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diff --git a/48699.txt b/48699.txt deleted file mode 100644 index db7414e..0000000 --- a/48699.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17149 +0,0 @@ - THE HUNGRY HEART - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Hungry Heart - A Novel -Author: David Graham Phillips -Release Date: April 13, 2015 [EBook #48699] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNGRY HEART *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - *David Graham Phillips* - - - _*The*_* - HUNGRY HEART* - - _*A NOVEL*_ - - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1909 - - - - - Copyright, 1909, by - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - - _Published September, 1909_ - - - - - *THE HUNGRY HEART* - - - - *I* - - -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. - -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. - -"Dick!" she called hopefully. - -No answer. - -"Dick!" she repeated, a note of doubt in her voice. - -Silence. - -"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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -Courtney nodded. "A regular hermit. It was the merest chance that we -happened to meet." - -"You was the first young woman he'd laid an eye on in a long time." - -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 _was_ why I got him. But he'll -not be a hermit any more." - -"He's begun already," said Nanny. - -"We mustn't allow it," replied Courtney, not quite so good-humoredly. -The old woman's steady bearing down was having its effect. - -"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." - -"It seems a little chilly and damp in here," said Courtney. "Do help me -open the windows. I love sun and air." - -"Miss Eudosia--" began Nanny, and checked herself with a considerable -shortening of the distance between chin and end of nose. - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -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." - -"He et before he went." - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"He's set in his ways," said Nanny. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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!" - -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. - -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. - -"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 _kind_ 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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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 _me_!" - -"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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -Pride always hides a real wound. She smiled. "I'm waiting to take you -to breakfast," she said. - -He looked uncertainly at the bottle and the tube. - -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." - -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." - -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?" - -He patted her. "Bless the baby! A lot of work I'd do." - -"I'm going to help you. I can soon learn." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"What a serious child it is!" he cried, pinching her cheek. It was -delightful, this baby playing at "grown-up." - -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." - -"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. - -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. - -"Yes?" said he absently. "Come along, dear." And he lifted her down -with a kiss. - -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." - -No answer. She glanced up at him; obviously his thoughts were far away. - -She slipped her arms through his. "Tell me what you're thinking about, -dear." - -"About that test I was making." - -"What was it?" - -"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!" - -"Nothing--nothing at all," replied she, forcing a smile and steadying -her quivering lip. - -"I'm afraid those two days on the train----" - -"Yes," she interrupted eagerly. "And I guess I'm hungry, too. _That's_ -very upsetting." - -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 _not_ like that kind!" - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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! - -"Do you forgive me?" - -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." - -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." - -"You mean about my keeping you waiting?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"But I don't want you to be penitent." - -"Then what do you want?" - -"I want you to--I want us to be comrades." - -"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." - -"But what am _I_ 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?" - -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." - -She felt instantly altogether in the wrong. "It's the strangeness, I -guess," she said penitently. - -"That's it, exactly. But in a few days you'll be all right--and as -happy as a bird on a bough." - -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." - -"Oh, if you really want to come," began he, with good-humored tolerance. - -"Thank you--thank you," she interrupted, eager and radiant. - -"Not right away," he hastened to add. "Just at present I'm clearing -things up." - -"I understand. You'll tell me when the time comes." - -"Yes, I'll tell you." - - - - - *II* - - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -"I used to like those things," said she. "But I found they were all -simply makeshifts, to pass the time until you came." - -"We _are_ happy--aren't we?" - -"And just think!" she cried. "How happy we'll be when our real life -begins." - -"Yes," said he vaguely. - -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. - -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." - -"Of course, I'll not bother you about it," replied she. "But naturally I -can't help thinking. It won't be long?" - -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." - -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 _the_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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--_pretend_ to their _husbands_! Isn't it all sad and horrible?" - -"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." - -"And the men--they're worse," said she; "for they're satisfied." - -"Why shouldn't they be?" said Dick. "They don't know what kind of wives -they've got." - -"I--I don't think you quite understood me." - -"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?" - -"What we've got," said she tenderly. "Love." - -"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." - -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." - -With not a recollection of the "whim," he stopped short in astonishment. -"What way?" he asked. "Aren't we happy?" - -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." - -"Partnership?" he demanded blankly. "What do you mean?" - -"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." - -It came to him what she was talking about--and it overwhelmed him with -confusion. "Yes--certainly. I--I supposed you'd forgotten." - -She gazed at him in dismay. "Forgotten!" Then she brightened. "Oh, -you're teasing me." - -He began to be irritated. "You mustn't fret me about that," he said. - -"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?" - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"Do you mean--" he began in an awe-stricken voice, but did not finish. - -"Yes. I've suspected for some time. To-day the doctor told me it was -so." - -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----" - -He was looking at her with strong disapproval. - -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." - -"Go on, dear. But you couldn't convince me you weren't always innocent -and pure minded." - -"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." - -"My dear!" he exclaimed. He drew away to look at her. "Courtney! -That's very unnatural. You're quite mistaken." - -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--_dear_ 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." - -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." - -"You're quite mistaken," he assured her gravely. "It's natural for a -woman to want children. _You_ want them." - -"Do _you_?" - -"I? I've never given it much thought." - -"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?" - -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." - -She felt rebuked and showed it, but persisted, "You must admit it'll -interfere." - -"Interfere with what?" - -"With the life we've been looking forward to--with my helping you." - -"Oh--yes--" he stammered. Again that exasperating ghost! What -possessed her to persist in such nonsense? - -"You know it would interfere--would put off our happiness for a year or -two. A year or two! Oh, Dick!" - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"But I'm content to be that now." - -"Well--let's not argue." - - - - - *III* - - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Is that a good love story?" asked he. "As good as ours?" - -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." - -"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." - -He moved to pick her up in his arms. But she smilingly pushed him away. -"I want to finish this chapter," said she. - -"All right. I'll go out and smoke. Don't be long." - -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." - -"Let's not talk about anything serious. You always laugh at me or get -absent-minded." - -"But you seemed so absorbed. What was it?" - -"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." - -"But you are a baby." And there followed the usual caresses. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -He had been chiefly absorbed in caresses and caressing thoughts. At -this last remark he laughed. "Now, what does that mean?" he inquired. - -"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?" - -"I never did have much talent for small talk." - -"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." - -He had stopped caressing her. "I confess I don't understand," said he -stiffly. - -"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?" - -"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----" - -"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." - -Vaughan was sitting bolt upright now. "Those books in there-- -Courtney, you're not reading impure, upsetting books?" - -She laughed delightedly. - -"What are those books?" he insisted. - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -She saw that he was highly amused. - -"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." - -"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. - -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." - -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! - -"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." - -"I understand, dear," said he, much relieved. - -"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." - -If she had been looking, even in that faint light she could have seen -his expression of gathering displeasure. - -"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." - -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?" - -He winced, and instead of speaking, put his cigar between his opened -lips. - -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 _we_ were drifting apart." - -"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." - -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!" - -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." - -"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?" - -She assumed that his silence was assent. - -"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----" - -He rose abruptly, under the pretense of lighting a fresh cigar. - -"--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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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----" - -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. - -After a pause she sat up, went back to the hammock, seated herself, -leaning toward him. "But I started to tell you my plans." - -"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. - -"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." - -"What a fuss you do make," said he, amused. "Why not just settle down -and be a plain woman?" - -"Shame on you! Tempting me to go to pieces." - -"You'll not improve on the good old-fashioned woman, my dear." - -"You deserve to be married to one of them." - -"I am," declared he. "Your whims don't deceive me. I know you. Let's -go in, dear." - -She shook her head in smiling reproach. "Then you don't care to hear my -plans?" - -"Oh, yes. What are they?" - -"I've got everything ready to make those changes we discussed on our -honeymoon." - -"Really!" exclaimed he, seeing that enthusiasm was expected, though he -hadn't the remotest idea what she was talking about. - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -He started up. "Courtney, what are you talking about?" he demanded. - -"Why, Dick! Don't you remember? I told you some of my ideas on gardens -and interiors, and you said----" - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -She was silent. - -"Answer me!" - -"It's myself," replied she in a quiet, dumb way. - -"It's not yourself. _You_ are womanly." - -"I've got to have something to do--something worth while--or I can't -live." - -"Attend to your house and your baby, like all true women." - -"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." - -"Nonsense," said he, with the man's feeling that he had thereby answered -her. - -She said dazedly: "You didn't mean it. No, you didn't mean it." - -"Mean what?" - -"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----" - -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." - -"But you don't like it, dear," she pleaded. - -"I respect my grandfather's memory." - -"But on our wedding trip you said----" - -"Now, don't argue with me!" - -"It's because you think I couldn't do it?" - -"I know you couldn't--if you must have the truth." - -"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----" - -"Now, Courtney! I've told you my decision. I want to hear no more -about it." - -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. - -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." - -She turned, swift as a swallow. - -"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." - -A long silence. - -"I repeat, I'm sorry I misled you. It seemed to me a trifling -deception." - -She did not speak, did not move. - -"When you think it over, you'll see that I'm right--that we're much -happier as we are." - -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." - -"Are you angry, Courtney?" - -"No," she replied. "I don't think so." - -"Why are you silent?" - -"I don't know," she said slowly. "I seem to have stopped inside." - -He went and put his arms round her. She was passive as a doll. "Why, -you're quite cold, child!" - -"I must go in. Good night." - -"I'll join you in a few minutes." - -She shivered. "No," she said. "Good night." - -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. - - - - - *IV* - - -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." - -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." - -Courtney flushed. "That's just it," replied she. "He is no longer my -husband." - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Has he sent you away?" - -"Oh, no. _He's_ satisfied." - -Mrs. Benedict folded her ladylike hands upon the pious book, said coldly -and calmly: "Then you will go back to him." - -"Never. I refuse to live with a man who classes me with the lower -animals. I----" - -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." - -"Mother! Do you refuse to take me and Winchie? Oh, you don't -understand. You--who believe in religion--you couldn't let me----" - -"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. - -"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." - -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." - -Courtney hung her head. "Of course not," she said, hurried and -confused. "I spoke on impulse." - -"You'd better sit in a chair," said Mrs. Benedict. "You are rumpling -your dress." - -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. - -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." - -"But it's different with me. I must have something--and I have -nothing." - -"You have your home and Winchie." - -"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." - -"There will be others presently." - -Courtney gave her mother a horrified look. - -"You will do your duty as a wife, and the children will be your reward." - -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!" - -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. - -"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!" - -"You forget Winchie," said her mother, and her tone was gentle. - -"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." - -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. - -"It isn't God," replied Courtney. "It's just ignorance." - -"It is God," declared her mother, in the fanatic tone that told Courtney -her mind was closed. - -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. - -"God has seen fit to make the lot of woman hard," said the mother. - -"If that is God," cried the daughter, "then the less said about Him the -better." - -"Courtney, your sinful heart will bring you to grief." - -"Is it a sin to think?" - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Where did you get that dress?" he demanded. - -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?" - -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." - -"Why, what's the matter with the dress?" exclaimed she. "Everyone -admired it at the club." - -"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." - -"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----" - -"Then change all your dresses. You must not make yourself conspicuous." - -"Conspicuous! The other women wear much lower-cut dresses than I do." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"The weather's been so fine, everybody goes." - -"I've no objection to your going occasionally. But after all the place -for a good woman is at home." - -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." - -"You don't even stay home to meals." - -"Neither do you." - -"But I haven't Winchie to look after." - -"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." - -"I don't like it," said Dick imperiously. - -"You ought to come with me," rejoined she. "But you never will." - -"I've no time for foolishness. And I'm sure you haven't either." - -"What ought I to do with myself?" - -"What other good women do. Our mothers didn't hang about clubs." - -"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. - -"Yes, many of the women are different nowadays," said he. "The more -reason for my wife's conducting herself as a woman should." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - - -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 fete?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Your sister always was pretty," said Courtney. "But since she's -married it seems to me she gets prettier all the time." - -"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." - -"I like your impudence--attacking women for being what you men compel." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"Drop it," said Courtney. - -"I want you to get a divorce and marry me." - -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. - -"I see you're surprised," said he. "I've thought about it so much that -I've got used to it." - -"This is something new--a woman getting proposals after she's married, -just as if she wasn't." She was laughing. - -"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 _have_ to love me." - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"I don't know just where," admitted she. "But I feel that it is an -outrage--that you've taken advantage of our friendship." - -"On the contrary, I've shown I _am_ 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----" - -"You've seen nothing of the kind!" Her pride and her loyalty were in -arms now. - -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." - -"Shirley, it's cowardly to say those things," she began angrily. - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"The truth!" cried Courtney. "How dare you sit there insulting me!" - -"Now, Courtney!" begged he. - -"Go join your sister and take her back without coming here." - -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. - -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. - -"Please shake hands," he begged. - -She shook her head. - -"That hurts," said he shakily, and she turned hastily away. "But," he -added, "I'm used to hurts." - -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. - - -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." - -"Certainly," said he. "Directly." And he worked on--and would have -continued to work until bedtime had she not insisted. - -"No. Right away, please." - -He glanced up. Her eyes prevented him from returning to his -calculations. "All right," said he. - -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. - -"What's this?" said he. - -"You were right about my going to the club too much," replied she. "I -shall stay at home more. But I _must_ 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." - -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." - -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. - -"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 _very_ little." - -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. - -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." - - - - - *V* - - -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 mediaeval 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -She wrote in her commonplace book this sentence: - -"Love is a tune we whistle in the dark of our aloneness to keep up our -courage." - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -In the hall she saw Lizzie just come with Winchie. "Who's in these -rooms?" asked she. - -"Mr. Gallatin," replied Lizzie. "Mr. Vaughan put him in here and moved -down to the suite at the Smoke House." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"I hope so. I think so." - -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." - -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?" - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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----" - -"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." - -"You'll be late." - -"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." - -"After a few months," repeated Courtney, interested. "Why, how long is -he to stay?" - -"A year or so--perhaps longer." - -"Here in the house!" - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"There goes the bell." - -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. - -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?" - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -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?" - -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. - -"Do you have much spare time?" she asked, her manner more cordial than -if she had not been wishing him out of the house. - -"A great deal. Vaughan realizes I'm only an amateur." - -"I'll take you over to the club and introduce you. You'll find some very -agreeable people." - -"Thank you. It has been rather dull these two weeks--especially of -evenings." - -"I don't see how you had the courage to come." - -"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. - -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." - -"That sounds attractive. I'm amazed at the West. I had no idea -civilization was so advanced." - -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." - -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." - -"He was," said Courtney, in a queer voice. She glanced out over her -creation and the blood burned in her cheeks. - -"He'd certainly be proud of the way you keep it up." - -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. - -"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." - -Courtney glanced at him with interested eyes. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -"I hadn't thought about it." - -"You're not interested?" - -"Why do you say so?" - -"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." - -"I wasn't bored. I simply wasn't listening." - -"You don't like chemistry?" - -"I did. But my enthusiasm cooled as I got interested in other things." - -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." - -"I'm going up myself after I've had a little talk with Nanny about the -house." - -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." - -Courtney, struggling against her anger at this climax to the impudent -intrusion upon her privacy, remained upon the threshold. - -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?" - -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." - -"Certainly," said Courtney, cold as a flower blooming in the heart of a -block of ice. - -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. - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"I do dispute it!" she cried, her bosom heaving. "This room is--_me_!" - -"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." - -"The impertinent, prying----" - -"I brought him here, Courtney," he interrupted, magisterially. "And I -repeat, I had the right to do so." - -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?" - -"I do not quarrel," said Richard with gentle superiority, "especially -not with women--with my wife." - -"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!" - -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." - -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." - -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." - -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. - - - - - *VI* - - -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. - -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." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"But I don't." Her voice showed that those brief words were all she -could trust to it. - -"You do, since I wish it." - -"Why should I consider what you wish? When have you considered what I -wish?" - -"When have I been inconsiderate of what was for your good?" - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -Richard, unmindful of Winchie, burst out, "What's the meaning of this? - -"You must let me humble myself in my own way," said Courtney coldly. -"Come, Winchie." And the two went out on the lawn. - -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." - -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. - -"Go to the veranda, Winchie," said his mother. - -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. - -"Yes, I'm going to-morrow." - -"Because you feel I want you out of the house?" - -"I think a man in my position couldn't help being an intruder." - -"I want you to stay." - -His fair skin paled. "I thank you," said he, "but I must go." - -"I want you to stay. I ask you to stay." - -"That's very kind. I appreciate it. But I really must go." - -"I did wish you to go. But now I sincerely wish you to stay." - -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." - -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." - -"Oh," said Courtney, baffled. Then, "Please tell Richard what it is." - -"I cannot." His gaze was on the ground now. - -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?" - -"No." His gaze was wandering again. "No, indeed." - -"I'm glad of that," said she. "Do you believe me when I say I wish you -to stay?" - -He lowered his eyes, remained silent. - -"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." - -"I'll stay," was his prompt response. "Gladly." And his tone and eyes -were sincere. - -"Thank you," said she simply. - -He looked at her with an appeal that was very engaging. "I know you'll -hate me for having created this situation." - -"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." - -"You mean that?" he asked with an eagerness that sounded only the more -eager for his effort to restrain it. - -"Indeed, I do," replied she. "Will you help me with the gardening--when -you have time?" - -"There's nothing I'd like so well." - -"Then--it's all settled?" - -"Quite." - -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. - -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. - -"That sounds mysterious--somehow." - -"Does it? ... When may I help you?" - -"Whenever you can get off. Soon?" - -"To-morrow, I think." - -"That's good." - -"I'll join Vaughan." He hesitated, blushed. "He knows you were to ask -me to stay?" - -"Yes. But not how," was her calm answer. - -"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. - -That evening Richard said: "Well, I think he's going to stay. How did -you manage it?" - -"I've asked him to help me with the gardening. He's fond of it." - -"A good idea," approved Richard. "I'll back you up." - -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. - - -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. - -"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." - -"He _is_ rather heavy," admitted Courtney. - -"I wonder if it's the booze," said Richard reflectively. - -"The booze?" - -"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." - -"Probably," said Courtney. - -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." - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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: - - "Alas for lovers! Pair by pair - The wind has swept them all away-- - The young, the yare; the fresh, the fair-- - Where are the snows of yesterday?" - - -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? - - -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. - -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? - - -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. - - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"If you lived in Paris, you'd set the styles," declared he. "And you're -equally good at gardening and decorating houses." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"Yes, it was." - -"You'll get over it." - -"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." - -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!" - -"Come into the sitting room, Gallatin," called Richard from that -direction. - -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?" - -She stood in the window with an inquiring glance. - -"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." - -"I!" exclaimed Basil. "On the contrary, I think women--a woman--the -most important element in a man's life." - -Richard laughed. "Why, the man's in love!" cried he. - -Courtney saw Gallatin wince as his wound was struck by this careless, -jovial hand. - -"Only a lover," proceeded Dick, "would exaggerate woman in that frenzied -fashion. To live isn't to love. It's to do--to achieve." - -"I don't agree with you," said Gallatin. "Love's the center--the -mainspring--the purpose--the meaning." - -"You ought to have been a woman." - -"Why not?" retorted Gallatin. Courtney saw that Dick had irritated him. -"In one respect I envy women. A woman _knows_ whether or not a man loves -her. A man can only hope and believe." And he glanced swiftly at her. - -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. - -"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?" - -"A good wife does not think," said Courtney. - -Richard was amused. "But if she did?" he persisted. - -"Then she'd probably think it fortunate for husbands that wives aren't -independent." - -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?" - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"Oh!" Courtney shrank. "She cares for some one else. I--I'm so sorry -I spoke. I----" - -"No--no," he said; "it was friendly. It was--like you." - -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. - -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." - -"Let's have a picnic," suggested he, "out under that big elm." - -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. - -"You oughtn't to have done that," said Basil, when the boy, defiant even -in obedience, disappeared. - -"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." - -"He can't help not liking me," persisted Basil. "We're not to blame for -our likes and dislikes." - -"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. - -"Yes, for giving way to them," said Basil thoughtfully, after a long -time. - -"To what?" asked Courtney, who had forgotten. - -"Our feelings." - -"Oh, I remember." - -"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. - -"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." - -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!" - -He turned abruptly. "Will you be my friend?" - -She came straight up to him, put out her hand. "Indeed I will," she -said. - -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!" - -"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. - -"Yes--God help me!" he cried, turning away. - -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." - -"Worse! It would mean I was a cur." - -"And if she does love you, it'd be wicked to tell her--to add to her -unhappiness." - -"If you were in my place-- Suppose I could be with her--could go and -live near her----" - -"Oh, no; you oughtn't to do that! You ought to spare yourself and her -that." - -"But suppose," he urged eagerly, "suppose she didn't care for me--never -would--and I could keep my secret----" - -"But you couldn't! And she might grow to care." - -He sat in a big chair by the window, stared moodily at the floor. "It -seems to me I _can't_ 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----" - -"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." - -"Right!" he echoed forlornly. - -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." - -"Engaged!" - -"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." - -"And you-- Oh, it's dreadful, isn't it?" - -"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." - -"The letters I've seen in the mail--they're from her?" - -"From her," replied he. "How can I marry when I love another woman?" - -"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!" - -"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. - -"What have you decided--if you don't mind telling me?" - -"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." - -"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!" - -"But I can never give her that." - -"You may----" - -"Never!" - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - - - - - *VII* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Go away!" cried Richard. Courtney could not have spoken. - -"I'm afraid so." - -"Not for good?" - -"Probably--in fact, almost certainly." - -"Why, man, you can't do that!" protested Dick. "You can't leave me in -the lurch." - -"Oh, I want to keep my interest. It's simply that I can't stay on, -myself." - -"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." - -Basil repeated in a final, dogged way, "It's impossible for me to stay." - -"Is there anything unsatisfactory in----" - -"No--no indeed. My own affairs entirely, I assure you." - -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. - -"Where's Richard?" inquired she, not looking in his direction. - -"In the library." - -"You've upset him dreadfully." - -"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." - -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 negligee this evening because I wanted to sew. I'm making -a suit for Winchie--like one I saw in a French magazine." - -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. - -"Only sit and talk to me." - -"I couldn't talk this evening." - -"Then sit and smoke." - -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. - -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. - -"No," said he. - -"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." - -"It's no delusion." - -"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?" - -He shifted uncomfortably, then confessed: "You know the standards for -men are different from those for women." - -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." - -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." - -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." - -"I beg your pardon." - -"Certainly. Give me that pair of scissors--on the stand in the corner." - -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?" - -He seated himself. - -"You see," she went on lightly, busy with her hem again, "I know your -awful secret." - -"You've no right to laugh at me," muttered he. - -"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?" - -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." - -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.' - -"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." - -"It doesn't seem to occur to you that I might be trusted to remember." - -"I know," said he humbly. - -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." - -"You wrong me." - -"Why else should you talk of going away?" - -"Because it's torment to me to be near you--to----" - -She stopped sewing, looked at him with anger in her deep green eyes. -"Then your feeling is just what I thought." - -"It is not! It is love!" - -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." - -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----" - -"For God's sake, don't suggest that again." - -"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." - -"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, _you_ 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." - -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." - -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?" - -She turned slowly. In the look she fixed on him there was doubt, -hesitation. "You've made me a little uneasy--a little afraid." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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. - -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." - -"When one lives alone a great deal, one gets the habit of living within -oneself--don't you think?" - -"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." - -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 _the_ subject. "Then--I may stay?" - -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!" - -"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 _do_ you -manage it!--house and garden, always gay yet never gaudy--and such -variety! Is there no end to your variety?" - -"Oh, one's a new person every day, isn't one?--and different." - -"_You_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Aren't you about ready to come in?" - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"Yes." - -"Urged him to stay?" - -"I tried to show him he ought to stay." - -"Ever so much obliged." - -She stopped in her exercises to say quickly: "Oh, I didn't do it for -you. I did it for myself." - -"Why, you dislike him." - -"He's some one to talk with--some one that listens and answers. And--I -don't dislike him." - -Richard laughed. "That's right. Try to make the best of it. Well, if -you're not coming in----" - -"Not for an hour or longer." - -"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?" - -"I don't know," replied she--truthfully, yet with a sense of being -untruthful. "I seem not to like to be touched to-night." - -"I don't remember you being that way before." - -She went on with her exercises; he yawned and departed. - - - - - *VIII* - - -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. - -"Where are the others?" she asked. - -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." - -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. - -"Indeed she is!" exclaimed Courtney. - -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. - -"Hello!" said he, with barely a glance away from his pencil point. -"Glad to have company." - -"Where's Mr. Gallatin?" asked Winchie. - -"Gone," was Dick's curt answer in the tone of an interrupted man. "I -sent him away." - -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!" - -Vaughan, without looking up, said: "What did you say?" - -With her hand on her heart, "I thought I understood you to say Mr. -Gallatin had gone." - -"So he has. For a few days." - -"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. _Only_ 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. - -"He'll be back Thursday or Friday," continued Vaughan, tossing the pad -into the window seat, a dozen feet away. - -"You sent him on business?" inquired she, to make conversation. - -"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." - -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?" - -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!" - -"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. - -"Why, dear?" - -"You treat the flowers as if you wanted to hurt them." - -"Your mamma is in a very naughty humor this morning." - -"And you were so happy yesterday. Is it because Mr. Gallatin's gone -away?" - -Courtney, flushing deeply, looked hastily round. "Sh! You mustn't say -those things!" - -"Why not?" - -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." - -"I don't want you to like Mr. Gallatin. _I_ don't like him." - -"Why not?" - -"Because he likes you." - -"You wouldn't want anybody not to like your mamma, would you?" - -"No." A long silence. Then: "But he looks at you exactly like papa -does when he's really seeing you." - -Courtney's skin burned. The same story--always the same! -"Well--dear--I'll not like him." - -"I hope he won't come back." - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -"Back already?" said she in a pleasant, indifferent tone. - -He turned, looked up at her, his face alight. "How are you?" he cried. -"It seems an age." - -"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 _is_ -good to be here again!" said he. "It was worth going, for the pleasure -of getting back." - -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 _am_ glad to be -back!" said he. - -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." - -"I've been doing a great deal of thinking while I was away." - -"Really? That's good." - -"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----" - -"Don't you think you'd better go up before supper?" - -"Not till I've said one thing," replied he doggedly. - -"Well?" - -"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----" - -"And, pray, what has Richard to do with it?" inquired she coldly. - -"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----" - -There she laughed outright at him. "You are making yourself perfectly -absurd," she said, and turned away to go into the dining room. - -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. - -"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. - -"Naturally," said Dick. He had taken up his pencil. "Make yourself at -home." - -Gallatin's glance fell on Winchie frowning at him. "Howdy, Winchie?" -said he. - -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?" - -Courtney flushed. But the raillery came back instantly. "I'm not -offended. I'm amused." - -"At what?" - -"At you." The smile broadened charmingly. "So you've had a successful -trip?" - -"Yes--in a way." - -"And have come back completely cured." - -"I want you to be my friend--if you will. I repeat, you can trust me -now." - -Her eyes sparkled dangerously. "It's fortunate I understand men--and -have a sense of humor." - -"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." - -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." - -"And you forgive me?" - -She smiled queerly. "That's asking too much. I may--in time. Just at -present--you've made me feel horribly cheap and--common." - -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." - -"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. - - - - - *IX* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -"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." - -"Oh, it couldn't be dull--not anywhere on earth," insisted she. - -"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." - -"I don't really know things," confessed she. "I just _seem_ to know. -As a matter of fact, I'm frightfully innocent." - -"That's the beautiful part of it," said he with enthusiasm. - -"I hate it!" she cried. - -"Oh, no," protested he. - -"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 _live_," 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 _life_!" - -"Oh, you don't mean exactly that." - -"Just that." - -"Even--sin?" This, not an inquiry, but an argument proving her beyond -question in the wrong. - -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." - -"That's all very well for a man. But----" - -She was giving him one of those disconcerting eerie glances from the -mysterious eyes. "I've got to _live_, and in the same world you have. -Also, I've got to bring up a boy to live in it." - -"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." - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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 _I_ -owe Richard Vaughan? Is there any woman anywhere who does not in her -heart feel she'd be justified in doing _anything_, 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. - -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." - -Gallatin made no reply. - -"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." - -"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----" - -An exclamation of terror from Courtney halted him. She was pale, was -looking with frightened, questioning eyes from one man to the other. - -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----" - -"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Vaughan," interrupted Gallatin. "It was my stupidity -that made all the danger. Really, we do nothing that ought to be -dangerous." - -"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. - -"You'd better confine your attention to things you understand," said -Vaughan. "It was all Gallatin's folly, I assure you." - -"That's the truth, Mrs. Vaughan," said Gallatin earnestly. "The whole -truth." - -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. - -Winchie, seated between his father and mother, took up his knife and -raised it threateningly against his father, his gray-green eyes ablaze. - -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. - -"Winchie," said Courtney, in a low, firm voice. - -The boy's eyes shifted from father to mother. - -"Put down that knife, go upstairs and go to bed." - -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." - -Courtney did not reply. She was pulling out the bows the flowing tie -she was wearing under the loose collar of her shirt waist. - -"I'll have Lizzie bring him back." - -"No," said Courtney, and her eyes met his. "You will not interfere with -Winchie. I do not interfere with your work." - -"But you do!" Richard burst out. "It's your interfering that's making -Gallatin so worthless." - -She shrank back in her chair, hastily veiled her eyes. Now it was the -cuffs of the shirt waist that were engaging her attention. - -"You dislike him, I know," Vaughan went on. "But why do you treat him -so badly?" - -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? - -"I am sure you treat him badly. Why?" - -No answer. - -"I asked you a question. Politeness would suggest----" - -"Not in this family," said Courtney, cold and calm, her slim fingers -touching her hair here and there. - -"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." - -Courtney looked as if she were sitting quietly alone. - -"Has he been making love to you?" demanded Vaughan. - -Her eyelids fluttered, but it was the only sign she gave. - -"Some time ago I observed he had a way of looking at you that was most -loverlike." - -Still no answer, and no sign. - -"Even so, you could deal with him tactfully. He is a gentleman." - -"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. - -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." - -No answer; no change. - -"Do you hear, Courtney?