking of Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" A pause; then he asked, "As soon as you've -got Winchie safely, we'll marry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was a question she had not faced alone, yet. She -was far from ready to face it with him. She found one -of those phrases that come easily and naturally to women, -ever compelled to be diplomatic. "If we both wish it -then." Lightly, "You see, as I'm escaping with -reputation intact, you're not bound to marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bound?" he exclaimed. "Courtney, please don't joke -about this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm quite serious—though I don't act as funereally -as you do when you think you're serious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We love each other, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do we?" An impulse of honesty, of impatience at -her own yielding to the temptation to temporize forced her -to say it, "Do we, Basil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney, have you—changed? Can't you forgive me -for——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't that," she interrupted, and she thought she -was telling the truth. "Let's never speak of that. -No—it's— Could anyone go through what we have without -being—sobered?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true. It has made me love you more intensely, -more earnestly than ever. What we've suffered has made -us like—like the two pieces of metal the fire fuses into -one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That </span><em class="italics">sounds</em><span> nice. But—is it so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know it is!" he cried angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't," she replied, as if she were weighing -every word. "I've made up my mind not to tell any more -lies, especially to myself. I don't feel as I used to feel. -There's—some one between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vaughan?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I've a sense of obligation to him. If you had -seen what I saw—how far above the little men who go in -for cheap theatricals or act like mad dogs——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To his sensitiveness it seemed for an instant that she -was hitting at him, was slyly reminding him of his own -conduct. But he soon felt that he was mistaken—that -there was another reason why her words stung him. "It -sounds as if you were falling in love with him," he said -in a grotesque attempt at a voice of raillery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied she, and her voice satisfied him. "That -part of my life is over. It could no more be brought back -than last year's summer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winter," he corrected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wasn't all winter, to be fair," said she, and changed -the subject with, "But—remember, you are free—free as -I am. We shan't see each other or hear from each other -for a long time. It may be that you'll fall in love with -somebody else——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney, do you love me? ... Look at me. Answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She continued to gaze out over the lake. "Honestly, -I do not know. Sometimes I think I do. Again I wonder, -did I love you or was I only in love with love? It's -so easy to fool oneself when one wants any thing as much as -I wanted love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you knew how you were—hurting me you'd not -say these things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you rather I lied to you?" she asked gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes! For, I love you and I can't live without you. -You've made yourself necessary to me. We must marry -as soon as you are free and have Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—we will marry, I suppose. There isn't anybody -so near to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winchie </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," he said. "It's—beautiful. Ah, -Courtney, we must marry as soon as we can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I must—" She paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, dear. What is it that's to keep us apart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must be independent as well as free." The truth -was out at last—the truth her nature as a woman of -sheltered breeding was always dodging, but which her -intelligence and pride were forcing her to face. "I must be -independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There couldn't be any question of that kind between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There shan't be," replied she with energy that startled -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll settle any amount you say on you. I'll make -myself your dependent if you wish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed in a sweet, tender way. Whatever his -faults and failings, he certainly was generous. "Basil!" -she murmured. Then: "As if that would help matters. -Why, anything I got from you would only increase my -dependence. No, I must be really free—so neither of us -could think for an instant I was your wife because I had -to be supported—or you were my husband because you felt -I was helpless. We women have got to stop being canary -birds if we're to get real self-respect—or real consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What queer notions you do get," said he with man's -tolerant amusement at the fantasies of the women and the -children. "Think of wasting such a night—and our few -minutes together—discussing theories—and sordid ones!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sordid! Basil, we're made out of earth and we've got -to live on the ground. I'm done forever with the kind of -romance and idealism we were brought up on. I'm going -to build as high as I can, but I'm going to build on the -ground. No more cloud castles that vanish when the wind -changes. I'm going to use romance for decoration not -for building stone, and cakes for dessert, not in place of -bread."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed appreciatively. "How clever you are! -We'll get on beautifully," he said. "You're the sort of -woman that never bores a man or makes him feel like -looking about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you the sort of man that never bores a woman -or makes her feel like looking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not for me to say," answered he with a careless laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It doesn't strike you as important—what a woman -might think about such matters, does it?" said she, -good-humored in her mockery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—if the woman's you. But let's not bother -about such things. It seems such a waste of time. One -kiss?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. "Not with Richard looking on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you </span><em class="italics">want</em><span> me to kiss you—dear?" he said passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a nervous glance toward the house she rose. -"Please!" she said, in vague entreaty. "You must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't told me—anything—yet." He cast hurriedly -about for some way to detain her. "There are your -plans for being independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do sit down. I'll not touch you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't that, Basil. It's for the same reason that I -didn't write and can't. Hasn't what he's done pledged us -both to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say any more, Courtney," he interrupted; for -he saw how profoundly in earnest she was, and respected -her for it. "You're right. I'm going." He took her -hand, pressed it. "Dear," he said, "do you know what it -was that nearly drove me insane after you sent me away? -As soon as I thought about it, I knew no harm would come -to you. He's neither a coward nor a beast. But I was -afraid you'd—kill yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never thought of it," laughed she. "I'm too healthy. -You ought to build your romance round some lady with -the morbid ideas that go with addled insides—the kind -they write novels about—only they call it soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was amused in spite of himself. "It's lucky for -you," said he, "that you look like a romance. If you -didn't, your way of talking would discourage terribly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is lying the only romance?" said she. "Can't you -enjoy the perfume of a flower unless you make a silly -pretense that perfume and flower are a fairy queen and her -breath?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went with him to the retaining wall, gave him her -hand, tried to respond to his loving pressure. He got into -the boat. His expression in that odorous, enchantment-like -dimness thrilled her. The feeling that he was going—leaving -her to face the lowering future alone—saddened -her, moved her to an emotion very like the love that had -so often agitated her in these very shadows. And when -he murmured, "Soon—my love!" she echoed "Soon!" in -a voice melodious with the meaningless, impulsive -sentiment of the moment. It sent him away believing. He -pushed off. She watched the boat glide deeper and deeper -into the shadow. A few seconds and the darkness had -effaced it. She went slowly up the lawn. Before she -reached the house, Winchie was again uppermost in her -thoughts; to think of Basil involved puzzling over too many -problems she was not yet ready to face.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That was one of the years when the warm weather stays -on and on; goes for a night, only to return with the -morning sun and change the hoar frost on the grass into dew; -then in late October or later drifts languorously -southward through the dreamy haze of Indian summer. On an -afternoon midway of this second and sweeter, if sadder, -summer Courtney came out of her sitting room to the -balcony to rest a moment and to watch the sun set—a dull -red globe like a vast conflagration of which the autumnal -mists were the smoke and steam. Winchie and Helen were -playing ball on the lawn, with Helen making great -pretense of being unable to catch or to hold Winchie's curves -and hard straights. Winchie, about to throw, dropped the -ball, jumped up and down clapping his hands, made a -dash for the veranda, crying "Papa! Papa!" Next she -saw Helen, in confusion, turn and go in the same direction, -her delicate skin paling and flushing by turns.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the upstairs sitting room was the seamstress who -made a local journal of society gossip unnecessary; as the -divorce suit had been begun and was the chief local topic, -the less she saw and heard, the more what she'd circulate -would sound like pure invention. Courtney went along the -balcony to the hall window and entered there. Winchie -had just reached the top of the stairs. "Oh, mamma—" he -began, all out of breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know," said she, laying her finger on her lips. -"Let's go down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And holding him by the hand she descended. Richard -and Helen were in the lake-front doorway, Richard talking, -Helen obviously nervous. Courtney advanced, her hand -extended. "How do you do?" said she with easy friendliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No need to ask you that," replied Dick. "Or the -boy, either. How he has shot up!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've had a great summer and fall for growing -things," said Courtney. Then to Helen: "Don't let us -interrupt your game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—of course— Come, Winchie," stammered Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just watch me pitch, father," cried Winchie. "Jimmie's -taught me to curve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't say!" exclaimed Dick with an interest -whose exaggeration roused no suspicion in the boy's breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While Richard was watching the exhibition with such -exclamations as "fine"—"that's a soaker"—"look out or -you'll do up your catcher," Courtney was watching him. -She found no trace of the weary, tragedy-torn misanthrope -of song and story. Evidently Dick had been too busy with -other things to bother about himself. Instead of travel -stains, there was neatness and care and not a little fashion -in his apparel. Never had she seen him so well dressed—-and -in admirable taste from collar and tie to well-cut -tan boots. His hair was short—the way it was becoming -to his long, strong face and finely shaped head. The face -was not so gaunt as in those years of close application, -especially the last two years when indigestion was giving -him its look of hunger and sallow ill temper. The cheeks -had filled out, had bronzed, and the blood was pouring -healthily along underneath. It was distinctly a happier -face, too. The eyes following Winchie's elaborate -contortions in imitation of the famous pitcher of the Wenona -Grays had an expression of aliveness and alertness that -meant interest in the world about him. He had been one -of those men of no age, like monks and convicts and -professional students. He was now a young man—and a -handsome young man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he turned away from the ball game, they went -to the eastern end of the veranda. She sat in the -hammock, he leaned on the broad arm of a veranda chair. -"Well," said he, by way of a beginning, "you see I'm -back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been abroad—haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paris and Switzerland. I had a grand time. Fell -in with some English people and we did three passes -together, and then rested and amused ourselves at St. Moritz. -Then—to Paris. I never thought I'd care about eating, -but the Ritz seduced me. I think of nothing else. -Then—London, to get myself outfitted. I needed it badly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What he said sounded strange enough from him, from -Richard the abstraction, the embodied chemistry. The way -he said it was stupefying. There was lightness; there was -the sparkle that bubbles to the surface of every look and -phrase of a person with a keen sense of humor. Richard -had plainly come to life while he was away. Said Courtney: -"I suspect you've not worked very hard this summer -and fall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Work?" replied he, with a laugh. "Not I! It was -a hard pull at first, the habit had become so strong. But -I determined I'd freshen myself up. Once I got away -where I could take an impartial look at things, I saw I -was not only not getting the right results by such stolid, -stupid grinding but was actually destroying my mind—was -getting old and stale. So, I locked up the laboratory -I carry round inside me, and set out to learn to live—to -learn to have a good time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you did?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once I found congenial people. At first I was afraid -I'd been stupid so long that I'd lost the power to enjoy. -But it came back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he talked Courtney's spirits went down and down. -Just why, she could not have told. She certainly wished -Richard well, had no desire that he should be miserable—at -least, no active desire—though, of course, she was -human and would have found some satisfaction of vanity -in a Richard hard hit by the discovery that his domestic -life was in ruins. Still, this vanity of desire to be taken -tragically was not with her the passion it is in most men -and women. She was far more puzzled than piqued. She -could not understand how so serious, so proud a man as he -could dismiss a cataclysm thus lightly, no matter how -little he cared for her. She had pictured him suffering, -suffering intensely; these pictures had given her many a -self-reproachful pang, and of real pain too. Now— Looking -at this robust, handsome, cheerful person, well fed -and well dressed, she felt she had been making a fool of -herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that I come to examine you," he was saying, -"you don't look at all well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a truth of which she had been uncomfortably -conscious from her first glance at him. "You ought to -have gone away somewhere," he went on. "It's a bad -idea to stay in the same place, revolving the same set of -ideas too long. Mrs. Leamington taught me that. You'd -like her. Your height—much your figure—fairer skin, -though—that clear healthy dead white—a lot of really -beautiful black hair—the kind with the gloss that's not -greasy. She certainly was interesting. I didn't even mind -her love of money. She simply had to have it—needed it -in her business of being always wonderfully dressed and -groomed to the last hair and the last button."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard paused to enjoy contemplating the portrait he -had painted. Courtney wished to hear more. "She was -in your party?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She made most of the interest. She cured me of my -insanity for work—gave me a wider view—made me stop -being a vain ass, thinking always about my own little -ambitions and worries. There's a lot that doesn't attract -me in women of the world. They're extremely petty at -bottom, I find. But at least they do come nearer the truth -with their cynicism than we quiet people with our -preposterous egotism of solemnity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once more her vanity winced—that he should fancy he -had to go to Europe and learn of a cynical mercenary of -an English woman what she herself had made the law and -gospel of her life for years. How feeble her impression -upon him had been! True, the only chance one has to -make an impression is in the beginning of acquaintanceship; -and in their beginning she had been too inexperienced, -too captivated with romance—too youthful to have -developed much personality. Still, all that did not change -the central fact—she had been futile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's the divorce coming on?" he asked abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed—perhaps not so genuinely as it -sounded, but still with real humorous appreciation. "The -beautiful English woman—a long silence—then the question -about the divorce—that's significant," she explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's not the marrying kind," replied he, easily -enough. "She'll stay free as long as her looks and her -money hold out. Then she'll marry some rich chap and -go in for society.... She was an interesting woman—a -specimen, so to speak. And I owe her a great deal. She -taught me a few very important things—about myself—and -about women.... What a fraud this so-called education -is. One half of fitting a man for life is to teach him to -know men, the other half is to teach him to know women. -And we actually are taught only about things—and mostly -trifles or falsehoods as to them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His manner demolished her suspicion. There might -have been some sort of an affair between him and this -English woman—perhaps had been. If so, it was a closed -incident. "You asked about the divorce," said she: "The -suit was begun, but it has gone over till the next term of -court."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it my fault?" he asked, apologetically. "I've -missed my mail for nearly two months."