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you intend to do?" - -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." - -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. - -"May I come in?" he asked. - -"Certainly," replied she. Her back was toward the door. - -"I want to beg your pardon." - -"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. - -"You do not accept it?" said he, ruffled at once, and feeling that she -was now the one in the wrong. - -"I do not care any thing about it, one way or the other." - -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. - -"I see you think a few words are enough to make up for all you've done." - -"What more can I do? It's not a bit like you, Courtney, to----" - -"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----" - -"Courtney!" he cried in a tone of imperative rebuke. - -"A few plain words--of truth--seem to shock you more than your own -conduct." - -"Such language from you! But you did not realize what you were saying." - -"I did. I meant just what I said." - -"That is not language for a wife to use to a husband." - -She rose from the desk and, without looking at him, went into her -bedroom, closing the door behind her. - -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. - -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. - -"How you startled me!" she said, in a careless, casual tone. - -As he did not answer, she glanced at him. He was standing with eyes -down. And his look made her vaguely afraid. - -"Are you going to help me to-day?" she asked, resolved to brave it -through. - -"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." - -"Why not just do it, and not talk so much?" she demanded, suddenly -angry. - -"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." - -"How long will he be?" - -"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." - -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?" - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Nanny will attend to that," replied she, eyes cold as winter seas. - -"Thank you. If you should need anyone--there's the telephone to the -shop. I'll re-connect it." - -"You needn't bother." - -"There have been several robberies round here of late, and----" - -"As you please.... Thank you." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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!" - -The pistol dropped from her nerveless hand to the balcony floor. - -"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----" - -"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!" - -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?" - -"Nothing--nothing," was his confused answer. But already she had felt a -thrill from where his arm, his hand had been, and understood. - -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. - -"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. - -"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?" - -"Nothing but you," answered he bitterly. "Good night." - -"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." - -"Yes." - -"Isn't that--cruel? I've learned to--to depend on your friendship." - -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." - -"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----" - -She paused. He felt how embarrassed she was. "What?" he asked gently. -"Anything you wish to know?" - -"Did you go to--to Pittsburg because--because--I sent you?" - -He did not answer; it was too dark to make out his expression. - -"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?" - -"You could suspect that!" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"Why did you suspect? How could you? Why did you care?" - -"I was--jealous." The confession was almost inaudible. - -"Courtney!" His arms impulsively extended. - -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." - -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?" - -"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. - -He did not take it. "I dare not touch you--to-night," he said. "I -can't be trusted--nor can you." - -"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. - -"We are friends--through and through?" - -"Yes." His reply was in the same low, hushed voice as her question. - -"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. - -"And I'll see you at breakfast--and thank you for coming.... Good -night, Mr. Basil." - -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." - -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." - -"No, I'll go as I came." - -"Nonsense!" - -"If any of the servants----" - -"You make me feel guilty--when I'm not. Come!" - -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." - -"I love you--I love you. You are mine--yes, you are, Courtney! There -is nothing but love." - -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. - -"It was nothing," he said. He, too, was rigid, with every sense alert -for danger. - -"What have we done!" she exclaimed. They stood silent, facing each -other, overcome with shame, burning with longing. "Oh--Basil!" - -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." - -"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!" - - - - - *X* - - -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. - -"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. - -"Have we got company? Who?" he asked. - -"No. Why?" - -"Aren't you going to take me for a walk after breakfast?" - -"Of course. Don't we always go?" - -"But it's raining." - -"I know." - -"Wouldn't it spoil that dress?" - -"One'd think you had a sloven for a mother. Don't I always dress?" - -"But that's a long skirt. And you're not putting on a shirt waist." - -"I'll change after breakfast." - -"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." - -"Not at all. We never have people to breakfast. What _are_ you puzzling -about?" - -"Why didn't you put on the rain dress?" - -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?" - -"Yes, I like 'em all. It isn't the dress, exactly." - -"Then what is it?" - -"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?" - -"Quite," replied she, with a last look at profile, back hair and back of -skirt with the aid of a hand glass. - -"Maybe there'll be company," said Winchie as they started. - -"I'm sure there'll be corn muffins," said she. "I smell them." - -"If there's hash, may I have a little?" - -"A little." - -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. - -"Who, mamma?" - -Courtney startled, flushed. "What is it, dear?" she stammered guiltily. - -"Has papa come?" - -"No, I was thinking of Mr. Gallatin." - -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?" - -"It's--I." - -"Oh." Then silence. - -"Did you hurt yourself last night?" - -"No, not at all--thank you." - -In a constrained voice: "I thought you were coming to breakfast." - -"I felt it was better not to." - -"Oh!--good-by." And she hung up the receiver. - -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." - -"Do you want some of the hash?" - -"You said there wasn't to be company." - -"Please! Please!" she cried. "You'll give me the headache." - -"You said I was always to say what I had in my brains." - -She bent over and kissed his hand. "And so you must." - -"Do you say everything that's in your brains?" - -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." - -"There is those in, already," said he solemnly. - -She laughed. "No doubt." - -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. - -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?" - -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. - -"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 negligee 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." - -He did not stand aside for her to enter. - -"I also had another reason," pursued she. "Please don't choke up the -doorway. I'm coming in." - -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?" - -"Every week." - -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?" - -"Everything perfectly satisfactory," he assured her. - -"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." - -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. - -"Why didn't you come to breakfast?" she inquired in a most businesslike -tone. - -"I made up my mind not to see you again until Vaughan returned." - -"And then, to go away?" - -"Yes." - -"Why?" - -"I prefer not to answer that." - -"Why not?" - -"It's true Vaughan and I are not exactly friends. Still, I've been -disloyal. I shall be so no more." - -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." - -"I wish to God you did!" - -"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." - -"I am just as absurd, as you call it, in daylight as I was in -moonlight." - -She flinched, controlled herself, made an impatient gesture. "Don't say -those things, or you'll spoil everything," she half pleaded, half -commanded. - -He strode to a window across the room from that in which she was -sitting. "Everything is spoiled. I've simply got to go." - -"No." She shook her head slowly. "You will stay, and we'll be friends -again, as before." - -"If I could only wipe out last night!" he cried, and he wheeled upon -her. - -She caught her breath. "Do you mean that?" she asked impulsively. - -He stopped short, faced her, but his eyes were down. "No, I don't," -replied he. "And that's the devil of it." - -"Why?" - -"If I honestly regretted last night, I could stay." - -"Why do you lie to yourself?" she asked, crossing the room toward him. -"You have no real intention of going." - -His gaze sank. "I shall try to go," he muttered. - -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." - -"You think I am a dishonorable dog. I don't wonder at it." - -"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." - -"He'd compel it if he knew." - -"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." - -"Last night was a warning." - -"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?" - -"Courtney!" he protested. - -"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?" - -"I tried once before and failed." - -"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?" - -"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm afraid to try--aren't you?" - -Her eyes held him, they were so mysterious. "Not so much as I'm afraid -not to try," replied she slowly. - -He dropped into his chair again, sat staring at the blotting pad on the -desk. - -"Had you thought," she went on, "what would happen if we owned ourselves -beaten and fled from each other?" - -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. - -She nodded gravely. - -"If I went away, it'd only be to come back--desperate. And you----" - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"I forgot. I must change, too. In an hour?" - -"Less." - -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. - -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. - -Nanny scowled at the blue yarn sock she was knitting with wrinkled, -rheumatism-knotted fingers. "Such goings-on!" she growled. - -"Why not?" demanded Jimmie. "Where's the harm? And I reckon Mrs. V. -knows how to take care of herself." - -"Who said she didn't?" snapped Nanny. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"How sweet the boxwood hedge is after to-day's rain." - -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----" - -She clasped, clinched her hands in her lap. Basil started up. "I can't -bear it!" he cried. "I can't!" - -"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. - - - - - *XI* - - -"Where's Mr. Gallatin?" asked Winchie, as he and his mother were -finishing breakfast next morning. - -"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. - -"Is he coming to breakfast?" asked Winchie. - -"No--at least, I suppose not. How'd you like to go to grandpa's?" - -"Will Mr. Gallatin go?" - -Courtney's cheeks flushed. "No," she said. - -"Then I'd like it--for a while." - -"We are going to-morrow," said Courtney. "To-morrow morning." - -"Is grandpa sick?" - -"No. Nobody is sick." - -"Then why?" - -Courtney's face wore a queer smile. "We'll help grandma and Aunt Lal -and Aunt Ann put up fruit and jam and preserves." - -"Will we stay long?" inquired the boy anxiously. - -"Until--until your father--gets back." - -Winchie looked much downcast. "Why?" he asked. - -"Why not?" said Courtney. "And now, you'll help me pack and I'll help -you." - -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. - -"Who's there?" she called softly, addressing the deep shadows over the -path by which she had come. - -No answer but the chorus of tiny creatures murmuring excitedly in every -crevice and beneath every blade and leaf. - -"Who is it?" she demanded, but not loudly or nervously. She stood up. - -"Only I," came in Basil's voice, and he advanced and stood between the -entrance pillars of the open rustic pavilion. - -"Oh!" said she. And she resumed gazing over the water, but did not -resume her seat. - -"I saw you cross the lawn," he explained. "And I was afraid some one -might intrude." - -"Thank you," said she gratefully. - -"You knew it was I--didn't you?" he went on. - -A brief silence, then--"Yes," she admitted, and gave a little laugh. - -"Why do you laugh?" - -"Because I just realized that I was expecting you--that I came here -hoping to see you. How one does lie to oneself!" - -"Do you wish me to leave you?" - -"No.... What a beautiful night it is!" - -"The loveliest I ever saw." - -"These locust blossoms-- The perfume makes me feel languid--but not -sleepy." - -"I guess it is the locusts," he said. "I feel that way, too." - -"I'm taking Winchie to my father's for a visit--in the morning." - -"So Jimmie said." - -"We'll stay until Richard comes back." - -"I supposed so." - -A silence. Then she: "I must go in soon," and an instant later, without -realizing it, seated herself. - -"I wrote to Starky--Estelle--to-day.... To ask her to fix the date for -the marriage." - -She shivered. - -"I decided it was best for me to commit myself." - -She buried her face in her hands. - -"And," he went on, "you know I shall always love you--_always_! ... I -say that because--in a few minutes now we'll part, and never see each -other again." - -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." - -"Yes," replied he, "but so sweet." - -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! - -"How can I live on, without you to help me?" she said. - -"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. - -"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?" - -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--_you_--" 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. - -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. - -"We must not!" she pleaded, her arms about his neck. - -"After to-night," he reminded her, "we, who love, will never see each -other again." - -"Never again!" she moaned. - -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. - - -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. - -"Listen." - -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. - -"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. - -"I'll go see." - -"Yes--do." - -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. - -He went softly along the path until the shadows hid him. After a moment -he returned to the entrance. "I see nothing," said he. - -"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." - -He did not seat himself by her again. "Isn't it--very--very late?" he -said hesitatingly. - -"Perhaps. But come, dear. Let's forget. It was nothing. Oh, I was so -happy--and now--Basil, I'm cold." - -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." - -She flung herself into his arms. "No--no!" she cried. "Not yet." - -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. - -She laughed quietly. "What are you afraid of?" - -"Nothing!" he retorted stoutly. "Still, the door is open, and some one -might----" - -"Why, _you're_ quite cold! ... Basil, what is it?" - -"Nothing--nothing at all," replied he, his arms round her again, his -lips upon hers. - -Presently she said: "I _thought_ you were neglecting me rather long. -It's a habit men have after--after a woman is entirely theirs." - -"Don't say those things, even in joke," he begged, so seriously that it -jarred on her overwrought nerves. - -"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." - -"It was so--so frank," apologized he. - -"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?" - -"No," answered he with constraint. "I keep thinking of--of--that door." - -She was silent, offended. - -"I wasn't quite frank with you a moment ago." - -"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!" - -He was silent. - -"Basil, don't you feel that way?" - -"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." - -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. - -"I--I thought it might alarm you foolishly." - -"I'm not a hysterical fool. Please don't forget that--again." - -"Courtney!" - -"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." - -"Impossible!" - -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?" - -"At my father's!" she exclaimed. "Why, I shall not go!" - -"You must," he insisted. "You've made all the arrangements." - -"You can send me away--_now_?" - -"Please--dear. Don't be unreasonable. If you changed your plan -everybody'd think it strange." - -"Everybody--who?" - -"Nanny, for instance." - -"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?" - -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." - -But she was not satisfied. "Basil--do you regret?