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hands, clasped in her lap, were white at the -knuckles. Her eyes, meeting his, had deep down an -expression that also belied her calm manner and even voice. -"I didn't want to take the last steps until we had decided -about Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winchie," he said thoughtfully, his glance wandering -to the lawn. The boy and Helen were resting now, seated -at the edge of the lake. "There's where marriage differs -from other business. When it goes bankrupt, children are -assets that can't be liquidated.... What do you think -ought to be done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I admit you've got a share in him," replied she. "But -you can't help seeing that he belongs with his mother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do see it," he declared. "If I took him, what could -I do with him? Helen'll marry before long. Then— Could -there be anything worse for him than trusting him -to the care of strangers? ... As for his traveling back -and forth between his mother's house and his father's—that's -a farce that could only end in some sort of calamity -to his character.... I don't know what to say. I know -I could trust you absolutely to protect him from any -possible—unfortunate influences—but—" And there he -halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw he was expecting her to realize that he meant -the disadvantages of Basil as a stepfather. It was -stupefying—simply stupefying—this calm attitude of his toward -such terrible things—at least, they were things he had -always regarded as terrible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be so gloomy about it," said he, as if reading -her thoughts. "I find I can think a great deal more -effectively when I'm not trying to act like the best -examples from fiction but am simply human and natural. -Courtney, the world—at least, the intelligent people in it—have -outgrown the old, ignorant, swashbuckling sort of thing. -Of course, it still survives, and ignorant people and vain -people still try to act on the prescriptions of yesterday—and -all the literature still pretends that they are valid. -But the truth is, men and women are getting enlightened. -And we—you and I—are doing, not what looks best, but -what is best. Winchie isn't a problem in a novel or a poem. -He's an actuality. And I see plainly his chances are -better with you—in any circumstances—than with me." To -make sure that she should understand, he repeated, "In -any circumstances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes were full of tears. "Thank you," she said -humbly. "Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders. "For what? For not -being a fool?" He swung round into the chair and leaned -toward her. "There are some things we've got to say to -each other. I went away to put off the saying until I was -sure just where I stood. I am sure now. Do you— Shall -we—begin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to hear whatever you wish to say," replied she. -"But—is it necessary to say anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned back, lighted a cigarette, smoked in silence. -She again studied him. That changed expression—the -tense, concentrated strain gone—a sense of life, of attractive -possibilities in it other than chemistry, gave him a humanness, -a reality he had not had for her even in their first -months of married life. "Perhaps you're right," said he, -rousing himself. "Why mull over the past? And our -futures lie in different directions." He noted the queer, -intent look in her eyes. "What's the matter? You seem -puzzled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. I— Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the change in me—in my point of view—isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your—your mind certainly seems to have changed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dropped its prejudices, rather," was his reply. -"There's a difference. A man's mind's himself. His -prejudices are more or less external—can be sloughed off, -like clothes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was it, she now saw. He had got rid of those -prejudices. The dead hand of his grandfather was no -longer heavy upon him. This man, seated there before -her in the vividness of youth, was the real Richard -Vaughan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You used to tell me the truth about myself," he -went on reflectively. "I had never seriously thought -about women—about the relations of men and women. -I simply accepted my grandfather as gospel on those -subjects. My crisis forced me to do some thinking—and -I believe you'll do me the justice of admitting I never -would be stupid enough to act in a crisis without -trying to use the best mind I had. Well—when I got -away—and thought—I saw that the whole business was my -fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," protested she. "There was where I wronged -you. I blamed you—myself a little—but you most. That -was unjust. But let's not talk about it. The past is—the -past. I wish to drop all of it except its lessons. They'll -be useful in the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One thing more," he said. "I want to say I'm glad -of what has happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She simply stared at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would sound strange, I suppose, to the mob in -the treadmill of conventionality," he went on, apparently -not noting her expression. "But I'm grateful to—to -whatever it was—fate or chance or what you please—for -my awakening. But for it, what'd have become of me? -Like so many men who try to be masters of their profession -or business, I had let it become master of me. A -little longer, and I'd have been a dust-dry, routine plodder, -getting more and more useless every day. No wonder the -world advances so slowly. Just look at the musty, narrow -rotters who do the work. They specialize. They soon lose -touch with the whole. And their minds dwindle as their -natures and interests narrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not thinking of giving up your work!" she -exclaimed in dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm here to begin again," replied he, with his fine -look of energy and persistence. "But not in the old way. -Not month in and month out, like a hermit—but with some -sanity—and, I'm sure, with better results. That brings -me to my real reason for calling. I wished to ask if you -had any objection to my living and working at the shop." As -the color flamed into her face, he hurried on, "I'll keep -an independent establishment in every way and bind myself -not to disturb you. If you like, Helen can bring Winchie -down to see me from time to time—but not unless you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take Winchie and go to father's," said she, -painfully embarrassed. "I'd not have stopped on here, but -you'll remember you made it a condition——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you leave, I leave also," he rejoined. His manner -was emphatic, final. "I've no intention of intruding. -Please forget I said anything." He rose to leave. "I'm -going to move my laboratory to Chicago or New York. -A few months sooner will make no difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She insisted that she would go—that she preferred to -go—that going was entirely agreeable to her. But in -the end he convinced her he really wished her to keep on -at the house, to make Winchie feel it was his home—and -would leave if she even talked of leaving. "I'll arrange -with Gerster's wife over at the farm to feed me and keep -the apartment in order. So, everything will go on just as -if I were a thousand miles away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he went—like a caller after a pleasant hour—she -was glad because she wished to be alone, free to shut -herself in her room with the many strange things he had given -her to think about—the many startling things. But just -as she got the seamstress off for home, in came Helen, -hoping that Courtney would talk of the amazing call, -determined to talk of it herself, anyhow. "Forgive me for -asking, Courtney," said she. "But I simply must. You've -decided to give up the divorce, haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The emerald eyes looked amused astonishment. -"Why?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and he are just—just as you always were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed we're not!" exclaimed she. "Absolutely different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I never saw two people friendlier——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it. That's precisely it. Now that we've freed -each other, I can like him and he can like me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen was not hearing. Suddenly she burst out: "Oh, -Courtney! Courtney! What will become of you! You'll -have no money—for you're not asking alimony. You'll -only have to marry again." Courtney frowned at this frank -statement of the problem she was putting off. "You know -you'll have to marry again," pursued Helen, "and it isn't -likely you'll do as well. Men don't care for widows of any -kind—least of all, grass widows. They want a fresh, -unspoiled woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney's eyes danced. "The truth from Helen—at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Helen was unabashed. Because she was taller and -graver than Courtney, she felt older and wiser. And -because she loved Courtney, she felt she must do all in her -power to avert the impending catastrophe through this -divorce madness. "I do believe you've got no common -sense at all!" she cried. "You talk wise enough—sometimes. -But when it comes to acting— Courtney, women -brought up as we've been simply have to be supported. -And it's our right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" said Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't we ladies? But you've never been poor. You -don't realize what you've got to face. You don't realize -it's your position as Richard's wife that makes everybody -act so sweetly and respectfully toward you—and that makes -you feel secure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I do," said Courtney gravely. "I realize -it so keenly that I'm afraid of myself—afraid I'll be -tempted to do something contemptible. When I married, -I had the excuse that I believed I loved and was loved -and it's the custom for a man to throw in support -with his love. But if I married again—feeling as I -do—I'd—" She flung out her arms. "I don't want to -think about it!" she cried. "I'll not do it! I'll not -do it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen could not understand. And she was glad she -couldn't, for she felt that such ideas, whatever they were, -did not make for feminine comfort. She had listened -impatiently to Courtney. She now brought the conversation -back to the only point worth considering. "But you've </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> -to marry," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" Courtney had the expression of fire and purpose -that makes a small person seem tall. "There's an -alternative. I can do for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do what?" demanded Helen. She waited for a -reply—in vain—then went on: "What could you do that -anybody would pay for? Besides—you, a lady, couldn't -ask for work. You don't know how I suffered when I -thought I was going to have to do it. And you'd suffer -even more—having occupied the position you have. What -a come down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" commanded Courtney. "Helen, you are -tempting me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm talking the sense to you that you've so often talked -to me," Helen insisted. "Unless we women have got -money of our own or a man with an income back of us, -we're— I'd hate to confess the truth even to another -woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney nodded slowly several times, then asked, -"Don't you think it ought to be changed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" cried Helen vehemently. "It's what God intended. -The penalty of being a man is to have to work. -The penalty of being a lady, and refined and dainty and -untouched by low, vulgar things, is to have to be a -dependent. And it's not such a heavy penalty, either. Even -if one doesn't care much about the man, one isn't inflicted -with him all the time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At these plain truths wrenched by loving anxiety from -the deepest and securest of hiding places, Courtney's eyes -danced. She'd have laughed outright, had not Helen been -so terribly in earnest—Helen without a sense of humor. -However she did venture to say: "The chief equipments -of a lady are a stone instead of a heart and a hide instead -of a skin—is that it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Helen did not see the ironic comment on her -philosophy. "Well," she went on in her serious, stolid -way, "I don't want responsibility. And I like to take my -ease—and to have to do only things it doesn't much matter -if they go undone. We women are different from men. -Our self-respect's in a different direction.... Dear, can't -I do something to help you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney kissed her penitently. She always felt -ashamed after poking fun at Helen whose heart was so -genuinely good and kind. "Nothing, thanks. The divorce -must go on. You don't understand, Helen. Believe me, -if I knew that sheer misery was waiting for me, as soon -as I was free, I'd still go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me talk to Richard. I can do it tactfully."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In her alarm at this Courtney caught hold of Helen. -"If you did such a thing, you'd be doing me the greatest -possible injury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be afraid, dear. I'd not meddle. But—" She -looked appealingly at Courtney—"please, dear—do -let me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Richard and I would both resent it equally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> become of you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her tone was so forlorn that Courtney had to laugh. -"Why, I'm barely twenty-five—and I know a lot about -several things—and could learn more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk that way!" cried Helen, tearful. "It -makes me shiver. It sounds so coarse and common." She -looked at Courtney as if doubtful of her sanity. "I can't -make you out. It isn't natural for a lady bred and born, -as you are, to say such things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't believe a real lady could have ideas of -self-respect? Well, I'll admit they do seem out of place in -my head—and give me awful sinkings at the heart. -And—" There was a mocking smile round Courtney's lips, a -far-away look in her eyes—"Sometimes I'm haunted by a -horrible dread that I'm merely—bluffing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen saw only the smile. "I'm sure you are, you dear, -sweet, fascinating child!" cried she, greatly consoled and -cheered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too sure!" warned Courtney, the smile fading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Helen was delighted to see that she said it half -heartedly—that some effect had been produced by the -grewsome reminders of the difference between independence as -a dream or a vague longing and independence in the grisly -reality of the working out.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxvii"><span class="bold large">XXVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After a few days Courtney asked Helen to take Winchie -to the laboratory. "You can arrange with Richard as -to future visits," she said. "And in talking with him—and -with me—please remember he and I don't exist for each -other. I can trust you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," presently came from Helen in so reluctant a -tone that Courtney congratulated herself on having thought -to exact the promise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie said little about his father at the supper table, -but a great deal about a streak of light his father had made -for him with an electrical apparatus—"clear across the -room, mamma—real lightning—only there wasn't any thunder—just -noise—like when Jimmie snaps the whip fast." Several -times in the next three or four weeks she discovered -evidence of visits to the laboratory in remarks Winchie let -drop; for he said nothing direct, having somehow divined -that the visits were not to be talked about. But he had not -the faintest suspicion there was anything wrong between -his father and his mother. He had always been used to -their leading separate lives; the mere surface cleavage was -too unimportant to affect him, all-observant though he was, -with his natural mind which Courtney had not spoiled by -false education. And the parents of the only children he -played with—those along the shore—were exceeding -discreet in discussing the divorce in the family circle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the first winter storm one of the maples near the -edge of the lake, about the oldest and finest tree on the -place, blew down and in its fall destroyed the -summer-house. Courtney was awakened by the resounding crash. -Before breakfast she, in short skirt and close-fitting jacket, -went to see and to decide what should be done. As she -reached the scene Dick in shaggy ulster and cap came from -behind the towering mass of wreckage. She could not be -certain whether his ease, so superior to hers, was due to his -having seen her coming and having got ready, or to -absolute indifference. "Jimmie told me what happened," -explained he. "I came early, thinking I'd not be caught -trespassing." He looked sadly at the great tree, with its -enormous boughs sprawled upon the frozen surface of the -lake. "Jimmie and I," said he, "used to have a swing in -it that went out over the water. We used to dive from the -seatboard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney could see the swing go up and up, high as the -tree itself, then a daring boy release his hold and shoot -through the air, slim and straight, to plunge into the lake. -"You'd almost touch bottom away out where it's -deepest—wouldn't you?" she said, her eyes sparkling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought up mud in my hands from where it's -twenty feet deep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stood in silence, in the presence of the fallen giant -whose life had begun when the Indians trapping and -fishing there were getting from the far coast beyond the -mountains the first rumors of the great winged boats and the -white man. "It was a grand tree," she sighed. "I'll miss -it as I'd not miss many people I'm more or less fond of.... -I remember that swing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One day my mother brought me along when she was -calling here. I must have been about the age Winchie is -now. I had on red shoes—I remember because they hurt -terribly and I didn't dare show a sign for fear they'd be -taken away. You lured me out to play—and put me in -the swing—and made it go—the limit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember perfectly now. That was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was. It was," replied she. "You despised little -girls and thought you'd scare me to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I remember you were game. You didn't scream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I was too badly frightened. Do you remember -how mother shrieked when she saw from the window -what you were up to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I? The whipping father gave me bent the whole -business into me forever. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> wasn't game. How I did -howl!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I'd heard!" She shivered laughingly. "I -feel now how I was suffering when the swing was out over -the water and high up among the boughs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard was looking at her curiously. "So, that was -you?" he said in an abstracted way. "You certainly didn't -look scared.... Helen tells me you're planning to go -East in the spring and study landscape gardening.... -I see you don't like her having told me. I assure you it -was my fault. I asked her point blank. She told me -simply the one fact."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not a secret," said Courtney, and she went on to -explain, as to an acquaintance who knew nothing of her -life, "I used to go to college—up at Battle Field—with a -girl named Narcisse Siersdorf. She's made quite a -reputation as an architect. We were good friends, and it -occurred to me I might get advice from her. She's -been wonderfully kind—took an interest right away. -We're negotiating. I don't know what'll come of it. -I've sent her an account of things I've done, and some -pictures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at the slight, strong figure, at the small and -delicate face, at the eyes so feminine yet for all that full -of character. "Are you in earnest?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to be," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His expression showed how he was touched by her -air of sad thoughtfulness as she gazed across the glistening -level of ice. "Not at all," said he. "While nothing's -been said about it, you must know that as Winchie's -mother——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She interrupted him with a laugh that made the color -flare into his face. "So, you thought I was hinting, did -you? I don't suppose you ever will be able to understand -a woman. No—I don't hint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't suspect——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be honest!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hung his head like a foolish boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I was saying," she went on, "I've got to do something -because, when I'm free, I want to feel free. Maybe -I'm flying in the face of nature, but I've a hankering -for the same sort of independence a man has—not the -same, but the same sort.... It isn't a bit nice, being -a woman—if one wakens to the fact that she's in the -same market—if in a higher grade stall—with 'those -others.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up with a frown. "That's not the way to -look at it," he protested with more than a touch of his -old-time dictatorial manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the way </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> look at it," replied she, quietly. That -reminder of his tyranny, added to his unconsciously -contemptuous suspicion that she was hinting for alimony, had -stirred all her latterly latent antagonism to him—made her -doubt the sincerity—or, rather, the thoroughness of the -change in him. She began to move away. "I must go tell -Jimmie what to do about this tree."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please—not just yet," he said, red and embarrassed. -"I beg your pardon for taking that tone. And I'll admit -you're right, though I'd like to be able to deny it. Still, -it's not your fault that you were brought up in the -customary way——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to be reminded of that," she interrupted, -rather bitterly. "In spite of all I've been through—and -of the certainty that unless I free myself, I'll have to go -through it again—I'm having a constant fight against my -cowardice." Her face changed in an instant from grave to -gay. "I'm saying and doing all sorts of things to make -it impossible for me to back down. I guess telling you was -one of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not going to make any move until spring—toward -this architect friend, I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no reason to think—at least not much reason—that -she'll take me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meanwhile—why not perfect yourself in the trade you -already almost know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to pay a man a hundred and fifty dollars -a month to help me at the laboratory—exactly the work you -did—and he'll do it no better, if as well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney flushed with pleasure at this praise. "Really?" -she said. "You mean that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His expression forewarned her he was about to touch -on the impossible subject. "I can't comprehend, now that -it's over," said he, "how I was such an ass as to stick to -the notion that women haven't brains when I had, right -before me, proof to the contrary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning me?" said she with amused eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning you," replied he with a laugh. Then seriously, -"And if you'll let me say so, the reason I blame -myself for everything is, I've seen that my stupid ignorance -of you was at the bottom of it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "We were -both brought up very stupidly for marriage. But then—who -isn't? No wonder marriage is successful only by -accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a confession the proverb is," said he, "—that -people have to be married once, before they're fit to be -married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said she, "at least we've had our experience, -and can be glad we got it young enough for it to be useful. -But I must get to work." And she nodded and went briskly -up the snow-drifted lawns. Not until afternoon, while she -was overseeing the sawing up of the tree, did his -unfinished offer come back to her. Had he left it unfinished -because she had not encouraged him to go on or because he -had repented of the impulse? Probably the latter, she -decided; at any rate, even if he had urged, she could not have -accepted. "He'd be sure to misunderstand. Men and -women always do misunderstand each other—" She smiled -at herself—"that is, they don't. They learn by experience -that there's always the motive behind, in everything that -crosses the sex line. He'd not realize this was an -exception." There she mocked herself again. "At least, I think -it'd be an exception. I'm not quite sure I'd not be doing -it out of cowardice—to get him where I could recover him -if I lost my nerve and had to. Our dependence makes us so -poor spirited that, though we know we don't want a certain -man, we like to have him where we could use him, 'in -case.'"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Several stormy days, with no communication between -house and laboratory. On the first bright afternoon, -she and Winchie were entering the grounds after a walk to -Wenona and back, through the still, dry air, charged with -sunbeams, air like a still, dry champagne, strong and subtle. -They came upon Dick clearing the snow from the direct -path between laboratory and gates. His trousers were -tucked into high boots and he was in flannel shirt sleeves. -As they—or, rather, as Winchie—paused, he leaned on his -shovel and laughed—at the fun that is merrier than any -joke—the fun of being healthily alive from center to -farthest tip. The sunshine was brilliant on the unsullied -surface of the snow, on the ice-encased branches, and -on those three health-flushed faces. "Just been to -the doctor's, I suppose?" said he to the boy who was -as ruddy as a rooster's comb, as smooth and hard as -marble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," declared Winchie, taking him seriously, "I never -had a doctor in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was a good enough excuse. Dick and Courtney -became hilarious over Winchie's earnestness. As Winchie -had begun to play with the snow his father's labor had -piled high on either side of the reappearing path, Courtney -did not resist Dick's overtures toward conversation—about -the skating, the air, the healthfulness of a hard winter, the -ravages of the storm throughout the neighborhood. "I -see," said he, "the old maple's gone. You did clear it up -in a hurry. There's not a sign of its ever having been in -existence—or the summerhouse either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that the color poured into her cheeks—the deeper, -fierier red of acute embarrassment. When he realized what -he had said—which he instantly did—he did not color but -became pale. "I'm glad it was destroyed," he said, "glad -not a trace of it remains—</span><em class="italics">anywhere</em><span>. If I believed in -omens I'd look on the whole incident as a good omen—the -landmark of the Vaughan home that seemed so strong and -wasn't—the summerhouse that was a constant reminder—both -gone—and the place where they were is clear—is ready -for the new and better things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was listening with her head low. "Thank you," -she said, in a choked voice. "Sometimes I think there isn't -another man in the world who'd have helped me as you -have."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe it," cried he, cheerfully. "Human -nature's a lot better than it pretends. Thank God, very -few of us are despicable enough to live up to our creeds and -our conventions.... Winchie, you didn't know you came -very near losing your father yesterday. He almost blew -himself up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winchie's eyes grew big. "I'd like to have seen," said -he, excitedly. "Jimmie says, when you do go, it'll be -straight up through the roof and high as the moon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It all came of my working without an assistant," Dick -explained to Courtney. "I've got one coming from Baltimore, -as I think I told you the other day. But he can't -get away just yet. I wish you'd consider my offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt no embarrassment. His tone prevented; it was -businesslike, and polite rather than friendly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I need some one badly—some one I shan't have to -teach. You like the work. You need the experience. A -few weeks of the sort of thing I'd put you at now would -fit you for a place in a first-class laboratory." A little -constrainedly—"I know why you hesitate. But I assure -you, that's foolish. What I'm proposing will not interfere -with—with our plans for freeing each other. It's purely -business—and good business for you as well as for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked directly at him for the first time. "You're -quite sure you'd not misunderstand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," he assured her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She still hesitated. "I want to accept," she confessed, -"for business reasons. But I've an instinct against it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled with good-humored mockery. "A vanity, -you mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored guiltily, though she also was smiling. Her -nervous fingers were pulling the ice from a branch of a bush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He noted that Winchie, rolling up a huge snowball, had -got safely out of hearing. "Just a vanity," he went on. -"Well—pitch it overboard. I make you a business -proposition. I need you. You need the experience. I hope -you'll accept. I can well afford to pay you what I'll pay -Carter. He's tied up until January—perhaps a little later. -If you'll accept, I can accomplish a lot this winter. If not, -I'll be nearly helpless."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus it naturally and easily and sensibly came about -that, a few months later, at the very moment when Judge -Vanosdol was signing the decree of divorce, Dick and -Courtney were in the laboratory, their heads touching as they -bent over a big retort, heedless of the strong fumes rising -from its boiling and hissing contents. The heat subsided. -The compound slowly cleared—a beautiful shade of green -instead of the black they hoped for—and confidently -expected. They looked dejectedly at each other; she felt -like weeping for his chagrin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil is the matter?" demanded he, glowering -at her. "Sure you didn't make a mistake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her nerves were on edge, as were his. "That's right!" -she said, tears in her eyes. "Suspect me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not suspecting you," he retorted angrily. "Don't -drag your sex into work. You're not a woman here. We've -no time for poodle-dog politeness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want politeness," cried she. "What did I say -that could possibly make you think I did?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was what you didn't say," replied he. "Why -didn't you answer back? Or throw the ladle at me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will next time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there they both laughed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now, she was free—absolutely free—and with money -enough of her own earning to get her and Winchie to New -York and to keep them for quite a while. And Narcisse -Siersdorf had written most encouraging comments on the -account of her efforts at landscape gardening and on the -accompanying photographs, and had offered her a clerkship -at twenty-five dollars a week "as a starter." Also, -Richard, as an earnest of his belief and his interest, had got -her an offer of a trial position at twenty dollars a week in -the laboratories of the American Coal Products Company -at Chicago. She was not only free; she was independent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning after Narcisse's letter came she saw Richard -eying her curiously several times, as if he were puzzling -over something but hesitated to question her. The fourth -or fifth time she caught him at it, she said: "What do you -want to ask me? Have I made a mistake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, indeed," protested he. "You don't make mistakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been extremely polite, no matter how severely -his temper was tried, ever since the day of the little flare-up -over the failed experiment. And every day it pleased her -through and through, pleased and thrilled her, that his -reason was fear lest she, perfectly free to go, should resign -and quit, if he did not behave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," she went on to him, "why do you look at me -inquiringly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's your manner," replied he. "You're acting very -differently to-day from what you ever did before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he was saying it she divined the reason—the -letter from Narcisse. The offer from the Coal Products -Company had come several weeks before; but that had been got -for her. This position in New York was of her own getting. -And for the first time in her life she felt like a full-grown -personality capable of taking care of herself. Unconsciously -her whole outlook upon life changed; the change -disclosed itself in her expression, in her voice, in her -manner. She handed Richard her patent of nobility, the letter -from Narcisse; she watched his face as he read. But she -got no clue to his thoughts. As he gave back the letter -without comment she said: "I'm in the way to get rid of -the reason for a woman's so often wishing she'd been born -a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," said he, and turned away to gaze -reflectively out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went into the rear room to work there. Half an -hour later she returned, to find him still staring out over -the lake. "I've given him something more to think about," -said she to herself, with a sly smile at his back. "And it'll -do him good, if ever he starts out to marry again." Yet -somehow she was not fully satisfied that her guess covered -the whole of what he was thinking. He was extremely -puzzling, this polite, appreciative, carefully businesslike -Richard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was impatient to be gone. She wished to try in -longer flight the new wings of freedom and independence -she had grown. She felt confident they would sustain her; -but she could not be sure until she tried. She had decided -for the Siersdorf offer. She liked the chemistry chiefly -because, working with Richard at the explorations of -hydrogen and nitrogen, she was moving toward a definite high -accomplishment—the discovery of a source of happiness to -millions—a cheap substitute for coal and wood that would -banish that horror of horrors, cold, from the lives of the -poor. But it would be quite another thing to work at -fabricating new shades of color in dyes, new commercial -uses for the by-products of coal; she would be descending -from scientist's helper to plodder for a living, from -lieutenant of a Columbus to mate on a tramp steamer. Not -so, if she went into the Siersdorf office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There she would remain artist, worker with the fine tools -of the imagination. Also Basil's tastes lay in that direction. -Fancy is not the air plant that idealists pretend. Its -flowers may be spiritual but its roots strike deep into the -physical. It may need the sun and the air of heaven, but -it needs the soil even more. In the soil it is born; by the -soil it chiefly lives. Courtney's fancy was the fancy of a -normal human being in whom all the emotions are healthy, -ardent, fully developed. It had no long or difficult task in -blurring into vagueness whatever marred her memory of her -and Basil's romance—or at least in making the blemishes -for the time seem unimportant in presence of the rosy, -horizon-filling peak moments of their happiness. Once more, -from the quiet of her long lonely evenings—hardly the less -solitary for Helen's rather monotonous company—arose the -longings, the visions, the thrills. She felt that, in her young -inexperience, she had been too arrogant in her demands -upon life; she had asked more than she could possibly -expect from a human love, more than she had any right to -expect. But now she was chastened; her point of view was -less wildly romantic. What would they not be to each -other!—once they were together—and free from all -constraint of moral doubts and conventional dreads. It was -only natural that in their life of stress passion should have -been uppermost, should have become dominant. It was -human for Basil to feel that he was contending for even -physical possession of her—and until there is physical -possession, love has no substantial ground to build upon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was eager to be off for New York, to establish her -independence, and then to begin her real life on the -enduring foundation of equality and comradeship brightened by -passion as a tree is brightened by its blossoms and their -perfume. But, eager though she was, she could not deny -her obligation to remain until Dick's assistant came. She -knew now that he had spoken the literal truth when he said -he needed her badly. It would be a return for his -broad-minded humanity quite beneath her, to leave him in the -lurch—especially when carrying on his particular line of -experiments meant danger if he had to do all the work -alone. She must stay until Carter came. And she was glad -of this opportunity to show him that she did appreciate -what he had done for her, even though he had done it not -for her sake but for his own—in obedience to his sense of -the decent and the self-respecting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, she worked steadily and interestedly on, just as if -the divorce had not yet been entered upon the records of -the court as valid and final. She found an unexpected -additional source of interest in studying her former husband as -an individuality. It is always a novel sensation for a woman -with any claim to physical charm to find herself regarded -impersonally—sexlessly. That is usually anything but an -agreeable sensation; every woman feels the chagrin of -failure when she sees that her charms do not charm—this, -though she might be disdainful of and resentful of overt -tribute to her physical self. Courtney, however, did not in -those peculiar circumstances feel sufficiently piqued to try -to assert woman's ancient right of dominion over the senses -of man. She could enjoy the novelty of being treated like -a man, and could study calmly the man who was thus -unmindful of what is habitually uppermost in any strongly -masculine nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At work with Richard alone, she was at last getting -acquainted with him. From the beginning of each day at -the laboratory to the end, she was receiving a series of -vivid impressions of a really superior man—competent, -intelligent, resourceful. He thought about himself never; he -could not be daunted or baffled. His broad-mindedness was -no longer marred by the sex narrowness that had made -appreciation of it impossible to her, to any woman of her -sort. He knew so much; he carried knowledge so lightly. -It seemed to her, after much experience of "learned" men, -that knowledge was chiefly power to bore. His knowledge -was like a rapier of finest steel skilfully used in his duel -with his mysterious masked combatant, the alchemist on -guard at nature's secretest laboratory. She felt that he was -a man out of a million; yet she had no sense of embarrassed -inferiority. This general in the army of exact science, which -is the true army of progress, was a democrat, marched -with the soldiers afoot, was their equal. "If any woman -ever does fall in love with him," thought she, "she will -worship him. But—he's too impersonal. We women -want something smaller—not a sun star, but a fire on a -hearth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now that he was nothing but fellow worker to her, she -could look at him with the friendly impartiality of human -being for fellow being. Piecing together what she knew -of his masculine side and what she could how see latent in -those strong features, those intense nervous energies, she -felt that somewhere there might be a woman equal to -concentrating upon herself what went altogether into the duel -for nature's secrets. "And unless she were a great woman, -he would burn her up like a match tossed into a furnace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This latent capacity of his for love fascinated her. -There were even moments when it tempted her—was like -a challenge taunting her womanhood as confessedly -ineffectual. But at the laboratory she was too busy to linger -over such thoughts; and in her other hours, there was -household routine to compel her attention—and the plans for the -great attempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last Carter wrote that he would positively come in -two weeks. "You've been splendidly patient with me," -Dick said as he showed her the latter. "I've seen that you -were eager to be gone." As she murmured a polite denial, -he repeated, "Yes, eager—but not in the way to make me -uncomfortable over my selfishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've rarely thought of it while I was down here," -said she. "It was only in the evenings—and when I -happened not to sleep very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was natural you should be upset," sympathized -Dick. "Who wouldn't be, standing on the edge of the icy -plunge so long? But you'll like it—and everything'll come -out all right. I've discovered that you have a lot of -common sense—and that's more than I can say for most -men—including myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another month, at the farthest, and she would be in -New York, would have made the great beginning! ... Should -she send Basil word as soon as she arrived? Should -she wait until she got her bearings? She saw it would be -wiser to wait. Everything depended on beginnings—right -beginnings—and it would be the right beginning for Basil -to find her as obviously master of her own destiny, as free -to withhold or to give, as was he himself. Also— Coming -from a small town in the West, she could not but feel -strange in New York, and look provincial. "Yes, I'll -wait," she decided, the instant this last reason dropped -into the balance. For, she had not the vanity that -underestimates the matter