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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!" - -"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." - -"Yes--yes," echoed she feverishly. "The rest is trash. We've got the -best. Love!" - -"And we'll hold on to it--always!" - -"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!" - -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. - - -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." - -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. - -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?" - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -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. - -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?" - -"What things you _do_ say!" he laughed, just a little bit scandalized. -"I might ask the same question of you." - -"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?" - -"I couldn't live through it." - -"And you really--really--love me?" - -He held her tightly by the shoulders, gazed into her eyes. "So much -that, if you were untrue to me, I'd kill you." - -"Now, what made you think of that?" - -"I don't know." - -Thoughtfully: "I guess it is because I'm giving myself to you when I -am--am-- Now, there you go, shocked again." - -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." - -"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!" - -"All!" he echoed. "Yes--all!" - -Midway in her embrace she stopped him, pushed him laughingly away with, -"But you weren't quite frank a while ago." - -"When?" - -"There at the lake." - -"Why do you think so?" - -"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.'" - -"I guess I'll tell you," he said for the moment deeply impressed. "Yes, -I will." - -"Tell me everything--_every_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. - -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." - -Courtney's eyes widened and her face blanched. "You think--" she began -when she could find voice. - -"I couldn't tell which direction she had come from," he replied. "But -it's no matter. She couldn't know." - -Courtney remembered the darkness--how grateful she had been for its -friendly aid. "No," said she resolutely. "She couldn't know." - -"Certainly not," echoed he, as if the idea that she could were absurd. -"But it made me realize how careful we must be." - -"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 _are_ my slippers!" - -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!" - -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. - -"Yes, I'll come here at nine, rain or shine." - -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 _shall_ 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. - -"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?" - -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." - -Down the stairs came the boy, sobbing, shouting, "Mamma! Mamma! I lost -you." - -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. - - - - - *XII* - - -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 _sure_?" - -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." - -"Do you love me?" - -"I am here." - -They sat side by side in the entrance. "May I smoke?" he asked. - -"Do." As he opened his cigarette case, "Let me have one." - -"I didn't know you smoked." - -"Oh--a little--at college. We girls used to do it, for the sensation of -being devilish. Wouldn't you like me to smoke?" - -"If you wish to." - -"You don't approve?" - -"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." - -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." - -"I guess I am." - -"Gracious! What you must be thinking of me!" - -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." - -She, too, was grave and thoughtful now. "What a difference that does -make! Then everything--anything seems all right." - -"And is!" - -She put her arm through his. "Here, take your cigarette. I'll not -distress you." - -"No--do smoke." - -"I'll confess the real reason. It makes such a nasty taste in my -mouth." - -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. - -"Now, what did you do that for?" exclaimed she. - -"I oughtn't to smoke when I'm going to kiss you." - -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." - -"I've been conscious of pretty nearly every one of them," said he. -"I've done nothing but think of you." - -"Sad thoughts?" - -"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?" - -"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. - -"Yes?" - -"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?" - -"It's love," declared he gloomily. - -"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." - -"I, too," he confessed. "Courtney, we've been--and are--in the clutch -of a force that's stronger than we." - -"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." - -"Twice." - -"And what's twice?" - -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!" - -"Yes. Oh, _what_ a scare when I was here before!" - -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!" - -"In bed--asleep." - -"But--if he wakes!" - -"Why, he'll lie perfectly quiet till he sleeps again. I told him never -to repeat that escapade." - -"But he may get frightened----" - -"You forget, sir," said she smilingly, "he's my child. He could not be -afraid.... What a mournful face!" - -"I'm horribly jealous of him." - -"If Winchie didn't keep us apart, he never could push us apart now." - -"I'm very selfish," he said despondently. "I want all--all!" - -"Here we are--sad again." - -He sighed. "And in a few minutes you'll have to go." - -"Why?" - -"You can't stay away from the house. Something might happen." - -"Croak! Croak!" - -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." - -"What's the matter, dear?" she asked, her cheek against his. - -"Nothing. Nothing." - -"What have you been thinking while I was away? ... Look at me, Basil." - -"It seems to me I can't ever look--anyone in the face again." - -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?" - -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." - -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!" - -"Remorse! Excuse!" Her bosom heaved; her eyes flashed. "Oh, you men! -What hypocrites you are! ... Tell me, do you wish to give me up?" - -He faced her. "I cannot give you up," was his inflexible reply. - -"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----" - -"For God's sake, Courtney, _don't_ say those things!" - -"I think them--you think them. Why not say them?" - -"Yes--you are right. I am a hypocrite." - -"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?" - -"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----" - -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 _you_, now." - -"But he may----" - -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." - -"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. - -"That's manly!" exclaimed she, nerves instantly unstrung. - -"What can you expect of--of _me_?" he replied, so down that she -straightway relented. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"Oh, but you must not, Basil!" she cried in dismay. "_We_ 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." - -"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." - -"Love--always love!" she murmured. "No price too great to pay for it." - - -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." - -"Sh-h!" she warned. "Listen-- On the stairs." - -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. - -"How did he get in?" she breathed. - -"Don't you remember? I left the outside door unlocked--wide open." - -"Sh-h!" - -"Go back into the sitting room," he whispered. - -"No--I stay here with you." - -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." - -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. - -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!" - -But he triumphed too soon. With a tremendous effort the prowler tore -Gallatin's fingers from his throat. "Good God, Gallatin--is it _you_?" -he gasped. - -"Vaughan!" - -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. - -Vaughan, straightening his collar and coat and waistcoat, appealed to -Gallatin. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded. - -By way of reply Gallatin stared at him, as if debating whether or not to -renew the attack. - -"What does this mean, Courtney?" Vaughan said to her sharply. - -"That's what _we'd_ like to know," replied she. - -"Why did Gallatin----" - -"Serves you right," interrupted Courtney. "Why did you come prowling -round here? Why didn't you go home?" - -Vaughan looked sheepish. "Well, I wanted to make sure everything was -all right here." - -Courtney smiled with resentment in her raillery. "You were more anxious -about your workshop than about your wife and child." - -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!" - -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. - -"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----" - -"Richard!" interrupted Courtney sharply. "Mr. Gallatin is here because -I sent him here." - -Richard concentrated his angry attention upon her. "You! What right had -you----" - -"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." - -"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. - -Vaughan glanced, half amused, half disdainful, from one to the other. -"Are you two still disliking each other? I had forgotten that." - -"You are mistaken," said Gallatin. "I do not dislike Mrs. Vaughan." - -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?" - -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. - -"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!" - -"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." - -"That's sensible," said Courtney. "And you must live at home, and let -Mr. Gallatin stay on here." - -"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." - -"Not I," said Basil, with the first sickly hint of a smile. - -"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?" - -Basil did not answer. He was glowering at Vaughan, and biting his lip, -and his fingers were twitching. - -Courtney rose. "Let's all go up to the house," proposed she: "You'll -come, won't you, Mr.--beg pardon--Basil?" - -Gallatin stared coldly at her. Her "superhuman courage" now seemed -sheer brazenness to him. "Thanks--no," said he in a suffocating voice. - -"Hope I didn't damage you, Gallatin," said Vaughan with the rather -careless solicitude of man for man. - -"Not in the least," replied Gallatin curtly. - -"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." - -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. - -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!" - -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. - -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. - - - - - *XIII* - - -Toward eight o'clock came Vaughan, in high spirits. Basil, stiff and -sore, was still lying on the bed. - -"Sure you don't want breakfast?" said Richard. Then, getting a view of -his partner's face: "You _are_ a sight! I beg pardon, old man. I've -got a few marks, myself. But-- _You_ must have the doctor." - -"No, thanks," was Basil's surly answer. "I'm all right." - -"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." - -"I'll telephone for him," said Basil. "I want to be left alone." - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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 negligee, 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." - -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." - -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. - -"It's very imprudent to close the door," said she, calmly returning his -gaze. "Nanny is at work across the hall." - -"Did you break your promise to me that night?" he demanded. - -"I'll answer no question--not even from you, Basil--when it's in that -tone." - -"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." - -"That was not my reason," she stammered, with lowered head. - -"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!" - -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." - -"Answer me!" he commanded fiercely. "Did you or did you not break your -promise to me?" - -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. - -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!" - -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." - -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?" - -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." - -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. - -"As for my free actions and free speech----" - -"Courtney!" he begged, seizing her hands. "Don't speak of that." - -"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." - -"And I do--I do!" he cried, trying to draw her into his arms. - -"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!" - -"Give it up!" He was bristling with suspicion at once. - -"You must go away." - -He laughed scornfully. "That is your kind, considerate way of -dismissing me. What vanity! I shall suffer no more than you." - -"Not so much," she answered sadly. - -"I shall go away and marry." - -"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." - -"And what about me? Didn't I stand there, a contemptible coward, and -let him take you away?" - -"What else could you have done?" - -"Shown myself a man!" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"All right!" said Dick cheerfully. He shouted out, "Hey, Gallatin, -how's your grouch?" and descended the stairs, laughing as he went. - -As she reentered 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?" - -"Yes," muttered Basil. He was at the desk, his elbows on it, his hands -supporting his head. - -"Winchie knew where I was. Why did he lie to his father? Already a -liar!" - -"I must go. You are right-- But, Courtney--you must get a divorce." - -"I've thought of that. On what ground? And how can I leave him -alone--take Winchie away from him?" - -"You must get a divorce." - -"I think so, too," assented she. "But I will not lie to do it. I'm -done with lies. I'll tell him." - -"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." - -She shook her head. "Men are not generous and broadminded where women -are concerned--the women they look on as theirs." - -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----" - -"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----" - -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." - -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." - -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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"Don't ask it, dear. I mustn't ever again--until I'm free." - -"In the summer house, then. For a few minutes. We can't part like -this." - -"Yes, I'll come." - -Along the hall from the foot of the stairs sounded Richard's imperious, -impatient voice. "I say, Courtney! Do hurry!" - -"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." - -They clung together for an instant, then she fled. - -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. - -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. - -"You don't ask how I happen to be home so early--nearly an hour before -supper," said he. - -"It _is_ early," replied she absently. - -"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." - -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. - -"Yes, he's going," said Richard. - -She inspected the nail of her right little finger. "Is he?" she asked, -head on one side critically and emery slip poised. - -"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. - -"I thought you felt you couldn't get on without him," said she, -searching in a box for an orange-wood stick. - -"That was some time ago. I suppose you're glad he's going." - -"Why?" - -"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." - -She glanced in the mirror, arranged a stray of hair. "You are mistaken." - -"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." - -"How you understand women," said she placidly. "But then there isn't -much to understand about a woman--a good woman." - -"Oh, you underestimate yourself," said he generously. "You're a very -clever little lady--in your own charming feminine way. I often admire -it." - -A ghost of a smile flitted about her lips; but she seemed more intent -upon her nails than upon his half-absent compliment. - -"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." - -"Any more of a bore than it is to most men?" inquired Courtney. - -Vaughan laughed acknowledgment. "Anyhow, I couldn't warm up to him. -He's going, but he keeps his partnership--at least, for the present." - -"Has he gone?" - -"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?" - -"Didn't he tell you?" - -"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." - -Courtney, conscious that his eyes were on her face, smiled. - -"It's natural that you, being a good woman, shouldn't notice it." - -"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." - -"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." - -"No doubt," said Courtney. - -"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." - -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. - -And he departed, saying: "What a relief it'll be to have Gallatin off -the place--to have it to ourselves again." - -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. - -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." - -She kissed him, whispered: "Yes, dear, but you mustn't say anything." - -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. - -At length Richard came up. He glanced in at her. "How's the headache?" -he inquired, laying a caressing hand on her shoulder. - -She moved; his hand fell away. "No better," replied she. "Good night." - -"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. - -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. - -"Basil!" she called softly. - -He came from the summer house and stood before her. "It's safer to stay -here," she said. "We can watch the house." - -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. - -"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." - -"I know, I know," she answered. "Kiss me, dear." - -Their lips met in a caress of tenderness. When she spoke again she -said: "Dear love, I never felt before how much you care." - -"I never realized before. I'm beginning to realize. You won't be long -about arranging the divorce?" - -"You must not get impatient--or misunderstand--if I'm longer than you -expect." - -"I'll not misunderstand." - -"There's Winchie, you know. I must have Winchie." - -"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." - -"I'll not forget what's at stake.... He suspects that you love me." - -"I was afraid so, and this evening I told him I was engaged. He looked -astounded." - -"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." - -"I know you will." - -"You see now I was right in feeling you must go?" - -"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." - -"I haven't told you the real deep-down reason why I felt you must go." - -"No," he said. "Your real reason was the same as mine." - -"Because it was all so vulgar and--and cheap?" - -"Cheap--that's it!" he exclaimed. "Cheap!" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"I think not," she laughed. "Being a judge's daughter, I ought to know. -But I don't." - -"Look there!" he exclaimed, gazing toward the house. - -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." - -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. - -Nanny turned without a word, started to go back toward her kitchen. - -"Nanny!" said she sharply. - -The old woman stopped, turned. - -"What do you mean by not answering me when I speak to you?" - -"I didn't know as you expected an answer," replied Nanny, sullen and -cowed, but insolent underneath. - -"I asked you what you were doing here?" - -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." - -"Certainly not," said Courtney. And she resumed her stroll, back and -forth across the lawn for three quarters of an hour. - - -She did not come down to breakfast. About nine o'clock Richard, at the -Smoke House, called her on the telephone. - -"Gallatin cleared out on the midnight express," said he. "Now, what do -you think of that?" - -"Why?" - -"He left a note saying good-by and explaining that he found he could -make better time." - -"Well?" - -"Don't you think it a little queer?" - -"No." - -"Anyhow, he's gone. I feel better already. Don't you?" - -"I can't say I do." - -"Well--I'll see you at dinner." - -"Yes--good-by." - -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. - - -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?" - -"Yes," said Courtney. - -"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?" - -"Some kinds." - -"When you write thanking him, do put cordiality and friendliness into -the note." - -"Very well." - -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!" - -Next day Dick asked, "Have you thanked Basil for those flowers?" - -"Certainly." - -"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." - -"As you please." - - - - - *XIV* - - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"The last few times I did it," replied she, "you slipped away to the -shop." - -He reddened, laughed guiltily. "Did I? Well--perhaps in certain -moods----" - -"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." - -"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." - -"Unless they work together." - -"And that's impossible where people are of our station." - -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. - -"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?--" - -"Yes--I remember." - -"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?" - -She shivered. "No," she said faintly. - -"Five years with hardly a misunderstanding, and not one quarrel." - -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." - -He laughed, assuming she was jesting. "That's it! That's exactly it." - -"I was speaking seriously. It's the truth. We care nothing about each -other." - -"Courtney!" he admonished. "Aren't you carrying the joke too far? I -don't think you realize how that sounds." - -"I realize how it _is_." - -He looked at her curiously. "Why, I thought you were joking." - -"Not in the least." - -"How pale your face is. And what a strange expression round the -mouth--and your eyes are circled. Are you ill, dear?" - -"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. - -"What's happened to upset you?" - -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." - -He straightened up in his chair. She imagined that his grandfather, old -Colonel Achilles, must have looked like that at the same age. "What -_are_ you talking about?" he demanded. - -"About our failure as a married couple," replied she, meeting his gaze -with calm courage. - -"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." - -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. - -"I want to be free," she said desperately. "I must be free!" - -"Free? You _are_ free." - -"I mean free from marriage," explained she gently, "free to make my own -life." - -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. - -He glanced at her quickly. "Oh, you were joking!" said he in a relieved -tone. - -"That wasn't why I laughed. It was to save myself from doing something -ridiculous--shouting out, or upsetting the table, or running amuck." - -"No matter. It's clear to me that you're not yourself this evening--not -at all." - -"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." - -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----" - -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----" - -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. - -"Go on, dear," he urged. "Say all you want. You'll feel better for -it." - -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. - -She gazed at him with forlorn, hopeless eyes, then rested her head -weakly against the cushions in the corner of the sofa. - -"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." - -She grew cold, rigid. Did he suspect? Would he take Winchie? - -"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 -_you_ 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." - -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! - -"Asleep, dear?" - -"No." - -"You don't doubt my love any longer, do you?" - -She moved restlessly. - -"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!" - -"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I thought you wanted it." He rose at -once. "Would you like to be left alone?" - -"Please." - -"You forgive me for neglecting you? - -"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. - -"I'll give up my work until you feel better." - -"No--no. I don't want-- Go--please go! For Winchie's sake--for -mine--for your own." - -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---- - -"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 portiere, 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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - - -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. - -"Feeling all right this morning?" asked Dick when Mazie had gone out. - -"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. - -"Sleep well?" - -She had not slept at all. She evaded his question by saying: "I was -very much upset last night, wasn't I?" - -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." - -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." - -"Yes, dear?