of looks and neglects the fact that -everyone is at a distinct disadvantage in a strange -environment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One morning, about a week later, there came a ring at -the telephone which was in Dick's part of the laboratory. -As these calls were always for her, she rose from her case -in the back room and went to answer. It was Mazie—"The -hotel over to Fenton wants to speak to you, ma'am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Connect them, please," said Courtney, hoping her -voice had betrayed and would betray nothing to the man -behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon came an operator's voice, and then Basil's. "I -must see you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said. "I'll come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In your auto runabout—on the Fenton road to -Tippecanoe—at two this afternoon. Will that do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I'll be there. Good-by." And she rang off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned from the telephone with a glance at Richard. -He was busy with the blowpipe—no doubt had not even -heard. As she was leaving to go up to the house for -dinner, she said to him: "I'll not be back this afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," replied he. "I sha'n't need you till -to-morrow morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be here, then, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned on the high stool. "You know," said he, with -only the faintest suggestion of the unusual in face and -voice, "there's no reason why you shouldn't see anyone you -wish, at your own house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flushed guiltily. But her composure instantly -returned, and she went on toward the door, casting about for -a reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no desire to interfere," continued he. "But—Jimmie -went to Fenton on an errand yesterday, and he -happened to tell me he saw at a distance a man who looked -enough like Gallatin to be his twin. If you should be -seen—you know how they gossip here. You could send the boy -and Helen over to Wenona for the afternoon. Pardon my -suggesting these things. It occurred to me you might not -realize how closely you're watched by everybody, since the -divorce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood in the outer doorway, trying to conceal her -agitation and trying to reflect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I appreciate you'd rather see him elsewhere—and I'd -prefer you did, too. But your son has his rights—don't -you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Courtney. "I'll see him at the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Richard. And he resumed his -careful mixing of two powders in a small brass mortar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went, returned, stood where she could see his profile. -"You give me your word of honor you'll not interfere with -him in any way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick smiled without suspending work with the pestle. -"Certainly," said he. "On my honor I'll not leave this -room until you telephone me that I may." His smile -broadened into a laugh that made her extremely uncomfortable, -though it was pleasant enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't think you cared about me or him—or anything -but your chemistry," she said in self-defense. "I -asked simply as a precaution. I felt I owed it to him and -to the boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I laughed—you'll pardon me—because he's such a -shallow pup. I never think of you two that I don't think -of Titania and Nick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he tossed this lightly over his shoulder, she was -hopelessly at a disadvantage. She was scarlet and shaking -with anger. No return thrust occurring to her, she flung a -furious glance into his back and departed, with about all -the joy out of her anticipations of the meeting. Instead -of telephoning from the house, she ascended to the -apartment over the laboratory and by the direct wire there got -the Phibbs Hotel in Fenton. A few minutes, and Basil was -at the other end. "Come to the house here, instead," said -she. "At the same time—two o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence, then his voice, "No. You come over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't do it. And I'd not ask you if I weren't sure. -I'll explain when I see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's an especial reason why I want you here," -urged he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's a more especial reason why I want you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's an even more especial reason why I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> -see you here," insisted he. "It's very unsatisfactory, -talking over the telephone, with people probably listening all -along the wire. I'll come to-morrow—or late this -afternoon. But you come here first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—really, I mustn't," she declared. "Don't you -trust me? Don't you know I'd not ask it, if it weren't -perfectly—all right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't that, but— I can't talk about it.... I'll -come." And from his tone she knew he had been decided -by the fear that she'd think him afraid. And then she -realized that she had made her remark because she counted -on its appeal to his vanity—and the thought acted upon her -enthusiasm not unlike a douche.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxviii"><span class="bold large">XXVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She was on the drive-front porch with Lizzie, making -plausible pretense of rearranging the boxed evergreens. -She heard the carriage turn in at the gates, though they -were nearly a quarter of a mile from the house. As the -horses rounded the bend she looked. But she waited on -Lizzie, who was not slow to cry out with delighted -surprise, "Why, there's Mr. Gallatin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney said, "Do run in and see that the sitting -room's straight." Thus, she was alone when he descended. -She saw him through a mist and the hand she gave him -was cold, was trembling. In the doorway, she said hastily -in an undertone: "Helen and Winchie are at Wenona—Richard -at the laboratory. You've stopped unexpectedly -on your way south—for an hour or two."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," said he. "I can't trust myself to look -at you. My love! My love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flashed up at him a glance radiant with her florid -fancies of anticipation. "Come into the house," she -contrived to say in an ordinary tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they went along the hall, side by side and talking -for effect on possible listeners, she saw that he had dressed -as carefully as a bridegroom. No more carefully than she -had dressed, so far as she dared; still, it struck her as -amusing—as suggestive of hollowness. And the voice -which, as she heard it in fancy during those weeks of -waiting, had been so moving, so magical—what a commonplace -voice it was, and how very like affectation its Eastern -intonations sounded. "That nasty remark of Richard's!" -she thought. "How weak of me to let such a thing affect -me." They entered the sitting room; he quickly closed -the door, caught her hands, looked at her from head to -foot. "Courtney!" he murmured. "I love you! I love you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thrilled, lifted her eyes—dropped them. A chill -stole over her. She had to resist an impulse to draw her -hands away. He looked really handsome, was outwardly -all her imagination had been picturing—and more. -Yet— What was the matter? What was lacking? Why could -she see only the weakness and coarseness—the qualities that -had stood out the night he was drunk and the next -afternoon when she was battling against his vanity and -jealousy? "It's my nerves," she decided. "I'm under a -greater strain than I realize." When he kissed her, she -turned her head so that his lips touched her cheek. And -immediately she released her hands. "We must be careful," -she apologized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? You're free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but—" She paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you act so strange—so distant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she confessed. She felt ashamed of -herself that she was visiting on him the consequences of -her own folly in having let her imagination overleap all -the bounds of probability in forecast. "I don't know," -she repeated. "Nerves, I suppose. Or, perhaps it's a -bad cold. I've felt one coming on all day. This morning -I forgot to close the——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you glad to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes, indeed," she protested. "Let's sit down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took a chair near the table. He was thus compelled -to the sofa, several feet away. "We ought to have -met where we first arranged," said he, constrained, -embarrassed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have to be careful. You forget Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An uncomfortable silence, then he: "You've been free -thirty-nine days. Yet you have not written me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I explained to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you feel like writing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to be independent as well as free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her gloomily. "Is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> what you call love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She forced a smile and nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know what I've come for? For you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt herself drawing together, shrinking away from -him. "For me?" she echoed vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To marry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not looking at him; but she was seeing his face -as it was when swollen and distorted by drink. She -answered hastily, "Oh, I couldn't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't marry till—till I'm independent. I've been -making a lot of plans. I'm going to work early next -month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense!" he cried. "Courtney, do you realize -you've not yet said a single word of love? What is -the matter? Is it our meeting in this house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. I don't know. I don't understand it -myself." Why was her mind so perverse? Why did it thrust -at her the things it was unjust to remember, generous and -necessary to forget? Why was she critical, aloof, instead -of responsive and generously glad? She went on: "It may -be the cold. My nose feels queer, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must marry, right away," he insisted, frowning -upon her lack of seriousness. "We've been separated too -long already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That seemed to her to explain. But it did not remove. -She said, "Not until I'm independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that means years—years!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," protested she. "Not the kind of independence -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> mean. I simply want to be sure I could earn -my living if it were necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it isn't necessary. And life is so short, dearest. -And at most we'll have few enough years of happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said she, surprised that these truths did -not move her in the least, nor his looks, his tones, so -charged with entreaty she such a short time ago would -have found irresistible. "But I've thought it out, and I -realize everything depends on my getting that feeling -of independence. I'll not risk again what I've been -through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know very well, that couldn't happen. As for -your working, why, dear, unless a woman's been bred to -making a living, it's almost impossible for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless I must try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you loved me, you'd not talk like this," cried he, -bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of protesting, she became thoughtful. "Do -you really think so?" she asked. "I wonder if that's -true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," retreated he, alarmed. "We love each -other. But your way of acting and talking has upset me. -I ought not have come here. We should have met over -at Tippecanoe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't seem to see my point of view, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, but it's a mere notion. A very fine notion," he -hastened to add, though he could not make his tone other -than grudging, "but foolish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was my dependence that put me in such a frightful -position with Richard. And——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney," he interrupted, between anger and appeal, -"please don't repeat that comparison of what you were to -him and what you and I are to each other. It—hurts me, -and it's not fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you promise to love me always just as you do now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I certainly would. I shall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lowered her eyes. Her heart sank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't you?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied she. "How can I—or anyone—honestly -say how he or she'll feel about a person they don't know -through and through—a month ahead—let alone a year—ten -years—twenty? You know that's true, Basil. You're -not honest with yourself—or with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent, was watching her with sullen, suspicious -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me," she went on, "that love—real love—ought -to make you careful. If we were a boy and a girl, -without experience or intelligence or anything but hazy, -rosy emotions——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and I never will agree about love," he interrupted, -impatiently. "But that's a small matter. The -only point is that we love each other. Love's like a rose, -Courtney. Tear it apart to see what it's made of and you -lose the rose and have only withered petals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—one kind of love. But is it the kind to build -one's life upon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going to argue with you. Have your way, if -you will. You'll soon get enough of work—of this fantastic -idea of independence, as you call it. As if I'd not be too -afraid of losing your love not to respect your rights and -consider you always and in every way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But suppose </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> ceased to love </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—and were -dependent on you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know. I know. Don't let's argue it. Go on with -your plans. The sooner you begin, the sooner you'll see -how foolish you are. You don't appreciate what work -means—especially for a woman—the toil, the humiliations, -the downright miseries—that cost youth and looks and -health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It still further depressed her to see how swiftly his -words depressed her—how appalling was the lift and -spread of the mountain she had been dreaming of -removing with one shovel and one pair of feeble hands. -"Instead of discouraging me," cried she with some anger in -her reproach, "you ought to be encouraging me. I should -think you'd be afraid to have a woman about who might be -your wife for the sake of a living—might be making a -hypocrite of herself and a fool of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced; she saw he was thinking of Richard. "That -could never happen with </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>!" cried he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never is a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was squirming in irritation and impatience—and -was obviously afraid she would suspect the thoughts he yet -could not conceal. "Please don't insist on discussing this, -Courtney. Go ahead. Try your scheme. Work! I never -heard of a woman at work who wouldn't do almost anything -to escape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She forced a laugh. "Then if I fail and send for you, -you'll know what it means—and fly in the other direction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," replied he with an overenergy that failed in -its purpose of hiding the discomfort her suggestion had -caused him. "I tell you, we love each other. That makes -everything different." He laughed. "Work! Thank -God, you and I don't have to work. We can love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat with eyes down and fingers idly matching the -corners of her little handkerchief. What a difference -between work as a dream and work in the doing!—between -imagining the glories of self-respecting independence and -making the coarse, cruel struggle step by step up to those -glories—between work as a pastime and work as a -necessity. How unpractical she had been! She sighed. "I -wish," said she, "I'd never realized that to be secure a -woman must be independent. But—now that I've realized -it, I've got to go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put on an expression of pretended deep and respectful -interest that made it hard for her to hide her -amusement. "What are your plans?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you sometime. I don't feel in the humor now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something vague—eh?" And she saw that he assumed -she was only pretending, after all. A superior -man-to-woman smile had replaced his look of nervousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited until he had got himself comfortably settled -down into this agreeable assumption, then said -tranquilly, "No. I have the place promised me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose impatiently. If she had needed proof as to his -real opinion of women—his conviction of their inferiority, -his expression would have given it. Yes, his opinion was -the same as Richard's—always had been, as she could now -see, recalling remarks he had made from time to time. The -same prejudices as Richard; only, Basil had been less -courageous—less honest. Those prejudices irritated her in -Richard; in Basil they seemed laughable. But he was getting -his impatience and scorn, his exasperation against her -poor womanish folly somewhat under control. "Now, -Courtney, can't you realize—" he began in a teacher-to-infant -tone. Then, a new thought struck him. He broke -off abruptly. "No—go ahead. It's just as well you -should have the lesson," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Should learn how dependent I am on—some man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How unfitted you are to be anything but a lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that already," replied she forlornly. "Or, -rather, I'm not fitted to be either dependent or independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why not be sensible, and marry me at once?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer. She could not tell him the truth; -she would not tell him a lie. Anyhow, she wasn't sure what -she did think.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will—won't you, dear? You'll not waste time -that we might give to love and happiness?" And he -anxiously watched her face—with its sweet feminineness that -gave him hope, its mystery and its resoluteness that made -him uneasy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a temptation," she said, absently. She saw herself -trying for independence and failing—losing heart, -self-respect—growing cynical through hardship—marrying -Basil to escape— Just there, she suddenly surprised her -elusive real self, saw deep into the inmost workings of -her own mind—saw that she did not care for Basil -Gallatin—that she had really been pretending to herself that -she loved him because he was the alternative, the refuge, -should her try for independence fail!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell you what let's do," she heard him saying. -"Let's get married. Then you can take that place, -whatever it is. With your future secure no matter what -happened, you'd work better and would be much more likely -to succeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The appeal of this subtle proposal awakened her to her -peril. It must be now or never; she must speak the truth -now, or lose the courage and the strength to speak it. -"Basil," she said abruptly, "I don't love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been lying to myself and to you. I don't love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not true!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never did love you," she replied—for, with the one -truth out, the other forged to the front and made its -amazing self visible. "No—I never did love you." How plain -it all was, now! How strange that she should for even an -infatuated moment have believed this was the man she -needed, the man who needed her—not words alone, and -kisses and thrills, but real need—for mind and heart and -body—all that the three have to give and long to give and -to receive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood before her, looking down in graciously smiling -remonstrance. "That's a little too much," he said tenderly. -"You can't have forgotten all we've been to each other—those -hours of happiness—those moments of ecstasy—my -love—my Courtney——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was color in her cheeks, an answering tenderness -in the eyes that lifted to his. "No, I've not forgotten. -And as I had to learn and as there's no other way for -woman or man to learn but experience, I don't regret. But -we were both in love with love—not with each other. And -what's more, we never could be." Now that she had flung -away pretense, its veil of illusion over her sight dropped; -she was seeing him as she looked at him—not his qualities -that repelled, not his qualities that attracted, but the whole -man—was seeing him as we see only those toward whom -are amiably indifferent. She was thinking, "What a -nice, well-bred man he is, but how small." Not bad, not -grossly sensual, not mean—not at all mean, but the reverse. -Just small.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began to recover from the stupefaction of the -convincing tones of her denial of love. He was hastily -donning the costume of pose that is correct for such occasions. -She beamed genially upon him and said, "Now, don't work -yourself up, my dear Basil. Sit down over there, and let's -talk quite quietly—and naturally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is impossible for anyone with any sense of humor -whatever to indulge alone in paroxysms of emotion before -a tranquil spectator. Basil stopped rolling his eyes and -dilating his nostrils, and seated himself, in no very good -humor. Her tone was not pleasant. It would have been -perfectly proper for a man to use to a woman. It was -impertinent, in weaker sex to stronger. "Oh, I'm all -right," said he, crossly, as he seated himself. "But you'd -better look out about those ideas of yours. They have a -terribly unfeminizing effect on women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I guess they do," replied she. A puzzling, -alluring combination of seriousness and humor she looked -as she sat there opposite him, her elbows on the arms of -the chair, her chin resting upon the backs of her linked -fingers, her eyes fixed gravely yet somehow quizzically -upon him. "Have you ever thought of our life together?" -asked she. "Of what we'd do—between times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Between times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one—not even the most ardent lovers—can make -love all the time. There haven't been any 'between times' -in our life heretofore, because of the circumstances. But -when we were together without interruption—with no -excitement or interest of danger—with no stimulus—with just -ourselves—what would we do 'between times'?—and -there'd be more and more 'between times' as we got used -to each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This uninviting but obviously truthful picture sobered -and exasperated him. "Haven't thought about it," he -confessed. "I haven't gone into details. But I know we'll -be happy. You'll step into the position you are entitled to -and I can see that you get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The social position, you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. And we'll enjoy ourselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not possibly have said anything that would -have shown more clearly the width and depth of the gap -between them—how little he understood her, how little they -had in common.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be tremendously popular," he said with enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head slowly. "I don't think </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> could be -happy, wasting my life, scattering myself among a lot of -inane pastimes." She laughed a little. "You'd be -horribly disappointed in me, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll risk it. They'll be crazy about you in the East." He -nodded proud, confident, self-complacent encouragement. -"I'll risk it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She met his look with a quiet final "But I'll not." In -another mood his proposal, his manner, his very poor sort -of pride in her would have amused her. But as she -listened, she remembered all she had believed about this man, -all her idealizing of his mind and character. And she -grew sad and sick. This small man!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He planted himself firmly before her. "Now, look -here, Courtney. It's useless for you to talk that sort of -thing. You don't mean it. And I'm not going to give you -up. You're my wife, Courtney. The only possible excuse -for what you did was that you loved me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary," replied she, "my only excuse is -that I was swept away by my craving for love—for what -Richard in our brief honeymoon had taught me to -need——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake!" he cried. "How </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> you say such -things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because they are the truth," she answered with quiet -dignity; and he felt ashamed of himself without knowing -why. "Basil, you don't love me as I really am. You find -me shocking. And I don't love you as you really are. I -find you—" She hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on. Say it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But what would be the use? The truth, all of it, any -literal part of it would only hurt him, would not awaken -him. By birth and by breeding and by the impassable -limitations of his mind he was incapable of learning or -appreciating the truth, was wedded forever to the morality -that makes truth a vice and lies a virtue. So, she evaded. -"I find you are like your dress," answered she, her eyes -and her light tone taking the sharp sting off her words. -"A charming style of your own but strictly conventional -withal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not fully appreciate this faint hint of the truth, -but he understood enough to be irritated. "You've been -doing too much of what you women call thinking. And -you've become like all women who try to think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All women think," said she. "But very few of them -tell the man what they think—until they've got him safely -married. You ought to thank me for being candid in -advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He scowled at her smile. "I'm not going to give you -up," he said sullenly. "I know you better than you know -yourself. You'll come out of this mood. -And—dearest—remember -that, in spite of your disdain, the old-fashioned -woman—tender, simple, loving—is far sweeter than these -thinkers—gets more pleasure—gives more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A baby's sweeter than a grown person," replied she, -refusing to be serious. "But, Basil, the time has about -passed when even a woman can stay on a baby—though -most of the men and women pretend it isn't so, and a good -many of them—like you and Helen—get angry if the -truth's forced on you. At any rate, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't be a baby -anymore.... Do you know what would happen if I married -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The look that accompanied her abrupt question was so -penetrating, so significant that he paled. "I don't want to -hear any more of your truths that aren't true at all," he -cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you know what would happen. The same thing -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!—Good God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same thing again. As long as my craving for -real companionship was unsatisfied, I couldn't be content. -The same delusion that made me fancy I loved you would -trap me again—or, perhaps it wouldn't be delusion but -really the man I needed—the man who needed me. A -mirage isn't a delusion, you know. It's an actuality that -we mislocate. I'd hunt on—and on—through the desert for -my oasis—until I found it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not taken his fascinated gaze from her -dreamy face, her eyes of unfathomable emerald. "Do -you mean that?" he said huskily. "No—you can't. -But you must not say those things, Courtney—you -really mustn't. You'll make me afraid of you. -As it is, I fear I'll have a hard time making myself -forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to forget. And I've told you the -exact truth because I want you to realize how unsuited -we are to each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked up and down in violent agitation. "I don't -understand it," he muttered. "Has some one—Courtney, -do you love some other man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not. I've seen no one practically but Richard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He halted with a jerk. "Richard!" His eyes narrowed -with jealous suspicion. "Has he been trying to win -you back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled at the idea, so at variance with the facts. -"He treats me like another man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you see him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every day. I work at the laboratory with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">What!</em><span>" Basil stared, dropped to the nearest chair -dumfounded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? ... Don't be so pitifully conventional, -Basil. This is the twentieth century, not the Dark Ages. -He knows you're here now—asked me to see you here rather -than where it might cause gossip."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he recovered, his mind, seen clearly in his features, -slowly took fire. "And you pretended you were telling -me the truth!" he cried, starting up. Everything else—doubt -of her—doubt of himself—all was forgotten in the -torrent rush of jealousy. "And I, poor fool, believed you! -But I'll tell you what the truth is. You've lost your nerve. -You love me as you did. But you haven't the courage to -break off here. And you're sinking back to what you were -when I found you. I might have known! A woman always -belongs to the nearest man." He was raging up and down -the room. "I've come for you. I'll not go without you. -You're mine—not his. I'll show you! I'll show you!" And -he snatched his hat from the sofa and rushed out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the moment motion was beyond her power. She -saw him dart along the veranda, past the windows, take the -path to the Smoke House. Terror galvanized her. She -flew to the private telephone, rang long and vigorously, put -the receiver to her ear. A pause; she was about to ring -again when Richard's voice came: "Yes—what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's coming to you, Richard," she gasped. "I angered -him. He's wild with rage. Promise you won't let -him in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't do that." Richard's voice was calm and natural.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your promise to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be alarmed. He doesn't amount to much, if -you'll pardon my saying so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm coming as quickly as I can. Don't see him, -Richard. Remember Winchie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come if you like. But I suspect you'll only aggravate -him. Believe me, I can take care of him. Here he -is now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped the receiver, ran out of the house and -along the path.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxix"><span class="bold large">XXIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Vaughan hung up the receiver and turned, Gallatin -flung open the door on which he had just rapped a loud -challenge. He scowled at Vaughan; Vaughan eyed him -with the expression that simply looks and waits. It was -evident Basil expected immediate combat, was ready for -it—therefore altogether unready for the form of encounter -less easy. Dick's tranquillity completely disconcerted him. -He advanced a step, with an aggressive, "Well, here I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I see," replied Dick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been thinking it was cowardice that made me -go away. But it wasn't. And I've come to face it out -with you. You had your chance for her. You lost her. -I purpose to keep her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said Dick. "She's free. Her affairs are -none of my business." And he sat down at the long table -under the windows, glanced at the electric furnace as if -about to resume work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she isn't free!" cried Gallatin. "You've not -freed her, though she has the right to it. You're holding -on to her through the boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick bent over the white crystals in the platinum tray -on the shelf of the furnace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin, exasperated, waved his fists. "I demand that -you free her! If she were free, she'd come with me, for -she loves me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick took a metal rod from the case and began pushing -the crystals this way and that carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She loves me, I tell you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without pausing or looking round Dick said: "If you -say that again—I'll begin to believe it isn't so. There's -no accounting for tastes—especially for tastes feminine. -But—" He did not finish; over his face drifted a slight -smile more eloquent against Basil's deficiencies than the -fiercest stream of epithet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've won her," taunted Gallatin, in wild fury, yet as -if restrained by an invisible leash. "I've got her heart. -You might as well release the rest." As Dick seemed now -quite absorbed and unconscious of his presence, he advanced -still nearer. "By God, you shall!" he cried. "She -belongs to me, and I'm here to maintain my rights at any -cost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan laid down the long rod with a gesture of deliberate -precision and care, turned slowly toward him. His -long handsome face was of a curious transparent pallor. -His rather deep-set gray-blue eyes looked coldly and -cruelly at his one-time guest and partner. "You evidently -don't understand," said he. "There are times when -one must either ignore—or kill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil sneered, "Well?" said he, with intent to draw on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been choosing to ignore. At first it would -have given me the greatest pleasure to kill you. Now—you -are to me much like the cur that barks and snaps at -passers by." He rose. "You've come here to try to make -a vulgar scandal. You'll not succeed. You have nothing -to lose. I can't give you your deserts without hurting my -son. So—" Dick paused, seemed to be reflecting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hide behind him—do you?" sneered Basil. In -his frenzy he felt that one or the other must die then and -there or he himself would be forever dishonored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick apparently had not heard. In an abstracted way -he said, to himself, not to Gallatin, "Yes, I think that will -do." Again there was a pause, he thinking, Gallatin held -silent and expectant by his expression. Suddenly Dick said -sharply, "Yes—that will do." He moved the ladder to -the south wall, mounted; he took from the high top shelf -a jar of heavy glass, about one third full of dark red -powder; he descended with it. "Close that door and lock it," -he ordered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil, from habit of association with him as assistant, -moved to obey. Hand on knob and about to swing the -door, he hesitated, turned. "What are you going to do?" -he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you lock that door," replied Dick, "I shall -empty what's in this jar into the bowl of water there, and -in a few seconds we shall both be dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil shrank; a shudder ran visibly over his frame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could kill you without killing myself," continued -Dick, "and cover the scandal with the pretense of accident. -It would serve you right, but—somehow it strikes me as -cowardly. So—lock the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil was no coward; but he had grown yellow with -fear. His hand now dropped nervously from the knob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lock the door," said Dick sharply. "There's no -time to lose. I think she's on the way here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She'll understand—and kill herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? Helen will take care of Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Basil's gaze wandered round, in search of another -excuse. He braced himself, cried defiantly, "I refuse!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well." Dick set the jar on the table. "Then go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think I'm a coward. But it's not that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dick shrugged his shoulders. "I know you're a coward. -Everyone is. I'm as well pleased that you don't -accept. I've no wish to die, particularly for such an -absurd, stagy notion of honor. But I will not have a -scandal——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just there Courtney dashed in, her expression so disheveled -that it gave her the air of being disheveled in -dress. Her glance darted from Richard leaning calmly -against the table and, in blouse and cap, looking like a -handsome workingman, to Basil in his fashionable English -tweeds, standing shamefaced and irresolute near the -door—so near that she had brushed him as she entered. On -Basil her gaze rested like a withering blight. Her eyes -flashed green fire; her every feature hurled at him the -scorn that despises. "You shabby coward!" she said, her -voice low and threatening to break under the weight of its -burden of fury. "You who come here and try to ruin -my child and me for your vanity!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney!" he pleaded, not daring to lift his eyes. -"I love you. I cannot give you up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love! You don't know what it means! You weak -vain thing! You found you couldn't have me on equal -terms. So you thought you'd degrade me—compel me." She -turned on Richard. "And you, too!" she blazed. -"If you were a man you'd kill him—you'd kill us both—with -some of your chemicals there—and protect Winchie -by saying it was an accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absurd," said Vaughan with an indifferent shrug. His -arms were folded upon his broad chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trembling and blazing, she went up to him. "Look at -me!" she cried, her hands on her surging bosom, her eyes -glittering insanely up at him. Every instinct of prudence, -the instinct of self-preservation itself had succumbed under -the surge of elemental passion, of frenzied shame that she -should have lowered herself to such a man as this Basil -Gallatin. "This body of mine," she said in a voice of -terrible calm, "it's been his—that thing's—do you hear? He -has had me in his arms—me—your wife—the mother of -your boy—he—that creature quaking there. And I have -kissed him and caressed him and trembled with passion -for him as I never did for you.... Now, will you kill us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not move. But slowly the veins and muscles of -his face tightened, pushed up against, strained against the -ghastly whiteness of his skin. And slowly his eyes lighted -with the fires of a demoniac fury that made hers seem like -a child's weak hysteria. She gazed at him, fascinated. -Then, with a gasp, she braced herself and waited for the -frightful death that look of his signaled. But she did not -flinch, nor shift her gaze from his. To Gallatin, paralyzed, -watching them with eyes starting and lips ajar, it seemed -an eternity while they stood thus facing each other in -silence. Then, as slowly as that expression on Richard's -face had come it departed, like a fiend fighting inch by -inch against being flung back into the hell from which it -had issued at the call of her dreadful taunts. The face -remained deathly white; but those were Richard Vaughan's -own eyes that gazed down at the small, delicate face of the -woman, in them a look that filled her with awe, made her -ashamed, gave her the impulse to sink down at his feet -and burst into tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Courtney," Richard said, infinite gentleness in his -tone. "I'm neither god nor devil. I—all three of us—will -do to-day what to-morrow we'll be glad we did. One -can always die. But living again, once one's dead—that's -not so simple."