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -Dick nodded approvingly, and when his mouth was said: "There's no -disputing that. Where is he, by the way?" - -"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----" - -"But I did. And I'm sure your father and mother were an equally fine -example----" - -"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." - -"By all means!" exclaimed Dick heartily. - -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. - -She colored, made an effort, kissed him. - -"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?" - -"We--make a fresh start," replied she. - -"I'll come and take a walk with you before dinner." - -"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. - -"Oh--I forgot. There's one thing I simply must attend to to-day." - -"Then--to-morrow." - -"Yes--to-morrow we'll make the start--the fresh start." - -"Very well," said she, relieved--for she felt she had done her duty. - -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. - -"Why did you sigh, mamma?" asked the boy. - -"Did I sigh?" said she, trying to smile as she looked down at him. - -"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?" - -"No," she confessed. "But I'll listen now." - -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. - - - - - *XV* - - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -About seven that evening Dick knocked at her bedroom door. "May I -come?" he called. - -"Yes--if you won't stay long," was her reply in a listless tone. - -He entered, looked surprised when he saw her propped up in bed with her -supper tray in her lap. "Are you ill?" - -"No." - -"You didn't come down to supper." - -"No." - -"I don't think I ever knew you to do this before." - -"No." - -"Your voice sounds--strange--tired." - -"I am." - -"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----" - -"Won't you take this tray--take it down with you?" - -"Don't you want me to sit a while?" - -"Don't let me interfere with your work." - -"Oh, there's no hurry." - -"I'm sure you want to be at it." - -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?" - -She was reading. - -"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?" - -No answer. - -He laughed. "We've got a rather bad habit of not listening--haven't -we?" - -"Oh--I don't mind." - -He glanced at the tray. "Why, you didn't eat anything!" - -"No." - -"Are you quite sure you're not ill?" - -"Quite." - -"Well, if there's anything I can----" - -"Nothing, thanks." - -He went to the bed, bent over and kissed her. "Good night." - -"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. - -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. - -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!" - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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 negligee 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. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -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. - -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. - - -"You saw the news in to-day's paper?" said Richard at supper a few days -after Christmas. - -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. - -"Well, Gallatin's engagement's announced--from Philadelphia." - -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. - -"Why, you seem not to be interested." - -"Oh, yes," replied she indifferently. - -"I remember, you didn't like him." - -It almost seemed true to her. Or, rather, that she had never cared -about him one way or the other. - -"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." - -"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? - -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." - -"Wenona's no place for a girl in search of a husband." - -"A husband!" exclaimed Richard. "Who said anything about a husband?" - -"Now that her father's dead, with nothing but a small life insurance, -she's got to marry." - -"Yes, I suppose so." - -"That's what Mrs. Torrey's saying between these lines." And she handed -the letter back. - -"Mrs. Torrey's a fine, noble old lady. Such sordid ideas never'd enter -her head." - -"Mrs. Torrey's a woman." - -"And a good one--and so is Helen," maintained Richard. "Marrying's about -the last idea in her head at present." - -"I believe that is the theory--among men who know nothing about women." - -"She's doubtless almost prostrated with grief." - -"With anxiety, perhaps. Not with grief. Not for a worthless old -drunkard." - -"You forget, Courtney. He was her _father_." - -Courtney lifted her eyebrows. "So much the more certain she detested -him. She had to live right up against him." - -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." - -"Why repeat such twaddle?" inquired Courtney, unimpressed. "What has -duty to do with hearts?" - -Dick looked strong disapproval. "What is the matter, my dear? You're -not talking in the least like yourself." - -"You always make that same remark," observed Courtney, "whenever I say -anything that does not suit you." - -"Are you irritated by the prospect of Helen's coming? If you don't want -her----" - -"I am not irritated about anything. As for Helen, I care not a rap one -way or the other." - -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." - -"It would have made a good match," said Courtney judiciously. "A -splendid living for Helen." - -"I wasn't thinking of Gallatin's wealth," protested Richard, reddening. -Then he laughed, "At least, not altogether." - -"The living's the main point in marriage." - -"What an unpleasant mood you're in." - -"I? I never felt more amiable." - -"Have I said anything to offend you?" - -"Not a thing." She rose languidly. "You're still the model--not a -single redeeming fault." - -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. - -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. - -"Miss Caprice!" And his gaze was soft and brilliant. - -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." - -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!" - -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." - -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!" - - -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. - -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!" - -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!" - -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?" - -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 _make_ money!" - - - - - *XVI* - - -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?" - -Dick, turning the paper, happened to hear. "Go where?" he asked. - -"To grandfather's." - -"When?" - -Courtney said: "Winchie and I are going to-morrow." - -"Impossible," said Dick. "They'd think you were crazy." - -"Perhaps I am," Courtney replied. "Anyhow, we're going." - -"Why?" - -"I need a change." - -"Put it off till spring." And he resumed the newspaper as if the matter -were disposed of. - -"No. To-morrow," said she, not in the least aggressively; but her tone -was of unalterable determination. - -"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." - -"I prefer the farm." - -He laid the paper down. "You're not serious?" - -"Quite." - -"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." - -"What's the use of reasoning with me?" interrupted she. "Didn't your -grandfather teach you that women can't reason?" - -"I'm willing for you to go to Saint X. But----" - -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----" - -"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." - -Dick looked astonished. "I had no intention----" - -"I know--I know," said she appealingly. "It doesn't matter. I really -don't care anything about it. - -"But you'll not go when it's so clearly a folly to----" - -"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! - -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----" - -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." - -But Dick was offended. "It seems to me," said he, "in view of what I'm -doing at the shop----" - -"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?" - -"Of course, I like it, but----" - -"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?" - -He looked disconcerted assent. - -"Then the fact is, you spend most of your income on your own amusement, -as much as if you drank it." - -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." - -She shrugged her shoulders. "Pray don't, on my account." - -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?" - -"Until I feel better." - -"If you are ill, you must not go in this weather." - -She looked at him strangely. "If I were dying I should go," was her -slow reply. - -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. - - -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. - -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. - -"Don't you wish we hadn't come, mamma?" said Winchie when they were in -the room assigned them. - -"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." - -"Then I guess I can stand it," said the boy with a sigh. - -"You don't know about the hill where we can coast." - -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." - -"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. - -"I _am_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Basil!" she murmured, Winchie forgotten. "Oh--_Basil_!" And all in -that instant the misery of those months of despair was gloriously -transformed into joy. - -"Courtney!" he cried. "How beautiful you are!" - -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. - -"I'll pull your sled to the top for you," Basil offered. "Get on, -Winchie." - -The boy planted his feet more firmly in the snow. "We were going home," -said Courtney. - -"Get on, Winchie," cried Basil friendlily. "I'll haul you." - -"I'm going to walk," replied the boy sullenly. - -Courtney understood. "Get on, Winchie," said she. "I'll pull it." - -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!" - -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. - -"Care? There's only you for me in all the world." - -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!" - -"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." - -"Don't!" she pleaded, her eyes swimming. "Don't, or I'll break down. -My love--my love!" - -"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." - -She blushed. "I did it to make me feel young. I've been feeling so -old--old and tired and lonely." - -"Thank God, you sent for me." - -"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." - -"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." - -"The word? What word?" - -"Vaughan's letter. I knew you got him to write it." - -Courtney stopped short. "I!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what you -mean." - -"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----" - -"Oh!" cried Courtney sharply. - -"What is it?" asked Basil. - -She was looking straight ahead. "Nothing--nothing. Go on." And she -started to walk again. - -"Your cry sounded like pain." - -"Did it? Go on." - -"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." - -"Yes, here. That's another mystery to explain." - -"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?" - -"I saw the announcement of your engagement." - -"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?" - -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." - -He was watching her anxiously. "Courtney, I can't go away!" - -"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?" - -"Not to me. I understand. If you hadn't sent for me soon--" he checked -himself. - -"What?" - -"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?" - -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." - -"And quite enough it is, too," said he. - -"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." - -"But--" he began, shifting his gaze and coloring. - -"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." - -"Rather!" exclaimed Basil. - -"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." - -"There's only one life for me--to be as near you as you'll let me." - -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." - -Silence again. Then he, deeply moved: "I'll try to be worthy of you, -dear." - -"Worthy of _me_? 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?" - -"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." - -"Then--couldn't we try to--" She lowered her head, faltered--"couldn't -we live as if we were engaged only?" - -"Why should we?" he cried. - -"I know it's only a fancy. But fancies count more than facts.... I'd -feel less the--" She faltered--paused. - -"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." - -Her gaze burned for an instant on his, then dropped. "I should hope -not!" murmured she. - -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. - -Winchie, standing beside her and looking up at her rapt face, tugged -angrily at her skirts. - - - - - *XVII* - - -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. - -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." - -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. - -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 _am_ 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. - -"Thank you," replied she absently, presenting her left cheek for the -necessary formality of the occasion. Her attention was wholly -elsewhere. - -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. _Who_ 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 _young_ woman--this -_tall_ woman--this _handsome_ woman--so pleased with Basil Gallatin? - -"Aren't you surprised to find Helen March here?" Dick was now saying. - -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. - -"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 _blase_ city man fall to -dreaming of taking a country girl to wife. - -"_Now_ I do, of course," said Courtney sweetly. And the two embraced -and kissed. - -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! - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -Basil flushed. "You can judge for yourself," said he. - -"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--_so_--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. - -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--_him_! 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. - -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! - -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!" - -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. - -"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. - -"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. - -"Why, Basil's coming back." - -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. - -"And Helen's being here." - -A restless shiver. She was unconscious of Dick's presence. She was -gazing absorbed at the proposition: Helen is here. - -"It's just as we wanted it," he went on. - -The lithe, delicately formed body grew tense. "Speak for yourself," she -said curtly. - -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----" - -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----" - -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. - -"You are--_beautiful_!" 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----" - -Courtney was not listening. She was thinking of her oversight in not -locking her doors into the hall. - -"Of charm--aside from the freshness that's about all there is to most -girls, I imagine." - -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! - -"And you're so well now--so alive----" - -"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. - -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. - -"Good night," she echoed, turning away to screen the fire. - -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. - -"Basil!" she murmured. "I must have been expecting him." - -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." - -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. _That_ was what he called _love_! 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. - - - - - *XVIII* - - -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. - -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 negligee 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 _must_ 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." - -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. - -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 _real_ 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. - -"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." - -"Whatever you like," said Courtney, "if you'll only stay. We want you. -We need you." - -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." - -"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. - -"You must let me do some sewing for you. Do you like fine -underclothes?" - -"Crazy about them." - -"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." - -"I'll get the material," said Courtney, "and you can make some for both -of us." - -"Then I took a course in fitting. Don't judge by the things I wear. I -somehow can't fit myself." - -"It's the corset," said Courtney. - -"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?" - -"And work. Now, I have to remake most of my things." - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -Courtney, rosy red, lowered her head. - -"I don't wonder you're angry. I'll never do it again. When we have such -happiness as this, we must do nothing--_nothing_--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?" - -She was startled, then fascinated by the idea. "Why not? If they only -would!" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"I need somebody in addition to you, Gallatin, to help out down at the -shop," said Dick, "and Helen is going to try." - -"If Cousin Courtney is willing," said Helen. "She may need me here, as -I told you." - -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! - -"Oh, no, she doesn't need you here," asserted Vaughan. And catching -Courtney's eye, he glanced from Basil to Helen and winked. - -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." - -"Really I'd like it," said Helen, a good deal of nervousness in her -enthusiasm. - -"She could try it anyhow," urged Vaughan. "We need some one--don't we, -Basil?" - -"Yes," said Basil. "You remember, I suggested you ought to ask Mrs. -Courtney to take a hand." - -"Courtney!" Vaughan laughed gayly. "She has no fancy for anything -serious. Now, Helen is masculine minded." - -"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." - -"Helen prefers to stay here," said Courtney. "So, I think _I'll_ try." - -Richard stared and frowned. - -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. - -"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. - -"I'll come down to-morrow," Courtney went on. "Helen can look after -things here." - -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 _such_ a gentleman--and how well he -does dress! But Dick-- They're not in the same class." - -"No," said Courtney. - -Just then Vaughan came hurrying in. "I forgot something I wanted to say -to you, my dear," he began. "Come in here----" - -Helen took the hint and hastened away. Vaughan went on, "Why on earth -didn't you help me?" - -Courtney looked interrogative. She felt a curious impersonal anger -against him for having blunderingly interfered in her affairs. - -"Didn't you see," explained Richard somewhat irritably, "I had it all -fixed to bring those two together?" - -"How dull of me!" - -"It's not too late. All you have to do is back out and send her." - -"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. - -"All right. You women know each other best," said he, uncomfortable, -without being able to locate the cause. - -"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." - -"You're not in earnest about that!" cried Vaughan in alarm. "Why, -what'd you do there? You'd be in the way." - -"More than Helen?" - -"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." - -"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." - -"If you really want to come--" said Dick, reluctant. "I suppose--after -what I've said-- Well, you can come for a few days." - -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. - -"How serious you look," said he. "Really, quite tragic--in that light." - -"Yes, it must be the way the light falls," replied she. "Or is it -because I've mislaid my pet powder rag?" - -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. - -When the contents of the crucible cooled and he took off the respirator, -she spoke. "I see you've run up a partition." - -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." - -She advanced calmly, indifferent to his unfriendliness. "Then you don't -want me to help _you_?" 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. - -"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!" - -Gallatin, in a blouse, rubber apron and gloves appeared from the other -part of the shop. - -"Well--here's the--the 'prentice," said Dick. "You're not busy -nowadays. Take charge of her." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -She looked at him. "I'm here to stay," said she, "You'll not get rid of -me." - -"But the work's very hard--not at all feminine." - -"That suits me. For, I'm not at all feminine, myself--what men mean by -feminine." - -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. - -"How long it's been!" he said in a low voice. "Not since early -September have I kissed you--and this is almost February." - -She glanced warningly toward the top of the partition. - -"Away at the other end," Basil assured her, "and doing something that -can't be left an instant for an hour or more." - -"Well then--" She blushed, hesitated, gave him a passionate, longing -look. "One more kiss--and we go to work." - -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." - -"And soon it will be spring again, and we shall be a little freer." - -"Be patient until I get everything settled," she answered, "and we shall -be free almost all the time. I have thought it out." - -"You think of everything." - -"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." - -"Flight!" He laughed softly. "How absurd! Can't you feel that I'm -just wrapped up in you?" - -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." - -"Not just yet." - -"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." - -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----" - -"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. - -An hour, and he came to her again. "I've been doing nothing but watch -you, and you haven't looked round once." - -"This work is interesting," replied she--and it was the simple truth. - -"No--not once!" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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. - -"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----" - -"Is your love only--_that_!" - -"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?" - -"I explained to you----" - -"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?" - -"Don't harass me now," she begged, agitated and trembling. - -"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." - -"I didn't mean that!" - -"Then I may come to-night--or you to me?" - -She gave him a sad, pleading look. "Not to-night, dear. Not just yet. -We _must_ wait till things are going quietly in a routine." - -"How easily you put us off!" - -"Basil!