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There fell silence. She stood before him, bosom still -heaving but eyes down. Vaughan turned to Gallatin with -a courtly politeness like his grandfather's. "Don't you -think you'd better go—for the present at least?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gallatin, who had been awed also, hesitated. He looked -at Courtney; his jaws clenched and he fixed sullen, -devouring eyes on her. "I want to talk to her alone," said -he aggressively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's for her to decide," said Richard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney lifted her head to refuse. Then it occurred -to her that, by talking with Basil, she might settle the -whole business for good and all. With a curious deference -she looked inquiringly at Richard. He shrugged his shoulders, -began pushing the tray into the furnace. She let her -eyes rest on Basil, said "Yes—that's best. Come on." She -went out of the laboratory, Basil following her. Richard -closed the door behind them. At the edge of the clearing -she halted, wheeled upon him. "Well!" she began, -her voice as merciless as her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a pitiful spectacle. His feature were working -in a ferment of many unattractive emotions—jealousy, -pique, fear that he was ridiculous, wounded vanity, desire -to regain with her the ground he felt he must have lost. -"You see now, Courtney," he said, aggressive yet -pleading, too, "he doesn't care a rap about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" she repeated. Her tone was much softer; -her nerves were calming, and her temper was yielding to -her sense of proportions. Also, the man looked weak and -shallow and ridiculous—not worth the while of a great -emotion. Just small. "What of it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He scowled in angry embarrassment at her expression -which neither suggested nor encouraged tragedy. -"I never heard of people acting as we've acted to-day!" -he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no doubt they often do," replied she. "Everybody -doesn't act—all the time—as if he were in a novel -or a play, or thought he was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can respect him after this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes had the expression a man least likes to see -in a woman's when she is looking at him. "Don't you?" -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reddened, and his eyes shifted. Presently he said -humbly, "I—I am sorry for what I did. I was crazy with -jealousy. I'm not myself—not at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt the truth of this at once. "And I'm sorry for -the things I said to you and to him. I was crazy with -rage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted his head eagerly. "I knew you didn't mean -them, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her brow darkened. It was annoying that the man -couldn't realize; for such as she now knew him to be to -aspire to her seemed impertinence. "Basil," she said, "it's all -over between us. Don't let your vanity deceive you. And -don't force me to tell you what I think of you. Be content -with knowing what I don't think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful!" he cried angrily. "I'm not the man -to stand and beg—even for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good," said she pleasantly. "Then—we can -part here and now." She glanced up at the windows of -the apartment. "You've got your traps up there still. -Hadn't you better let me send Jimmie to help you pack -them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied he, haughtily. "I'll be obliged -if you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put out her hand. "Good-by, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He clinched his fists in vanity's boyish anger. "You -can think of that apartment, and have no feeling?" he -exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None," declared she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not believe it. You couldn't be so unwomanly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her look forecast a sarcasm. But before she spoke it -changed to one that was soft and considerate. She felt -that she was responsible. True he had posed as something -far superior to his reality; but it was an honest -fraud, deceiving himself first and most of all. She felt to -blame for having been taken in—felt repentant and -apologetic toward him. "Let's not quarrel," she urged. "Don't -be harsh with me. I know you'll find love and make some -woman very, very happy—one that is sympathetic and -comes up to your ideals of womanhood." She put out her -hand again, and friendly and winning was the smile round -her wide mouth, in the eyes under the long, slender brows. -"Please, Basil." He hesitated. "Don't be harsh. You -know you don't love me any more than I love you. What's -the use of pretenses? Why not part sincerely? ... Please, -Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand just touched hers and his angry eyes avoided -her pleading glance. "If you'll send Jimmie," he said. -And with a stiff bow he moved in great dignity along the -path to the apartment entrance. He went even more slowly -than dignity required, for he confidently expected she -would come to her senses when she saw he had indeed -reached the limit of endurance of her trifling. Richard had -shown he wouldn't take her back—cared nothing for her. -Where then could she turn but to him? And all that -vaporing about independence was—just vaporing. A -woman was a woman, and he knew women. So, he walked -slowly to give her a good chance. But no call came—not -though he lingered over opening the door and made a long -pause elaborately to wipe his clean boots on the mat. He -did not look until he could do so from the security of the -sitting-room windows. She was not in sight. Had she -followed him softly? He went into the hall, glanced down -the stairs. Not there! She had gone! ... She meant -what she said; she had cast him off. There was no room -for doubt—she had cast him off.... He heard a step, -rushed to the door. It was Jimmie, come bringing his -overcoat and gloves, and prepared to do the packing. She -had really cast him off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God!" he muttered. "What a contemptible position -that puts me in!" And, for the moment at least, he hated -her. If he could only revenge himself—in some perfectly -gentlemanly way, of course. Once that day vanity had -lured him clean over the line into most ungentlemanly -conduct; his face burned from the sting of her remembered -denunciations—the sting of truth in them. If he could -devise a gentlemanly way—something that would convince -her he had made all that agitation simply because he -felt that, as a gentleman, he in the circumstances must -go to any lengths to keep faith with her. Yes, that -would be a handsome revenge—and would save his face, too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave Jimmie the necessary directions and resumed -his brooding. He searched his brain in vain. He could -contrive no way of escape; he would have to leave that -place like a whipped dog—yes, a whipped dog. Spurned -by Vaughan—spurned by Courtney——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A step, and the rustle of a skirt. His eyes gleamed. -"I thought not!" he muttered exultantly. "Well, I'll -teach her a lesson she'll never forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his back to the door, stood at the window, -looking out and puffing nonchalantly at his cigarette. The -step, the rustle were on the threshold. "I beg your -pardon, Mr. Gallatin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wheeled to face Helen. His confusion was equal to -hers. "Ah—Miss Helen—I—I—" he stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I intruding?" she asked. There was a charming -blush in her sweet, beautiful face, and her honest -dark eyes showed how perturbed she was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No indeed—no indeed," he protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney sent me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney sent you!" he exclaimed in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She told me all about it," Helen hastened on. "She -asked me to let you know that she had told me—how you -and Richard have had a bitter falling out over the -work—and that you're going away, not to come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One look into those eyes was convincing; Helen believed -what she was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She thought perhaps I might be able to help you about -the packing. Can I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I'd be glad if you'd stop while Jimmie is -doing it. I don't want to leave without saying good-by -to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the roses fled from Helen's cheeks. "Yes—certainly," -she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll excuse my being somewhat confused? The -truth is I'm very much upset."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell you how dreadfully I feel," said Helen. -"Are you sure you and Richard—" She paused. Her -glance stirred him like an angel face in a drunkard's -dream—her face earnest, grieved, sympathetic, unable -to credit anything so dreadful, so wicked as a parting in -hate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite sure. It's—final. Please, let's not talk about -it. It's all so—so revolting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In presence of those clear, noble eyes of hers, the -sordidness of his "romance" now once more began to stand -out. What a mess! No wonder he had taken to drink. If -it had been Helen and the kind of love she inspired— "But -you and I will always be friends—won't we?" he -said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyelids dropped and he saw her bosom fluttering. -"I hope so," she said so low he scarcely heard. She was -pale now, and drooping. "Though I'm afraid—when you -get away off there, you'll forget me very soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His heart smote him as he looked at that tall, voluptuous -figure, at that lovely face, so regular, so pure. Here was a -woman, a real woman, and she would have loved him—perhaps -did love him. "I know I'm unworthy of a thought -from you who are so good and pure," he said. "But your -kindness to me has helped me. And God knows, I shall -need help." Oh, that it had been his lot to anchor to this -strong, white soul! How much nobler than the finest -passion was a love centering about the sweet, old-fashioned -ideals. What a haven those arms, that bosom would be! -He felt dissolute and sin-scarred as only a vain young man -can feel those dread but delightful depravities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not despair, Basil," came in Helen's soft -voice, like oil upon his wounds. And it touched him to see -how, maidenly shy though she was, she yet could not resist -the appeal of this opportunity to try to do good. She -went on, "It's always darkest before dawn, and the more -rain falls the less there is to fall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These words seemed like heavenly wisdom delivered by -a messenger of light. He sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll come out all right—and will escape from -that—that—whatever it is—" Helen's cheeks modestly -colored—"and be happy with some </span><em class="italics">good</em><span> woman who is worthy -of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked so sad, so beautiful that before he knew it -he, ever sympathetic with women, had said, "Some woman -like you, Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned away. He saw that her emotions were -making her tremble. How she loved him! What a prize such -a love would be—and how chagrined Courtney would -feel—Courtney the vampire woman who had tried to destroy -him, and thought she had succeeded—and was gloating over -his misery. "If we'd had the chance, Helen, how happy we -could have made each other! But I mustn't talk of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" said she, with bold shyness. "I know -that for some reason we can never be anything more to -each other. But it's been a happiness—" earnestly, with -tears in her eyes of the Homeric Juno and in her voice -young and honest and sympathetic—"a real happiness to -feel that the best of you—the part that's really you—found -something to like in me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thrilled. Here was a woman! And a woman who -appreciated him. He wondered how he could have lingered -under a malign spell when such beauty of soul—and body, -too—was his for the asking. "Helen!" he cried. And -all his wounded heart's longing and all his wounded vanity's -suffering gave energy to his cry. He took her hand; he -put his arm round her. Her cheek touched his. How cool -yet warm she was! How lovely and sweet! And the -unsullied, untouched down! How fresh! Except her male -relatives, no doubt no man but himself had ever kissed -her— "Helen—Helen! God forgive me, but I can't refuse this -moment of pure happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gently drew away. "Oh, Basil," she sobbed. -"And I had said no man should ever kiss me until— But -you—it seems different. You are so noble—so pure -minded." Her eyes gazed into his with a trustful -adoration that thrilled him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen—do you love me?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her honest eyes opened wider. "Would I have let you -touch me if I didn't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I know that!" he exclaimed. "How pure you -are! It's like heaven after hell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed on into his eyes. A faint flush overspread -her pale cheeks. She kissed him. "I love you, Basil," -she said, gravely. Then all at once the color surged wave -on wave over her brow, her cheeks, her neck. She hung -her head, slowly drew away from his detaining vibrating -arms. There is a time for lighting a fire; there is a time -for leaving it to burn of itself. Helen had by the guidance -of feminine instinct hit upon exactly the right instant for -drawing back. She released herself, avoided his touch just -when passion having captured his imagination swept on -to the conquest of the flesh. At the edges of her lowered -eyes appeared two tears to hang glistening in the lashes. -From her bosom rose a sigh, soft, suppressed but -heart-breaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bright flame was leaping in his eyes. "You noble, -splendid woman!" he cried, as his glance leaped from -charm to charm—from delicate, regular features to -sumptuous yet girlish figure. "What a jewel—in what a -casket! You appeal to the best there is in me—only to the -best. If I become a man again, it will be through you." And -sincerity rang in his voice; for, the fire of high -resolve to be a good man, to be worthy of this exalted -womanhood, was burning in his blood. "Helen—will you help -me? I've sinned—you never will know how dreadfully. -But I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her answer was a beautiful shaft of the love light from -her now wonderful eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen—will you marry me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From head to foot she trembled. All her color fled, -leaving her face whiter than the milk-white skin of her -voluptuous neck and shoulders. "I—love—you," she said -simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you will? Say you will, Helen. I cannot trust -myself to go away without your strength to help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were tears in his eyes as in hers as he reverently -kissed her hands. He had a sense of peace, of sin -forgiven, of joyous return to the fold of honor and -respectability. And her heart was overflowing with love, with -gratitude to him and to God.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xxx"><span class="bold large">XXX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Returning to the house after full two hours, she burst -excitedly in upon Courtney, who was at her easel in the -upstairs sitting room. Courtney had by much experimenting -found that of her several possible indoor occupations -painting was far the best sedative for mind and nerves. The -girl's face, exultant with pride, exalted with love, gave her -a shock; for, only complete triumph could have so roused -those regular, chastely cool features from their wonted -repose. She had on impulse sent Helen to Basil in vague -hope that they, admirably suited because each needed just -what the other had to give, possibly might somehow get a -start in the direction of making a match of it. She had the -most convincing of reasons for believing that the heart in -need of balm is the most susceptible to it. But she did not -believe that Basil's heart was, at least latterly, involved; -and, as she had not a glimmer of a suspicion of his stolen -draughts of "moral tonic," she could not credit the story -so clearly written upon those radiant features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean you got him!" she exclaimed, laying -her brush on the rest and leaning back. And in her -amazement and excitement over this sudden freakish prank of -fate, out of her mind flew all the wretched thoughts over -which she had been brooding—thoughts centering about her -own ugly part in that scene at the laboratory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen, undisturbed by this frankness of woman to -woman friend, when there are no listeners, flung ecstatic -arms about her and kissed her on either cheek. "I'm so -happy!" she cried. "And I owe it all to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Engaged?" inquired Courtney, the utter impossibility -of the thing down-facing the clear evidence of its actuality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen held up her left hand, displaying the old-fashioned -diamond ring Basil had always worn on his little -finger. "It was his mother's," she said, regarding it with -an expression in the big brown eyes that would have thrilled -him, had he seen. It thrilled Courtney; and no further -proof of the absolute passing of Basil was needed than the -unalloyed pleasure Helen's happiness gave her. "Engaged," -said Helen, softly, dreamily. "And the day set—the -second of June."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Splendid!" Helen, she felt, was secure; for, Basil -had the highest respect for his given word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if you hadn't sent me down there, I do believe -it'd never have happened. Just think!—though we've loved -each other practically from the first meeting. He says it -was his feeling about me that started him to struggling -against that bad woman. Do you remember——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I remember," said Courtney. How dead it all -was!—dead with the death that leaves no scar upon the -heart, only a lesson in the memory. How could it ever -have seemed living?—and immortal!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—of course you remember. You knew about her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much about her," replied Courtney. Pensively, -"Really, nothing at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure I don't want to know anything. The less a -good woman knows about evil, the better.... I think -recently he must have almost succeeded in breaking away; -for, to-day I'm sure he was hesitating at the parting of the -ways—whether to go back to her or not. And my coming -there decided him. Isn't it beautiful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like a fairy tale," said Courtney, taking up her brush -and eying critically the little landscape to which she was -giving the finishing touches. "But, my dear, I don't think -you ought to tell me these things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt selfish in saying this; Helen had inexperienced -youth's irresistible craving to confide, and was simply -bursting with simple and innocent vanity over having achieved -the double triumph of both spiritual and worldly -advantage. But Helen was not to be suppressed or even -discouraged. "Oh, yes," replied she. "He asked me to tell you -we are engaged. I think he knows you've heard about that -woman who was dragging him down, and thought you could -advise me whether he was a fit man for me to marry. You -see he feels he's been very bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men always like to think that," said Courtney. "But -as long as they think so, they're not. No, he isn't bad, as -men go. He wants to settle down. And he will settle -down—with you." She was looking at the landscape but -her quizzical eyes were seeing the pair of them a few years -hence, contentedly yawning at each other, leading the -conventional life of the well-to-do that swathes them body and -mind in soft, indolent fat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen had only half listened to Courtney, as she cared -as little as the next woman about her lover's past, and knew -for herself that he was high-minded and of the noblest -instincts. She halted her own and Courtney's musings with -an absent, "I feel that way about it, too." She moved -nervously about the room, from time to time casting an -appealing glance at her absorbed friend. Finally she burst -out desperately: "There's something I want your advice -about. I don't know whether I've done right or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Courtney, encouragingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't told you but—the fact is—while I was on -that visit to Saint X, I—I became engaged to Will Arbuthnot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney looked laughingly at her over the suspended -brush. "Oh, Helen—Helen!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But let me explain, dear," begged Helen, cheeks -scarlet and eyes down. "When I went up there—and until -just a few minutes ago—I thought—" Her faltering voice -died away altogether.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thought there was no hope of getting Basil," said -Courtney, with no censure, with only sympathy. She -resumed touching up the picture to ease Helen's -embarrassment. "Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought he was hopelessly in the power of that -bad woman. So, I put my feeling for him out of my -heart.... I know you're laughing at me. You're so -cynical, Courtney. But a girl has got to do the best she -can. And it's getting harder and harder for a poor girl -to marry—that is, to marry a man with anything. And -brought up as I've been I have to have nice surroundings. -I want a good home—and—and—children—and they -must be educated properly—and able to keep their place -in our station of life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," reassured Courtney. "You did the practical, -sensible thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, what I did </span><em class="italics">seems</em><span> to bear out your ideas. -You're always teasing me about my ideals being mostly -pretense. Well, perhaps they are. It does look like -it—doesn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everybody's are," said Courtney, squinting at the -picture. "Ideals are paste pearls. One can wear much -bigger and finer ones than of the real—and nobody knows -they're paste—or need ever know if one's careful to avoid -their being tested. I'm glad, dear, you weren't so foolish -as you always insisted you'd be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen looked as if her soul were freed of a huge -weight. "I will say, Courtney, that I'd never think of -confiding in any person who believes like me, while I -always feel safe in confiding in you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Courtney with genuine gratitude. -"You don't know what a flattering compliment that is.... -So, you're engaged to Will Arbuthnot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—that is, up at Saint X Will asked me to marry -him. He's a nice, clean, thoroughly good fellow. And -when Basil went away I supposed he'd gone to that -bad——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," interrupted Courtney. "Never mind -about her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I felt I could grow to like Will, and I put Basil out -of my heart." There she fluttered a guiltily uneasy glance -at Courtney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," teased Courtney, "you give the naughty -man the preference over the nice one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just it!" exclaimed Helen in triumph. "Basil -needs me. I did hesitate—at least, I tried to—until he -begged me to strengthen him by saying yes. Then I felt -it was clearly my duty." Helen took Courtney's amused -nod at her landscape as approval. "And while I hated -to do a thing that in a way might seem deceitful—still, -Basil has such an exalted opinion of me—and -it helps him, to feel that way—and if he had found -out that I hadn't loved him all along—or if I'd asked -him to wait—I might have lost all chance to help him -to be the noble, good man— </span><em class="italics">Don't</em><span> smile that way. -Courtney."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Courtney instantly changed her smile to one of -tenderness. "I know you're good and sweet, dear—and -beautifully sincere," said she, with perfect honesty; for, -experience had left in her little of the familiar -self-complacence that condemns human beings for human traits. -"Much too good for Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," said Helen, beaming, "a woman who has -kept herself pure is superior to a man who has not been -clean and nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Always make Basil feel that," advised Courtney. -"He's the kind of man that can behave only when he's on -his knees—and you're the kind of woman that prefers -worship to love.... I suppose you'll live in the East."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In New York, I think," replied Helen, reflectively. -"He talks of the country. But I've had enough of that. -I'm sure he'd be better contented in a city."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney laughed gayly. "What a dear you are!" she -exclaimed, looking at her friend tenderly. "And so -absolutely unconscious of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen returned her gaze in unaffected surprise. "I -don't know what you mean. Why do you laugh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing." Courtney was painting again. "What -are you going to do about Will Arbuthnot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, be perfectly honest with him," cried Helen, injured -and reproachful. "I simply couldn't be deceitful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell him you've found you can make a better match? -Oh, you mustn't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think not!" exclaimed Helen, horrified. -"That wouldn't be the truth. No, I'll tell him I find -I don't love him as a woman should love the man she's to -give herself to. You know I've got the old-fashioned -ideals—that is, ideas—of the sacredness of womanhood. He'll -understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Courtney gravely, though her eyes were -dancing, "he'll have a deeper reverence for true -womanhood.... Well, the men deserve it. They're responsible -for our not daring to be our natural human selves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> natural, dear," remonstrated Helen warmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was busily trying for a shade of brown on her -palette. "You're sure Basil won't hear of your other -engagement? Remember, he knows several Saint X people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I made an agreement with Will that we'd keep it a -secret until we got ready to marry." Courtney laughed -again; it was so obvious what lingering longing and hope -had prompted this precaution. "What </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you laughing at -</span><em class="italics">now</em><span>?" asked Helen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't spoil your innocence by telling you," -replied Courtney. And she rose and, palette in one hand, -brush in the other, kissed her affectionately. "I'm glad -you're happy—and I'm sure you'll always be happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I shall. And he'll be happy too. As he -said, he's lived in an atmosphere of deceit and falsehood, -and he needs to be lifted up into purity and love -and—and—all that makes a good home and life on a high -plane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney was smiling strangely into her color box. -"You'll be married in Saint X at Mrs. Torrey's, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen began her answer in a place so remote that -Courtney, used as she was to the complexities of feminine -thought, was completely baffled. Said Helen: "Will -Cousin Richard think me disloyal, marrying a man he's at -outs with?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Courtney reflected. "I don't know what he'll think." -she said. "But you've got to consider yourself first—and -Basil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, certainly—" Again Helen was only half listening. -"About the wedding," she presently said. "I was -thinking it out, while Basil and I were talking——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Helen—Helen!" And the small head with its -auburn crown shook in mock disapproval. "Not while he -was making his first love to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen reddened. "I had to think about things. You -know, a woman can't afford to let herself loose like a man. -And I decided it'd be best for us not to announce the -engagement, but just to marry. And not at Saint X. I'll -go up to Aunt Lida's in Laporte. What is it, dear? Why -do you look so queer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing." Courtney had no desire—indeed, -what would have been the use?—to tell her thoughts as -she viewed the swamp of deceit and double dealing into -which Helen and Basil were dragging each other in pursuit -of those will-o'-the-wisp ideals. Ideals! But Courtney's -lip did not curl in scorn as it would have curled a few -months before. She had learned that supreme lesson of -tolerance—even when you are sure you are right, not to -fancy that what is right for you is right for anyone else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," Helen was saying, "I'll not tell Richard. It -would annoy him and do no good. Oh, I ought to be -ashamed of myself, to be so happy when you are unhappy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—unhappy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you conceal it, dear. You're brave and self-reliant. -But— Isn't there </span><em class="italics">anything</em><span> I could do to bring -you and Dick together again? You're a woman, dear. -You simply have to be taken care of, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't shadow your romance with worry about me," -said Courtney nervously. She was all confusion and -restlessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can't help it," pleaded Helen. "I know Richard -was neglectful. And he's not an attractive man to a -woman, as Basil is—isn't livable and lovable like Basil——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Helen went on and on contrasting the two men, to -Richard's disadvantage at every point. In former days -she had been too much "afraid Richard'll find out how -foolish I am and how little I know" to get in the least -acquainted with him; since the divorce they had talked only -constrained commonplaces, when she took Winchie to him. -Thus, the comparison was grotesque distortion of Richard. -But Courtney was not tempted to try to set her right. -Helen, of small mentality and in love with Basil, would -not appreciate, would not be convinced, would simply be -irritated—would probably misunderstand and be encouraged -to pursue her absurd scheme for bringing them together. -But parallel with Helen's talk there was in Courtney's -mind a juster contrasting of the two men—the one -strong, the other weak; the one real, the other idealist; -the one simple, the other a </span><em class="italics">poseur</em><span>; the one intelligent, -the other merely conceited; the one master of his emotions, -the other their slave; the one an original, the other a -pattern, an identical sample of thousands turned out by the -"best families" and the "best colleges" and the "best -society." And then it came to her why she had estimated -Basil quickly and accurately, once she began it—that it -was because in Richard she for the first time had a measure -to do her measuring with. The mists of his abstraction -had completely hid his personality from her, as from -everybody. Those mists had blown away in the cyclone of -the disruption of their marriage, and he had stood revealed—and -Basil also—Basil, the dwarf beside the giant. She -could see how the lesser man had made what was, in the -circumstances, irresistible appeal to the imperious craving -that must be satisfied before the need of heart for -sympathy and of mind for comradeship could gain a hearing, -the craving that in gaining its ends will compel the -imagination to play any necessary sorry trick upon the -intelligence. She could see this; and she could also see how sorry -the trick upon intelligence had been—how absurd was her -dream of founding a life-long content and happiness upon -what Basil could give her and she Basil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure," Helen was saying, "with a little management -you could get Richard back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These words fell upon Courtney's ears just as into her -mind again came that scene between her and Richard at -the laboratory—the childish, the coarse taunts she had -hurled at him, and how he had met them. She was hot -with the shame of it when Helen spoke. The suggestion -that Richard could be got back overwhelmed her with a -crushing, stinging sense of how in contempt he must hold -her now. The red of her skin flamed up into scarlet. -"Don't speak of those things," she commanded harshly. -Then, instantly ashamed of this misdirected outburst of -temper, she put on her most careless, frivolous air—put it -on well enough to deceive Helen. "Let's talk trousseau," -said she. "You haven't much time, you know. June's -very near."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Helen was too curious about the trouble that had -so abruptly changed a friendship into hatred. "It must -have been exciting—that quarrel between them," she hinted -encouragingly. "You were there, weren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, Courtney."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It cured my cold," said Courtney. "I'd been feeling -queer in the nose and eyes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> you be so light!" exclaimed Helen. "Well—let's -talk trousseau." She felt that she had done her -duty, that it was a waste of time to try to induce Courtney -to be serious— "She </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> will have any sense of -responsibility—or of the graver side of life." And with a clear -conscience she took up trousseau and thought and talked -dress steadily the rest of the afternoon, straight through -until the supper gong sounded. And she asked so many -questions, so much minute advice about every little detail -that Courtney's attention could not wander.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At supper Courtney got a real pleasure from Helen's -rapt, tenderly smiling countenance—they could not talk -before Lizzie as the engagement was to be kept secret. -Also, she got pleasure mingled with amusement out of -Helen's delightful swift assumption of the ways of a -married woman, and out of her immense satisfaction—as shown -in a certain sweet and loving condescension to Courtney—over -Basil's superiority as a catch. Helen was in fancy -already married and installed in grandeur. But after -supper, when Helen went up to write her first love -letter—(those to Will Arbuthnot didn't count)—Courtney made -no attempt to save herself from the attack of the blues that -had been threatening ever since she calmed sufficiently to -recall what she had said to Dick at the laboratory. She -sat at the piano playing softly. Helen's face was haunting -her—that expression telling of dreams she understood so -well—so well! Would Helen's dream fade too? -Probably—yes, certainly—for, the Helen sort of woman soon -discouraged love in a man, and the Basil sort of man -looked askance at love as tainted of that devil whom no -one believed in any more yet everyone feared. -Fade—wither—die. And she herself—would she seek on and on, -deceived always by hopes and longings—as she had been -twice already—the second time worse deceived than the -first——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Into her thoughts came an image of Richard. The -image grew stronger. Very gradually she realized that -he was actually before her, was the tall figure in the -doorway of the sitting room——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't dare interrupt," he said. "It would have -been like disturbing a funeral."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite so bad as that," replied she with an attempt -to smile. Though her rose-bronze coloring enabled -her to blush deeply without detection, had the corner where -she was sitting been less dim he must have seen into what -shamefaced confusion his coming threw her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went on playing; he seated himself at some distance -from her to gaze into the fire and smoke. She was on the -grill of humiliating thoughts about herself—what she had -said and done that afternoon. She did not lift her eyes -until she had made sure by several furtive glances that -she could look at him in safety. She watched him—the -cigarette gracefully between the long first and second -fingers of his hand of the aristocrat and the artist—the -poise of his curiously long head so well proportioned—the -long, sensitive, mobile features—that indescribable look -which proclaims at a glance the man of high intelligence—the -man of the finely organized nervous system. Then -she observed that he was in evening half dress—one more -reason for his looking unusually handsome and -distinguished. But all the time she was seeing those two -expressions which had transformed him that afternoon—had -transformed him and had made her feel mean and poor -beside him. A man who could be such a wild hot blast -of primeval passion; the man who could be stronger -than passion, even such passion—there was indeed a man! -And what must he think of her! "But no worse than I -deserve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To break the current of her own thoughts, she interrupted -his with a trivial "You are dressed this evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I've come to call," he replied, rousing himself -from his reverie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell Helen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to talk to you—if you'll listen." She stopped -the soft wandering of her fingers over the keys. "No, go -on playing, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She resumed. Now her eyes were on the keyboard, -and she was having no easy task of it finding the right -keys and striking the right chords, all the time conscious -of his steady penetrating gaze. "It's nearing the time -you fixed for going East," he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded slowly in time to the music. He was so -seated that the piano prevented his seeing any of her but -her bare shoulders and graceful head with its masses of -auburn hair, against a background of palms and ferns. -"I'm glad the spring is so backward this year," she said; -for, she had learned not to fear his misunderstanding, if -she spoke out her thoughts. "If it were really spring with -the grounds all in bloom and the windows wide— It makes -me sad to think of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had thought she might perhaps soften his contempt -by reminding him that there was another and a less repellant -side to her character. But as soon as the words were -out, she wished she had not spoken; it was useless to try -to make him think well of her. He was probably regretting -that he had let her have Winchie. She looked -appealingly toward him, hoping he would speak—say -anything—no matter what, so long as it broke that silence -of painful suspense. When she could endure it no -longer, she suddenly burst out: "You've come to ask me -to leave at once. You are right, I'll go as soon as I -can pack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary," said he, eyes still intent upon the -tall shafts of flame leaping toward the cavernous blackness -of the chimney. "I've come to ask you not to go at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone was calm and self-controlled. It contained no -suggestion of ominous meaning; nor did his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't understand," she ventured, nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to propose," explained he, in the same -deliberate way, "that we give each other another trial."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no mistaking his meaning. In the sudden -reversal from all she had been expecting and fearing, her -thoughts became mere chaos. Hands resting upon the keys, -she sat silent, rigid—waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his chair, leaned toward her, his elbows on -his knees. "Is the idea—is it—distasteful to you?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carefully, with her tapering fingers she measured -chords without striking them. "Not </span><em class="italics">distasteful</em><span>," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not dislike me—now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never have, except for a few minutes now and then—when -you said or did tyrannical things." Painfully embarrassed, -she was trying to regain control of herself under -cover of arranging the chiffon round the edge of the bosom -of her dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courtney, I'm a different man from what I was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she assented, without reserve. "Very -different. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, please," he said, before she could begin to -explain. "When you've heard my reasons for asking you -to stay, you may think well of them. If not, why you -at least can refuse more intelligently. This afternoon, -when Gallatin was down at the laboratory making an ass -of himself, you whirled upon me with some very vivid -reminders of what you had been to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was insane with rage—not that it wasn't all -true—only—I—it was—" She hung her head—"Oh, I'm so -ashamed!—so ashamed!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you did," interrupted he, heartily. "You -thought to infuriate me. And you did, for a moment. -Then—I was astonished to find myself quite calm. Do -you know why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Because you care nothing about me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I care nothing about him. Because I know -you've ceased to think you care about him—care, you never -did. Since I've come to my senses, I've been getting -acquainted with you. And I know you do not and never did -and never could love Basil Gallatin. That is, the woman -you are now—the only one that interests either of us—never -did and never could."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The deep green eyes glanced gratefully toward him. -"That's true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was simply what you and I went through with -when we first met—and became engaged—and got married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said she. "Much the same. But—" Her eyes -met his fully. "It wouldn't be honest if I didn't say too -that I do not regret—about him. I suppose there's -something wrong with me, but somehow I don't seem able to -regret anything I do—even the things I'm ashamed of—like -what I said this afternoon. It all seems part of -experience. It seems necessary. That experience with -him—it helped me toward learning to live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She expected that he would be offended by her frankness. -But he was not. "It helped you toward learning -to live," he assented, like one stating an indisputable truth. -"And it helped me. No, more than that. It </span><em class="italics">taught</em><span> me.... -I wish the lesson could have been got in some—some -other way. Perhaps you do, too." She nodded, gazing -thoughtfully across the piano into the fire. "But," he -went on, "fate doesn't let us choose our way—or, perhaps, -there's no nice, refined way of getting one's full -growth, any more than there is for a tree. It's simply got -to stand outdoors in all weathers, and learn to survive and -grow strong, no matter what comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the things that seem to hinder, often help -most—and those that look like helps are enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw his understanding, appreciative look, though -her eyes were gazing past him; and she liked it. "We've -both learned," said he. "And we've both been put in the -way of learning more. Now why shouldn't you and I use -our experience to the best advantage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I intend to try," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it's simply a question of what is the best -advantage. Isn't it for us both to stay on here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think so," was her slow reply. "Not for -either of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll listen to my reasons? Really listen, I -mean. You know, you caught my bad habit of not listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said with a forced, uneasy smile. "I'll -listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—first, there's this place. You like it, don't you? -You must, since you made it. I've found that out, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love it," she answered. "But—" She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, do try to be patient with me. You must consider -all three of my reasons together. That was only number -one. Number two is Winchie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She searched his face with swift terrified eyes. -He smiled a frank and winning reassurance that instantly -convinced her. "Please put that kind of thoughts -about me out of your mind forever," he urged. "I've -learned my lesson—that the beginning of fear is the end -of trust. The boy's yours. You've got the right to him; -he's got the right to you. Even if I could do for him, it'd -be my duty— But I didn't come here this evening to talk -about duty. That's a rotten hypocrisy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this Richard Vaughan?" she cried laughingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same—minus his grandfather," replied he, eyes -and voice echoing her laugh. "No more duty for me. -When anybody talks about doing his duty, he'd better be -watched. If he boasts of having done his duty he'd better -be locked up while they find out what mischief he's been -at. No, I'm out for honest, selfish inclination only. That -brings me to my third reason. I want you to stay. But—for -very selfish sensible reasons I want you to want to stay. -I've gotten acquainted with you. I need you. There's -nobody who could take your place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled at what seemed to her the extravagant -kindness of this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean just that," he went on. It wasn't the words -he was saying; it never is a matter of words. It was the -way he said it—the force behind the words, like the force -behind the projectile. "I need you. Don't you think -you could learn to need me? A man needs a woman. A -woman needs a man. We've never given each other a fair -trial. Why shouldn't we? Now that you've taught me, -I don't want you to abandon me. And why should you -begin all over again with another man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat motionless, hardly breathing, it seemed, from -the stillness of her bosom. He waited long but no answer -came. He went to the big old-fashioned chimneypiece, -stood with his back to the logs; a look of somberness came -into his face. "Well," he said, "I've said my say." There -was silence in the room. He drew a long breath. "What -do you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her head. With flushed face and reproachful, -almost resentful eyes she cried: "You've no right to come -at me that way. You make it hard for me to do as I wish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish to go? Then it's settled." He turned his -face to the fire, and she could not see it. "We'll not -speak of this again." His voice seemed natural; but there -must have been some subtle quality in it that set her nerves -to vibrating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you," she cried, "are thinking 'How mean and -ungrateful she is—after my generosity to refuse to——'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so!" he protested sharply, wheeling round. -"I've not been generous. When I told you the fault was -chiefly mine, I meant it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When a man treats a woman as if she were a human -being, it's generosity, as the world goes," insisted she. And -then the words began to pour from her as if they had -suddenly found an outlet. "You make me feel small and -mean in refusing. Oh, I'm grateful for the way you've -treated me—but I hate myself for being grateful—and I'm -ashamed that it is hateful. But I can't be different. -Your generosity—your forgiveness hurt my pride. They -make me feel I'm your inferior—and I am. But I mustn't -stay where I'd feel humble. You make me ashamed to go, -but I know I've the right to go—and that I ought to go. -I must!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—you are going," was his unhesitating reply. -"I don't want you to stay. I see you don't believe -me—don't understand me—and no wonder. It'd be useless to -try again, unless we were both determined with all our -hearts to make a success if success was at all possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it couldn't be a success," said she, a touching -melancholy in her voice, in her deep, mysterious eyes. -"For, a man doesn't want an equal woman but a dependent—wants -his woman to be like his dog. Oh, what a world -it is!—where everybody cants about self-respect, and -everybody prefers cringers to friends, fear to love!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," said Vaughan, in the quiet forceful manner -that fitted so well his air of reserve power, of strength -without strenuosity. "And that's why I want you. Courtney, -don't you see that you're free and independent here, now? -Don't you see it'd be a waste of time, a waste of energy, -for you to go away? You may not need me, but I need -you—in every way. You can get along without me. But -how can I get along without you? Where would I find a -woman who could take your place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her bosom was rising and falling stormily. Her eyes -wandered, as if she were desperately seeking a way of -escape and had scant hope of finding it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you give 'us' another trial?" he asked, with -proud humility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot," she cried, starting up in her agitation. "I -cannot! I must go. There's everything here but the one -thing I must have—what you never could give me, after all -that's happened—and then, there's what I said to you this -afternoon. We never could look at each other without my -feeling that you— Oh, let's not talk about it. I must -go—I must! I cannot live without love—equal love. I must -seek until I find it—find some one who needs me—all of -me—all I have to give—and must give."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left the hearth and faced her with the length of -the piano between them. "Could you love me?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice set to vibrating nerves she had thought would -never again respond to him. She trembled, and her eyes -sank. "Even if I could—you couldn't love me. You could -forgive—could be generous and kind. But you couldn't -love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do love you," he said. And she, looking at him -in wonder, thought there had never shone eyes so near to -being the very soul itself. "I began to love you when you -sent Gallatin away and faced me alone and did not lie. I -came back because— You were like the air to me, Courtney. -One isn't conscious of the air unless he hasn't it, and -can't breathe. I've loved you more and more, day by day, -ever since. And I shall love you more and more—need -you more and more—every day until I die. Courtney—can't -you forgive me? I am sorry for what I did—and—I -love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sank upon the piano seat, flung her slim white arms -along the keyboard, buried her face in them. "I've found -it!" she sobbed. "I've found it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Several discoveries in chemistry give Richard Vaughan -fame, and Courtney shares it. But they value it all at -nothing beside the discovery which gives them happiness: -That the wise make of their mistakes a ladder, the foolish -a grave.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</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">OTHER BOOKS BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Phillips does not follow the usual fashion in -novels. He has a fashion of his own. His readers -are now numbered by the scores of thousands. In at -least one of our cities, at the public library where they -take ten copies of each of Mr. Phillips's new books, there -is usually a waiting-list </span><em class="italics">five to seven months</em><span> long for a -chance at it, which shows one of two things, or perhaps -both: to how much trouble some people will go to save -the trifling expenditure of the price of a book, or how -extremely popular Mr. Phillips is—so popular that he -has a multitude of eager readers among those who -cannot afford to buy books.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is no small triumph to win all kinds of readers, as -Mr. Phillips has. The reason he has achieved it is -because he writes about life as we live it ourselves, in our -hearts and in our homes and in our dealings with each -other—the familiar yet startling and always fascinating -truth about life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Phillips is an Indiana man in the early forties. -He graduated from De Pauw University and then from -Princeton. He has had a career giving him unusual -opportunities to observe the life of all kinds of people, -high and low, rich and poor, town and country, here and -abroad. As he watched the struggle of humanity to -live—the concealment and subterfuge, the extraordinary -mixture of good and bad in everyone—all the conflict in -the jungle which we call life impressed itself on him, and -he gradually found that fiction—the novel—was -presenting to him the best medium for him to express to -everyone what he had found in his work so far. The -result has been that in the last few years Mr. Phillips -has gathered together an audience of thousands, who -watch each book as it appears. It is interesting to see -what he has produced.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>Mr. Phillips's novel just preceding the present work is</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Fashionable Adventures of</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">JOSHUA CRAIG</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Concerning this story, the London </span><em class="italics">Times</em><span> said: -"Until the modern Balzac actually arrives, perhaps -Mr. David Graham Phillips may be permitted to fill the -gap"; and of the hero it said: "Joshua Craig, a -Lincoln adapted for the use of latter-day Americans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is the story of a strong, virile personality set -among the frothy superficialities of society life in -Washington. Joshua Craig, a young Western lawyer, is -striving to make a name for himself in national politics, -and carries everything before him by his cyclonic -forcefulness. In spite of his bourgeois birth, he tears down -the barriers of society, and his utter disregard of -conventionalities makes him the sensation of the season. And -yet, for all his frank contempt of the methods of -Aristocracy, their plots and littleness, he finds among them -one "woman," Margaret Severance. He lays siege to -her with all his impulsiveness and the assurance of -success, and makes her own honest self do battle with the -scheming smallnesses of her aristocratic bringing up. -He carries her away with a masterfulness that is -characteristic of him, and marries her before she can get her -breath. Big and rough and crude, repelling and yet -compelling, he fights for the supremacy of his -fundamental ideas, and step by step the "lady" in her gives -way to the "woman," always struggling, always battling. -She finally yields to his will—to become the -quiescent wife of a candidate for governor.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>Just preceding this book, Mr. Phillips published</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">OLD WIVES FOR NEW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Many, many critics have called this novel immoral and -gross. It is not so. It tells the naked truth—not -brutally, but frankly. It is not romance. It is real life. It -deals with a wife who cannot keep pace with her -husband, and who becomes slothful and unclean and -low-minded because she does not realize that to live and move -forward she must keep herself physically and mentally -clean and fresh. It is the truth. It hits many a woman -to-day hard. Women do not like this truth. It bites too -deep and so they called it disgusting and immoral. -And yet more than 200,000 people have read it. Of this -novel it is said: "If the husband reads it he gives it to -his wife. If the wife reads it first, she is very likely to -hide it from her husband." A woman said of it: -"While I was reading it, I stopped one night just after -the train wreck. It was so vivid that as I took up my -morning paper, the next day, I glanced at the head-lines -for news of Murdock's condition, and to find whether the -scandal had come out." "Old Wives for New" is a -picture of married life—when the blinds are drawn and the -servants out of the way, and the husband and wife -become their real selves. The </span><em class="italics">St. Paul Pioneer Press</em><span> says: -"It contains things about women that have never seen -the light of day before." It might have added: and -things about men also. The book teems with good -characters, each with a haunting resemblance to ourselves. -There are women of respectability and women of the -other world, wise men and fools, people that are more -good than bad, people that are more bad than good, but -nobody that is unhuman enough to be either all good or -all bad. The keynote is that of a good story which -searches for the truth.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>Another of the remarkable novels is</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">THE SECOND GENERATION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It has been called a problem novel. But it is so only -in the sense that every story that lives and breathes and -is clothed in flesh and blood presents a problem. You -will read this book without laying it down, if you can. -And afterward you will think about it for many a day. -You will laugh; you will come very near to crying, if -you don't quite cry. You will love old Hiram Ranger -and Ellen, his wife. You will envy Dory Hargrave his -fascinating Adelaide. You will laugh over the soulful -Janet, and will sympathize with Arthur Ranger. And -as for Madelene—well, you will certainly find her -thrilling! And the adventures of all these people will keep -you intensely interested. Doctor Schulze must not go -without a mention. He is as amusing here as when he -appears again in "Old Wives for New," and his advice -on medicine and other things may save you some bad -health and a deal of money. As its title suggests, the -story is a picture of our American life that may be found -in any city or any town the country over—the story of -the strong, hard-working father, who carved his way -through life; and then the story of the next generation—the -son and daughter who had apparently no fight to make.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>The fourth novel is</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Here is another novel of present-day life, and at -present as true, as interesting, from the romantic point of -view, as either of the other two. When it was appearing -serially, one of the foremost men in America became -so excitedly interested that he asked, and as a special -favor got, an advance set of the proofs of the whole -story. He couldn't wait to find out what was going to -happen about Neva Carlin and her divorced husband, -Horace Armstrong; about the handsome, rakish great -artist, Boris; about sensible Narcisse, the architect, and -her nice weak brother; and the pert, pretty heiress, Amy -Fosdick. As in Mr. Phillips's other novels, here we have -again those startling, intimate views of men and women. -Much more interesting, much more amusing is this sort -of thing than the slush you so often take into your -system with a box of chocolates, to the detriment of your -brain as well as of your stomach. It may be said right -here that if you are weak or without ambition, or if you -have no desire to be a clean, clean-cut, up-to-date, -attractive human being, "in the know," you had better not -read Mr. Phillips's novels. His pictures of people are -too true to make people of the running-to-seed sort -comfortable. The story gives again a true, unvarnished -picture of the situation as it has and does exist among -the great and unprincipled financiers of this country. It -tells in straightforward, direct language of the sacrifice -of friendships and family ties for the advancement of -moneyed interest and the pursuit of power, while all -through the story runs the influence of a woman toward -human and sane living and thinking.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>A year ago Mr. Phillips published a play called</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">THE WORTH OF A WOMAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This little volume illustrates the possibility of making -an actual acting play that is also interesting to read. -It is a remarkable love story—very "daring," as the -critics say when they are afraid to say "literally -true." If you read this play, you will go about posing its -central idea—the dilemma of Diana and her lover—to all -your friends, and arguing over whether Diana or Julian -was right—or both, or neither.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE WORKS OF DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>The Hungry Heart -<br />The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig -<br />Old Wives for New -<br />Light-fingered Gentry -<br />The Second Generation -<br />The Worth of a Woman -<br />The Deluge -<br />The Social Secretary -<br />The Plum Tree -<br />The Cost -<br />The Master Rogue -<br />Golden Fleece -<br />A Woman Ventures -<br />The Great God Success</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE HUNGRY HEART</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48699"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48699</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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