--_Please_!" - -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." - -"Not so loud!" - -"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. - -A moment, and she followed him. "You are offended, Basil." - -"No--hurt." - -She sighed. "I will come to-night." - -"You do not wish to come!" - -"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----" - -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 _woman_!" - -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." - -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. - - - - - *XIX* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Really, you needn't crowd yourself quite so hard," said he to Courtney, -when his own energy began to flag. - -"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?" - -"I'd not have thought it possible to live as we're living--and be -happy." - -"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. - -"So much so," answered he, earnestly, "that I'd be afraid to change -anything." - -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!'" - -"It will!" declared he. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - -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." - -She startled, then lapsed into her usual isolation when alone with him. - -"I expect there'll be a marriage before the summer is out." - -"Yes?" said Courtney, absently. - -"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." - -She shivered, rose abruptly. "Supper must certainly be ready," said -she. - -"Then," pursued Dick, intent upon his train of thought, "they might get -the Donaldson place. The Donaldsons want to sell." - -She smiled ironically. "I suppose you've spoken to Donaldson about it." - -"Not yet. But next time I see him, I'll give him a hint. He might sell -to some one else." - -Basil now came in. "Sell what?" he asked, to join in the conversation. - -"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." - -"Richard suggested," said Courtney, in her most innocent manner, "that -you might buy it." - -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." - -"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. - -If anything, Basil looked more confused and nervous than did Richard; he -laughed hysterically. "Really--really--that's very attractive--if--" he -stammered. - -Just then Helen, out of hearing on the lake-front veranda, happened to -call, "Oh, Mr. Gallatin!" - -"Yes," he answered, and hastened out to join her. Richard stared -helplessly at his wife. "Now, why did you do that?" he demanded. - -"What?" - -"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." - -"Yes, you ought to be careful. I'm not intellectual, like Helen. But I -was forgetting; now you say she's shallow, too." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -He hesitated, looked disconcerted. - -"Oh, if you don't want me," laughed she. - -"Indeed I do," he hastened to say. "Only--usually you don't." - -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. - -"Helen's extremely shy," said Courtney. - -"She _is_ difficult to get acquainted with," replied Basil. His manner -might have been either absent or constrained. - -"I'm afraid I haven't given you much chance," said Courtney, merely by -way of saying something. - -"Oh, I know her pretty well," Basil hastened to protest. "There's a lot -more to her than one sees at first." - -"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." - -"And real intellect, too." - -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." - -"I shouldn't call Miss March imbecile," said he. "Or even heavy." - -"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." - -"She knows an awful lot," said Basil. "She often corrects me--in little -slips about authors and poetry, and so on." - -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. - -Courtney said: "Helen is a fine, sensible, capable girl--about the -finest I ever knew. And she has genuine sweetness and good taste." - -"She does dress well," said Basil warmly. "If she had the means, she'd -be stunning." - -"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." - -Basil flushed at this teasing. - -"You don't seem enthusiastic." - -"I don't care to hear a good young girl spoken of so lightly," said he, -with some stiffness. - -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." - -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." - -"Nonsense!" protested Basil, again unaccountably irritated. - -"How solemn you are to-day, dear. And, why shouldn't she fall in love -with you? I can see how a woman might." - -He did not respond to her glance. He stared straight ahead, answered -awkwardly, "Helen and I are simply good friends." - -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." - -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. - -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. - - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -He bent and kissed her neck. "Sweetheart!" he murmured. - -The fixed smile became a distortion, as she lowered her head. - -"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. - -Long indeed, thought she; a singularly patient and restrained lover; -strangely respectful. - -"There are more kinds of happiness in love than I imagined," he went on. -"But do you never--never----" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -"I can't tell," replied Richard, "till I've got several other -reactions." - -"Helen and Basil, I mean." - -"How should I know? All right, I suppose." - -"Didn't you tell me, a week or so ago, you thought it was a match?" - -"Of course it's a match," said he, as if there weren't a doubt about it. - -She quivered at this pressure upon the thorn that was pricking and -festering. "Why are you so positive?" she asked. - -"You know as much as I do. He goes out to meet her every morning, -doesn't he?" - -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. - -"How?" Richard's mind was back at his experiments. - -She repeated her question in a voice that was under still better -control. - -"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." - -Courtney laughed. "The old trick--yes." She laughed again. - -"It's all settled, no doubt," declared Richard. "And good business!" - -Courtney hurled a glance of fury at him. "Unless he's making a fool of -her." - -"Oh--absurd. He's a gentleman." - -"Gentleman. That sounds as if it meant a lot, but does it?" - -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." - -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. - -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. - -"No, indeed," answered Helen. "If anything, too happy. You know what -this life here means to me." - -"But you must find it lonely." - -"Lonely! Not for an instant." - -"We've had almost no company this winter and spring. I must hunt up some -young men for you." - -"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." - -"Still, you must marry. And you've got the looks to make a first-rate -bargain." - -Helen looked gently disapproving of this frank mode of stating the case. -"I could never marry for anything but love." - -"Of course. But, being a well-brought-up woman, you'll not have -difficulty in loving any proper candidate." - -"I'm well content." - -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." - -Helen blushed consciously. - -"Who is he?" teased Courtney. She had seen the blush, and her nerves -were twitching. "Who is it?" she repeated softly. "Basil?" - -The blush deepened. - -"I thought so!" exclaimed Courtney with laughing triumph. "You've -yielded to his fascinations, have you?" - -Helen paled and her lip trembled. "Please don't," she faltered. "Don't -joke me about--about him." - -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?" - -"Really--you're quite mistaken, dear," pleaded Helen. - -"How long have you and he been keeping those trysts?" - -"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." - -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!" - -"Do you think he does it deliberately?" inquired Helen eagerly. - -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?" - -"Oh!" cried Helen, covering her face with her hands. - -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." - -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." - -"Highly probable!" exclaimed Courtney, apparently much amused. "And so, -you could make love to each other at your ease." - -"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, _what_ have I done!" she sobbed. "And it seemed perfectly -innocent." - -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." - -"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." - -"Dry your eyes," said Courtney, calm and practical. "How far has this -gone?" - -"Not at all," declared Helen. "We've never said a word of love to each -other." - -"Is that the truth?" - -"As God is my judge." - -"Not a kiss--no hand-holding?" - -"Nothing." - -"Only looks?" - -"Sometimes--I've hoped--from the way he looked--" She sighed. "But I'm -afraid he meant nothing." - -Courtney studied her ingenuous face as a bank teller a note that is -under suspicion of being counterfeit. Yes--Helen was telling the truth. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"That sounds like a weekly story paper." - -"I know there's _some_ weight on his conscience," maintained Helen. - -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!" - -"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 _what_ 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. - -"He's a man of the world." She pinched Helen's cheek. "He reads that -innocent little mind of yours like an electric sign." - -Helen was hysterical with dismay. "You think he's laughing at me?" - -"And getting ready to--to amuse himself." - -"Courtney!" - -Courtney nodded and smiled. - -"He never could think so lightly of me. Never!" - -"Lightly? He sees you are in love with him. Why should he suspect you -of being calculating?" - -"Calculating? I don't understand." - -"Unwilling to give except for an annuity--for life support." - -Helen's honest brown eyes were big and round. "What do you mean?" - -"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?" - -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?" - -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." - -"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?" - -Courtney reflected. "I don't know whether I do or not," she finally -said. - -Helen looked at her with sad sympathy. "And I thought you were happy!" -she sighed. - -"I am," rejoined Courtney. "And I purpose to remain so." - -"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?" - -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----" - -"Loose!" Helen trembled, looked as if she were about to faint. - -"It's ridiculous the way we women exaggerate the value of our favors," -philosophized Courtney. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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!" - -"When?" asked Courtney, sharply. - -"To-day--what we were talking about." - -"_Only_ to-day?" - -"Never before!" exclaimed Helen. "And never again." - -"Then--perhaps--only perhaps, mind you," mocked Courtney, "I'll put off -speaking to Richard about it--and writing Mrs. Torrey." - -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--_bad_ woman?" - -Courtney's eyes were most unpleasant. - -"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 _will_ help it, though!" - -"You think you can?" - -Helen showed she was astonished and hurt. "Do you imagine _I_ could -care for a man whose way of caring for me was an insult?" - -Courtney counseled with a vase of jonquils. "No, I suppose _you_ -couldn't," she replied. "You don't know about wild, -free--_fierce_--love-- Do you?" - -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." - -"Self!" exclaimed Courtney, scornfully. "What is my self? What is your -self? What is anybody's self?" - -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. - -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?" - -Courtney hesitated, dared. "She might be already married." - -"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!" - -"Haven't such things happened?" - -"Yes--but-- No married woman a nice man would notice would ever think -of another man than her husband." - -"I don't know about a 'nice' woman," said Courtney, slowly. "But I can -imagine that a _human_ woman--if her husband neglected her, and chilled -and killed her love----" - -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?" - -"I suspect so," replied Courtney, gazing calmly into her eyes. - -"I'll not believe it!" cried Helen. "I'll not believe it!" - -"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?" - -"No," admitted Helen. "But--" She halted. - -"But what?" came from Courtney sharp and arresting as a shot. - -"I _feel_ he is fond of me," confessed Helen. - -Courtney laughed harshly. "All men are fond of all good-looking -women--especially in the spring. Don't be a fool, Helen." - -"But a married woman has no right to him!" - -Courtney flushed, and her eyes flashed. "And how do you know? And what -right have you to judge? Are you God?" - -"No, but----" - -"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?" - -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 _too_ 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." - -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." - -She had not forgotten Basil's expression as he stood in the apartment -entrance, after his _tete-a-tete_ with Helen. "Now--for what's in _his_ -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. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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." - -"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. - -"Not at all," protested he. "What fence? At whom?" - -"The fence of our compact--perhaps." - -He sighed impatiently. - -"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." - -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----" - -"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!" - -"Where did you get such ideas?" he exclaimed, trying to conceal how her -frankness had scandalized him. - -She worked on calmly. "By observing and reading and thinking--and -feeling." - -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." - -"Yes--and I also know she's very--very pretty." - -"Yes, she is pretty." - -"You respect her. You like to talk with her. You think she is -physically attractive." - -Stiffly, "I have never thought about her in that last way." - -"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." - -"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." - -"I shouldn't call her tame--" encouragingly. - -"Well--perhaps not. She sometimes suggests a person who could be waked -up." - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -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!" - -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. - -"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." - -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." - - - - - *XX* - - -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. - -"Good God!" he cried and his tone showed that his nerves were in the -same state as hers. - -"Beg your pardon," she murmured, mechanically apologetic. - -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. - -"Why, it's ten o'clock," said she carelessly. "Aren't you going out to -smoke?" - -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. - -"It's beautiful outdoors. I'll go with you." - -"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. - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Where have you been all day?" asked Courtney, eyes sinking before -Helen's. She felt a most uncomfortable contempt for herself. - -"In Wenona--lunching and shopping with Bertha Watrous." - -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." - -"I've been brought up to think it was--wasn't right," apologized Helen. - -"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. - -"I'm not blue," declared Helen. "I've simply been thinking of what you -said, and if anything I'm angry." - -"Oh--Basil? Did you see him to-day?" - -"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." - -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." - -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." - -"Now, Helen!" laughed Courtney. - -Helen colored. "I admit," she said, shamefacedly, "I got what I -deserved for being so--so forward." - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -"You're laughing at me," reproached Helen. - -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 _ever_ lead a tiger out for an airing." - -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?" - -At two o'clock that night, as Basil was leaving, he said--"You've hardly -spoken since I came. Is it the darkness?" - -"Yes--the darkness," she replied in the same undertone--the doors were -very thick, but instinct made them careful about speech. - -"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?" - -She clung to him. "Do you love me, my Basil?" - -"How queer your voice sounds. Are you frightened?" - -"No--no, indeed." - -"Dear, you're not telling me----" - -"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." - -"Yes, I'm sure there's not the least danger," said he, wholly -misunderstanding. - - - - - *XXI* - - -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?" - -"Something wrong at the shop?" - -"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." - -"I'll see." - -"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." - -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. - -"Let's start at once," he proposed. - -"Oh, I couldn't do that. I hesitate to leave here--when everything's at -its best. In the fall--or next winter----" - -"I see you don't want to go--with me." - -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." - -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." - -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 _tete-a-tete_ had already lasted too long. "Was -Winchie in there?" she asked. - -"I didn't see him," replied Dick. - -She moved toward the nearest sitting-room window. - -"What's the matter?" he cried, irritated. "Where are you going?" - -"After Winchie. I haven't thought of him for an hour. Helen's away--at -the Foster picnic----" - -"The boy's all right. Sit down here and----" - -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. - -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?" - -"I'm sure I don't know," replied she. "Nothing, I guess." - -"Didn't you notice? He was staring furiously at you, and left in a -rage." - -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." - -"It's chilly there," objected she. "Come in." And she went toward the -piano. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"You understand me," said he, more severely. - -She gazed straight into his eyes before answering. "Yes, I do. But I -prefer to pretend not to." - -"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." - -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. - -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----" - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"You're talking of things you, being a good woman, know nothing about." - -"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. - -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." - -"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." - -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 _me_ about it?" said she to him. "Why didn't you simply say it to -him?" She smiled contemptuously. "And what will he think?" - -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." - -She drew herself up haughtily. "Good night," said she. - -"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 _you_ 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----" - -"But _I_ do," interrupted she. "I'm not the imbecile Aunt Eudosia sort -you admire so much." - -"I tell you, the man's in love with you," cried Richard. - -She all but staggered before the shock. - -"Yes, in love with you. That's why he came back here." - -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." - -"I was mistaken. How could he be in love with her, when you're about? -A man always takes to the best-looking woman." - -She laughed with friendly conciliating coquetry. "I'm afraid you're -prejudiced." - -"I saw it this evening. The way he was listening to those love songs!" - -"Are you sure he was thinking of me?" - -Richard did not answer. - -"Perhaps Helen's equally sure he was thinking of her." - -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? - -"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----" - -"Then it was only this evening?" she interrupted. "I was hoping you had -real reason for flattering me." - -"Flattering you!" - -"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?" - -Dick half smiled. - -"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!" - -"You silly child!" Dick was amused now. - -"But I don't blame Helen. How could she help it--with you leading her -on----" - -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. - -"No--no!" she gasped. - -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." - -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. - -"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----" - -She ceased struggling. - -"I got to thinking how long we've been living apart--and how, every time -I made advances, you seemed to evade----" - -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 _really_ -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." - -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. - -She lay quiet in his arms. - - -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." - -"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." - -"I don't want to be left!" cried Winchie. "You wouldn't leave _me_, -mamma?" - -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." - -"Not even _me_, mamma?" pleaded Winchie. - -"Except you," said she. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -His arms hung at his sides. He stood rigid. - -"Basil! Put your arms round me. I'm cold--and so frightened." - -He pushed her away. - -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!" - -"I do love you. That's the worst of it." - -"Love!" She turned upon him passionately. "You call _that_--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! - -"I didn't mean it," he pleaded. "I was crazed with jealousy." - -"Jealousy! Basil--Basil!" - -"I can't help it. I'm human." - -"But don't you know me? Oh, sweetheart--don't take from me all the -self-respect I've got." - -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." - -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." - -He continued to look straight and stern at her. "Either you go with me -or I go alone." - -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." - -"I'll leave in the morning, unless you say you'll leave with me the day -after." - -She watched him, relentless and utterly inconsiderate, and her anger -rose. "You've no right to go!" she cried. - -"I must," he replied. "Do you mean to say you'll let me leave without -you?" - -"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." - -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." - -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----" - -"You must promise you will not live with him." - -"I will do my best. But--I must protect Winchie--and us." - -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 _me_ -in!" - -"And me?" She said it very quietly, with a certain restrained pathos. -But he sat glum and moody, thinking of his own plight. - -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. - -"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----" - -"Love--let's only talk of love," he interrupted. - -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. - -"What are you thinking about so solemnly?" he asked. - -"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." - -"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." - -Her lips echoed his laugh. "What nonsense," she said. - -"It's the truth," declared he. "But--burn on! I can't live without -it." - -The smile left her lips--it had not been in her eyes. "If I thought -you----" - -He stopped her mouth with a kiss. "Only love!" he commanded. "No -thought." - -"That's right," she cried eagerly. "No thought! Just feeling--just -love. We must not think. It's the cause of our unhappiness." - -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--_mustn't_--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. - - - - - *XXII* - - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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?" - -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." - -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. - -Presently he said: "Won't you talk to me? I feel like a--a damned soul -to-day." - -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. - -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." - -"What is troubling you?" - -"Oh, I don't want to talk about myself." - -But her instinct told her he had brought his stained soul to -confessional. "It might help you," she suggested, blushing at her own -boldness. - -He looked gratefully at her and away. "It seems to me," said he, -"you've been avoiding me. Is it so?" - -Helen bent her head low over her work. - -"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." - -Helen's eyes filled. "Oh, no. It's never too late," said she. - -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! - -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. - -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. - - -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. - -"I've often told you," said he, "that I'm no fit companion for a pure -woman--that my life's ruined past redeeming----" - -"Don't say those things," she implored. "They hurt me--and they're not -so. I know _you_." - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -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." - -She thrilled. Those words made her feel that he belonged to _her_. She -laid her other hand on his. "Basil," she appealed, "you are young, and -brave, and noble. You can free yourself--save yourself----" - -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." - -"Why?" she asked. - -"Because--I am not free--and never shall be." - -"Is that true?" Her eyes looked loving incredulity. - -"I am more tightly bound--by honor and by--by habit--than if I were -married." - -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? - -"What a cur I am!" he exclaimed, put to shame by her sigh and her -forlorn expression. - -"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!" - -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. - -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 -_tete-a-tete_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *XXIII* - - -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." - -"What one thing?" asked Courtney, startled out of her abstraction. - -"Drinking. Helen must have noticed how Gallatin's mopping it up these -days." - -"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. - -"He was so drunk this morning that he had to go out and take the air. -That's what made me think of it." - -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." - -"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." - -"I'm sure you're mistaken," said Courtney, her irritation showing in her -color now. "You both drink at supper." - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Be careful," she whispered. "The floor was polished only yesterday." - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -He stood, swaying unsteadily, his head hanging. "If you think so--" he -muttered. - -She urged him gently toward the door. - -"I--I beg your pardon," he mumbled. "I--I guess you're right." - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -She gazed quickly at him in amazement, started to speak, checked -herself. - -"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." - -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. - -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? - -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." - -She gazed at him in horror. "Basil!" she gasped. - -"Yes--I mean it. Oh, you understand. I'm not fit to 'sociate with -her--and neither are you." - -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 _because_ 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. - -"Basil! You're hurting me." - -"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. - -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." - -"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." - -"_Sharing me!_" 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. - -"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." - -She wished to fly, but her legs would not carry her. She had to -stay--and listen. - -"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." - -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----" - - - - - *XXIV* - - -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. - -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 -reexamined 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -"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. - -"He was in a hurry and didn't say," replied Lizzie. "I'll find out." - -"Oh, no. It doesn't matter." - -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." - -"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. - -"Yes. She's dying. She sent for him. Such dreadful roads too." - -Courtney's pen halted on its way to the ink well. The room seemed to -her to have become terribly still. - -"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." - -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?" - -"Ten minutes ago--maybe fifteen." - -"Did he take the motor?" - -"Yes, ma'am. She's near dead. He went in a great hurry." - -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. - -"Out on the lake. Winchie's with him--fishing." - -"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. - -"I can call him from the wall," suggested Lizzie. - -"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 _kill_ Basil!" - -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." - -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. - -"He's been gone about half an hour." - -"Only half an hour!" - -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. - -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: - -"You will have to go at once." - -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." - -"I deserve that," he said, and she knew he was referring to last night. - -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." - -"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "I--go?" - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"I can't. Vaughan has the right to my life." - -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." - -"I don't believe she knew anything." - -"Basil!" His eyes shifted. "Don't you _remember_?" - -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." - -"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----" - -"If he comes merely suspecting and uneasy, and I'm gone----" - -"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." - -He settled himself. "I shall not go. We face him together." - -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!" - -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." - -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. - -"No, Courtney. I cannot." - -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 _I_ am done -for." - -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." - -"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!" - -"Do you mean these things? Or are you only pretending, to make me fly -and save myself?" - -"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!" - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -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." - -"But he may come to kill, and before I could get back----" - -"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!" - -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." - -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. - -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. - -She startled, turned on him with eyes wild. "Oh!" she gasped, her hand -on her heart. "I didn't know you were there." - -"Are you watching for Mr. Gallatin?" - -"Why, dear?" - -"Because, if you are, he came in with me a long time ago and isn't out -there any more." - -A silence, she trying to keep her gaze off the lake. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Are you ill, dear?" asked Helen, putting her head in at the door. - -"No," replied she, curtly. - -Helen went, but Winchie came. "You must hear my prayer, mamma." - -"Helen taught it to you. Let her hear it." - -"No. She's busy downstairs, and I'm in a hurry to go to sleep." - -"Then--just say it by yourself." - -"It seems foolish to say it, with nobody to listen." - -"Very well." - -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. - -She became suddenly weak, but contrived to say to him, "Didn't you bring -Mr. Vaughan back?" - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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---- - -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?" - -Dick's voice, saying, "Oh, you aren't asleep." - -"What time is it?" - -"About half past one." It was Richard's voice, yet not his. - -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. - -Then he: "May I turn up the light--just for a minute?" - -"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. - -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." - -She wondered why her skin was not burning, why her lips did not open and -her voice cry out. "But when _this_ is past," she said to herself, "no -more lies--never again!" - -"Good night," he was saying. - -"Good night," she murmured, the sense of unreality, of the passing -dream, stronger than ever. - -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 _true_!" - -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." - -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?" - -"Gone." - -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." - -"I sent him." - -"I am glad. I might have--" He did not finish. "I'm stunned," he -muttered. - -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. - -"Why did you send him away?" he asked. It was as if he were talking -with a stranger about an indifferent matter. - -"Because he has nothing to do with this. It's between you and me." - -Their eyes met. "Nothing to do with this?" he repeated, as if trying to -understand. - -"It's between you and me," she repeated. - -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?" - -She remained silent and motionless. - -"Why don't you speak?" he demanded, trying to rouse himself to reality. -"Why don't you defend yourself?" - -So long as she did not defend, he could not attack. She did not answer. - -"You do not deny. You admit?" - -She was silent. - -"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. - -She refused it instantly. "That is not true," she said. - -"Yes, it is," he insisted. "He took advantage of my absence----" - -"What I did," she interrupted, "was of my own free will--was what I felt -I had the right to do." - -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. - -"Yes, I realize," she answered in the same calm colorless tone in which -she had spoken all her few words. - -"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. - -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. - -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." - -She covered her face with her arm. "Don't!" she murmured. - -"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?" - -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. - -"We'll not talk of it," he went on, as the storm was subsiding, "until -we're both of us calmer." - -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. - - - - - *XXV* - - -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. - -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?" - -"Yes," replied she. - -"I'm at Fenton." - -"Go to New York." - -"Are you--well?" - -"Never better. Some one may be listening along the wire." - -"I understand. You are _sure_ all's well?" - -"Sure. Wait in New York." - -"I understand. Good-by." - -"Good-by." - -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." - -Dick's lips curled slightly. - -"It isn't fair for me to let you think him a coward. I made him see so -clearly that----" - -"You were right," he interrupted. "I wish to hear no more about it." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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-- -_How_ could she prevent his using it? - -"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." - -"You were mistaken," said she. "I went because it's been my habit to -go. I went just as you did." - -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?" - -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." - -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." - -"I've loved it." And her tone put her sincerity beyond question. - -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." - -He waited long; she did not speak. - -"You feel, I suppose," he said gently, "that you've forfeited the right -to speak." - -She did not venture to contradict him. Anything she would say, however -guarded, might anger him--and Winchie was at stake. - -"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." - -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." - -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?" - -"No," she said in a suffocating voice. Only her boy was saving her from -bursting out. - -"Then--don't try to cajole me with talk about my sense of justice. What -do you ask?" - -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." - -He flushed. - -"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." - -"I had no such intention." - -"Then why do you treat me as if I were an object of charity?" - -"You can hardly expect me to treat you as if you had done something -noble." - -"You say I'm not a bad woman." - -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." - -"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?" - -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?" - -"Because you did not love me." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"Why did you not tell me you had these false, unjust ideas?" - -"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." - -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 _you_?--you, the -mother of Winchie." - -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." - -He rose in his excitement; for, his keen mind penetrated to her purpose. -"You want your freedom and you want my son!" he cried. - -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?" - -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?" - -"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?" - -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!" - -"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?" - -"I have told you----" - -"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." - -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?" - -"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?" - -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!" - -"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. - -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----" - -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? - - -As she was dressing next morning, in came Winchie. "Has papa gone away?" -he asked at the threshold. - -She paused with the eye of her belt at the prong of its buckle. "Why?" -said she. - -"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." - -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: - - -"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. - -"Please let me know whether you accept. A line, in care of my lawyers, -James & Vandegrift, will reach me. - -"R.V." - - -"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. - -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." - -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. - -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. - -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 _folie de grandeur_. -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!" - -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. - -"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. - -"But he's away, isn't he?" persisted Helen, after a pause. "Lizzie -tells me his rooms haven't been disturbed for two nights." - -"He went day before yesterday, I believe," said Courtney. "Did you see -Richard this morning?" - -"Just a minute. He was hurrying for the train when I came down." - -"I thought he didn't look very well, last night," pursued Courtney. - -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?" - -"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?" - -Courtney seemed not to have heard. "He forgot to give me his address. -Did he leave it with you?" - -"The Willard in Washington, then the Astor in New York." - -"It may be I'll want to write him or something." - -"I should think so!" cried Helen. "You and he write every day, don't -you?" - -"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." - -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. - -"It was simply a chance question," apologized Helen. - -"He's not coming back." - -"Not coming back!" echoed Helen. "You're going to move East?" - -The emerald eyes met Helen's excited glance placidly. "We are going to -get a divorce," she said. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Naturally," replied Courtney, "since there's nothing to say." - -"I can't believe it!" - -"Why not?" - -"There aren't two people better suited to each other. Why, you never -quarreled." - -"That's it. I love contention. He wouldn't give it to me. So--pop -goes the weasel." - -"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. - -"Now, dear, please don't cry. You know that I know how easy it is for -women to cry, and how little it means." - -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." - -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." - -"Well, you know, yourself, Courtney," stammered Helen, "it doesn't seem -likely a woman'd give up a good husband and a good home----" - -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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"I _know_ I'd not marry for _anything_ but love!" - -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 _real_ 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." - -"I wish you wouldn't say that sort of things, Courtney," Helen cried. -"I know illusions are illusions, but I want to keep them." - -Courtney's expression changed abruptly. The deep-green eyes looked -dreamily away. "If only one _could_ 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." - -A long pause, then Helen sighed. "And I believed you and Richard were -happy!" - -"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!" - - -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: - - -"MADAM: From this date I cease to be your husband. You may take such -legal action as this may suggest. - -"RICHARD VAUGHAN." - - -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. - -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. - -Helen came, crying: "Oh, there you are. Winchie wants ice cream for -supper. Don't you think-- Why, Courtney, how solemn you look!" - -"And you would, too," said Courtney, "if your hair had been falling out -the way mine has lately." - -"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?" - -"I--worry? How absurd." - -"No, I don't believe you ever do." - -"Let's have the ice cream. Chocolate. And I feel just like jelly -roll." - - - - - *XXVI* - - -The pause before the first decisive step toward freedom--and perhaps -away from Winchie--had shrunk to a day less than two weeks. - -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. - -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." - -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?" - -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." - -"If you sit on the bench down here, I can come to you. The shadow's deep -enough." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"He knows, doesn't he? - -"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. - -"What is he going to do?" - -"I don't know." - -"But-- Don't keep me in suspense, dear. Is he going to get a divorce?" - -"No. I'm to get it." - -"Your voice is very queer. Aren't you--glad?" - -"I'm afraid about Winchie." - -"Oh--of course. Does he threaten to--" Basil halted. - -"No. But-- Basil, you must go." - -"Go? It's perfectly safe here." - -"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. - -She saw, or rather felt, him eying her somberly. "When will you be -free?" he asked in a constrained tone. - -"In a few months--I think." - -"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. - -She did not answer. - -He laughed unpleasantly. "You don't seem overjoyed at the prospect." - -"I'm thinking of Winchie." - -"Oh!" A pause; then he asked, "As soon as you've got Winchie safely, -we'll marry?" - -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." - -"Bound?" he exclaimed. "Courtney, please don't joke about this." - -"I'm quite serious--though I don't act as funereally as you do when you -think you're serious." - -"We love each other, and----" - -"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?" - -"Courtney, have you--changed? Can't you forgive me for----" - -"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?" - -"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." - -"That _sounds_ nice. But--is it so?" - -"You know it is!" he cried angrily. - -"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." - -"Vaughan?" - -"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----" - -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. - -"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." - -"Winter," he corrected. - -"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----" - -"Courtney, do you love me? ... Look at me. Answer." - -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." - -"If you knew how you were--hurting me you'd not say these things." - -"Would you rather I lied to you?" she asked gently. - -"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." - -"Yes--we will marry, I suppose. There isn't anybody so near to me." - -"Except Winchie." - -"Winchie _is_ me." - -"I understand," he said. "It's--beautiful. Ah, Courtney, we must marry -as soon as we can." - -"No. I must--" She paused. - -"Go on, dear. What is it that's to keep us apart?" - -"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." - -"There couldn't be any question of that kind between us." - -"There shan't be," replied she with energy that startled him. - -"I'll settle any amount you say on you. I'll make myself your dependent -if you wish." - -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." - -"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!" - -"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." - -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." - -"Are you the sort of man that never bores a woman or makes her feel like -looking about?" - -"That's not for me to say," answered he with a careless laugh. - -"It doesn't strike you as important--what a woman might think about such -matters, does it?" said she, good-humored in her mockery. - -"Oh, yes--if the woman's you. But let's not bother about such things. -It seems such a waste of time. One kiss?" - -She shook her head. "Not with Richard looking on." - -"Do you _want_ me to kiss you--dear?" he said passionately. - -With a nervous glance toward the house she rose. "Please!" she said, in -vague entreaty. "You must go." - -"You haven't told me--anything--yet." He cast hurriedly about for some -way to detain her. "There are your plans for being independent." - -"I haven't any." - -"Do sit down. I'll not touch you again." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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?" - -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. - - -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. - -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. - -"Yes, I know," said she, laying her finger on her lips. "Let's go down." - -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. - -"No need to ask you that," replied Dick. "Or the boy, either. How he -has shot up!" - -"We've had a great summer and fall for growing things," said Courtney. -Then to Helen: "Don't let us interrupt your game." - -"Yes--of course-- Come, Winchie," stammered Helen. - -"Just watch me pitch, father," cried Winchie. "Jimmie's taught me to -curve." - -"You don't say!" exclaimed Dick with an interest whose exaggeration -roused no suspicion in the boy's breast. - -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. - -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." - -"You've been abroad--haven't you?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"And you did?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Now that I come to examine you," he was saying, "you don't look at all -well." - -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." - -Richard paused to enjoy contemplating the portrait he had painted. -Courtney wished to hear more. "She was in your party?" - -"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." - -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. - -"How's the divorce coming on?" he asked abruptly. - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"Was it my fault?" he asked, apologetically. "I've missed my mail for -nearly two months." - -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." - -"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?" - -"I admit you've got a share in him," replied she. "But you can't help -seeing that he belongs with his mother." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -Her eyes were full of tears. "Thank you," she said humbly. "Thank -you." - -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?" - -"I wish to hear whatever you wish to say," replied she. "But--is it -necessary to say anything?" - -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." - -"Nothing. I-- Nothing." - -"It's the change in me--in my point of view--isn't it?" - -"Your--your mind certainly seems to have changed." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"One thing more," he said. "I want to say I'm glad of what has -happened." - -She simply stared at him. - -"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." - -"You're not thinking of giving up your work!" she exclaimed in dismay. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -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." - -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?" - -The emerald eyes looked amused astonishment. "Why?" she asked. - -"You and he are just--just as you always were." - -"Indeed we're not!" exclaimed she. "Absolutely different." - -"But I never saw two people friendlier----" - -"That's it. That's precisely it. Now that we've freed each other, I -can like him and he can like me." - -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." - -Courtney's eyes danced. "The truth from Helen--at last!" - -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!" - -"Is it?" said Courtney. - -"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." - -"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!" - -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 -_got_ to marry," said she. - -"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." - -"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!" - -"Don't!" commanded Courtney. "Helen, you are tempting me." - -"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." - -Courtney nodded slowly several times, then asked, "Don't you think it -ought to be changed?" - -"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." - -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?" - -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?" - -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." - -"Let me talk to Richard. I can do it tactfully." - -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." - -"Don't be afraid, dear. I'd not meddle. But--" She looked appealingly -at Courtney--"please, dear--do let me!" - -"Richard and I would both resent it equally." - -"But what _will_ become of you!" - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -Helen saw only the smile. "I'm sure you are, you dear, sweet, -fascinating child!" cried she, greatly consoled and cheered. - -"Don't be too sure!" warned Courtney, the smile fading. - -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. - - - - - *XXVII* - - -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?" - -"Yes," presently came from Helen in so reluctant a tone that Courtney -congratulated herself on having thought to exact the promise. - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"I've brought up mud in my hands from where it's twenty feet deep." - -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." - -"You do?" - -"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." - -"I remember perfectly now. That was _you_--was it?" - -"It was. It was," replied she. "You despised little girls and thought -you'd scare me to death." - -"But I remember you were game. You didn't scream." - -"I guess I was too badly frightened. Do you remember how mother -shrieked when she saw from the window what you were up to?" - -"Do I? The whipping father gave me bent the whole business into me -forever. _I_ wasn't game. How I did howl!" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -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. - -"I've got to be," replied she. - -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----" - -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." - -"I didn't suspect----" - -"Be honest!" - -He hung his head like a foolish boy. - -"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.'" - -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. - -"It's the way _I_ 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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -"You're not going to make any move until spring--toward this architect -friend, I mean?" - -"I've no reason to think--at least not much reason--that she'll take -me." - -"Meanwhile--why not perfect yourself in the trade you already almost -know?" - -"What's that?" - -"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." - -Courtney flushed with pleasure at this praise. "Really?" she said. -"You mean that?" - -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." - -"Meaning me?" said she with amused eyes. - -"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." - -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." - -"What a confession the proverb is," said he, "--that people have to be -married once, before they're fit to be married." - -"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.'" - - -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. - -"No," declared Winchie, taking him seriously, "I never had a doctor in -my life." - -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." - -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--_anywhere_. 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." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -She felt no embarrassment. His tone prevented; it was businesslike, and -polite rather than friendly. - -"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." - -She looked directly at him for the first time. "You're quite sure you'd -not misunderstand?" - -"Quite," he assured her. - -She still hesitated. "I want to accept," she confessed, "for business -reasons. But I've an instinct against it." - -He smiled with good-humored mockery. "A vanity, you mean." - -She colored guiltily, though she also was smiling. Her nervous fingers -were pulling the ice from a branch of a bush. - -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." - - -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. - -"What the devil is the matter?" demanded he, glowering at her. "Sure -you didn't make a mistake?" - -Her nerves were on edge, as were his. "That's right!" she said, tears -in her eyes. "Suspect me." - -"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." - -"I don't want politeness," cried she. "What did I say that could -possibly make you think I did?" - -"It was what you didn't say," replied he. "Why didn't you answer back? -Or throw the ladle at me?" - -"I will next time." - -And there they both laughed. - - -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. - -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?" - -"No--no, indeed," protested he. "You don't make mistakes." - -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. - -"Then," she went on to him, "why do you look at me inquiringly?" - -"It's your manner," replied he. "You're acting very differently to-day -from what you ever did before." - -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." - -"I understand," said he, and turned away to gaze reflectively out of the -window. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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." - -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." - -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. - -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." - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -"Connect them, please," said Courtney, hoping her voice had betrayed and -would betray nothing to the man behind her. - -Soon came an operator's voice, and then Basil's. "I must see you!" - -"Yes," she said. "I'll come." - -"In your auto runabout--on the Fenton road to Tippecanoe--at two this -afternoon. Will that do?" - -"Yes. I'll be there. Good-by." And she rang off. - -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." - -"All right," replied he. "I sha'n't need you till to-morrow morning." - -"I'll be here, then, of course." - -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." - -She flushed guiltily. But her composure instantly returned, and she -went on toward the door, casting about for a reply. - -"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." - -She stood in the outer doorway, trying to conceal her agitation and -trying to reflect. - -"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?" - -"Yes," said Courtney. "I'll see him at the house." - -"Thank you," said Richard. And he resumed his careful mixing of two -powders in a small brass mortar. - -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?" - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -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." - -A silence, then his voice, "No. You come over." - -"I can't do it. And I'd not ask you if I weren't sure. I'll explain -when I see you." - -"There's an especial reason why I want you here," urged he. - -"And there's a more especial reason why I want you here." - -"And there's an even more especial reason why I _must_ 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." - -"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?" - -"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. - - - - - *XXVIII* - - -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!" - -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." - -"I understand," said he. "I can't trust myself to look at you. My -love! My love!" - -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. - -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!" - -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. - -"Why? You're free." - -"Yes--but--" She paused. - -"Why do you act so strange--so distant?" - -"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----" - -"Aren't you glad to see me?" - -"Yes--yes, indeed," she protested. "Let's sit down." - -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. - -"I have to be careful. You forget Winchie." - -An uncomfortable silence, then he: "You've been free thirty-nine days. -Yet you have not written me." - -"I explained to you----" - -"Didn't you feel like writing?" - -"Of course. But----" - -"But--what?" - -"I wanted to be independent as well as free." - -He looked at her gloomily. "Is _that_ what you call love?" - -She forced a smile and nodded. - -"Do you know what I've come for? For you." - -She felt herself drawing together, shrinking away from him. "For me?" -she echoed vaguely. - -"To marry you." - -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." - -"Why not?" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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----" - -"We must marry, right away," he insisted, frowning upon her lack of -seriousness. "We've been separated too long already." - -That seemed to her to explain. But it did not remove. She said, "Not -until I'm independent." - -"But that means years--years!" - -"Oh, no," protested she. "Not the kind of independence _I_ mean. I -simply want to be sure I could earn my living if it were necessary." - -"But it isn't necessary. And life is so short, dearest. And at most -we'll have few enough years of happiness." - -"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." - -"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." - -"Nevertheless I must try." - -"If you loved me, you'd not talk like this," cried he, bitterly. - -Instead of protesting, she became thoughtful. "Do you really think so?" -she asked. "I wonder if that's true." - -"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." - -"You don't seem to see my point of view, Basil." - -"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." - -"It was my dependence that put me in such a frightful position with -Richard. And----" - -"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." - -"Would you promise to love me always just as you do now?" - -"I certainly would. I shall." - -She lowered her eyes. Her heart sank. - -"Wouldn't you?" he asked. - -"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." - -He was silent, was watching her with sullen, suspicious eyes. - -"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----" - -"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." - -"Yes--one kind of love. But is it the kind to build one's life upon?" - -"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." - -"But suppose _I_ ceased to love _you_--and were dependent on you----" - -"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." - -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." - -He winced; she saw he was thinking of Richard. "That could never happen -with _us_!" cried he. - -"Never is a long time." - -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." - -She forced a laugh. "Then if I fail and send for you, you'll know what -it means--and fly in the other direction." - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"I'll tell you sometime. I don't feel in the humor now." - -"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. - -She waited until he had got himself comfortably settled down into this -agreeable assumption, then said tranquilly, "No. I have the place -promised me." - -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. - -"Should learn how dependent I am on--some man?" - -"How unfitted you are to be anything but a lady." - -"I know that already," replied she forlornly. "Or, rather, I'm not -fitted to be either dependent or independent." - -"Then why not be sensible, and marry me at once?" - -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. - -"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. - -"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! - -"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." - -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." - -He stared. - -"I've been lying to myself and to you. I don't love you." - -"That's not true!" - -"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. - -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----" - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"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?" - -"Between times?" - -"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." - -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." - -"The social position, you mean?" - -"Certainly. And we'll enjoy ourselves." - -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. - -"You'll be tremendously popular," he said with enthusiasm. - -She shook her head slowly. "I don't think _I_ 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." - -"I'll risk it. They'll be crazy about you in the East." He nodded -proud, confident, self-complacent encouragement. "I'll risk it!" - -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! - -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." - -"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----" - -"For God's sake!" he cried. "How _can_ you say such things?" - -"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. - -"Go on. Say it." - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -"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, _I_ can't be a baby anymore.... Do you -know what would happen if I married you?" - -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. - -"I see you know what would happen. The same thing again." - -"Courtney!--Good God!" - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -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?" - -"I do not. I've seen no one practically but Richard." - -He halted with a jerk. "Richard!" His eyes narrowed with jealous -suspicion. "Has he been trying to win you back?" - -She smiled at the idea, so at variance with the facts. "He treats me -like another man." - -"Then you see him?" - -"Every day. I work at the laboratory with him." - -"_What!_" Basil stared, dropped to the nearest chair dumfounded. - -"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." - -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. - -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?" - -"He's coming to you, Richard," she gasped. "I angered him. He's wild -with rage. Promise you won't let him in." - -"I can't do that." Richard's voice was calm and natural. - -"Your promise to me!" - -"Don't be alarmed. He doesn't amount to much, if you'll pardon my -saying so." - -"I'm coming as quickly as I can. Don't see him, Richard. Remember -Winchie!" - -"Come if you like. But I suspect you'll only aggravate him. Believe -me, I can take care of him. Here he is now----" - -She dropped the receiver, ran out of the house and along the path. - - - - - *XXIX* - - -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." - -"So I see," replied Dick. - -"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." - -"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. - -"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." - -Dick bent over the white crystals in the platinum tray on the shelf of -the furnace. - -Gallatin, exasperated, waved his fists. "I demand that you free her! -If she were free, she'd come with me, for she loves me." - -Dick took a metal rod from the case and began pushing the crystals this -way and that carefully. - -"She loves me, I tell you!" - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -Basil sneered, "Well?" said he, with intent to draw on. - -"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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -Basil shrank; a shudder ran visibly over his frame. - -"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." - -Basil was no coward; but he had grown yellow with fear. His hand now -dropped nervously from the knob. - -"Lock the door," said Dick sharply. "There's no time to lose. I think -she's on the way here." - -"She'll understand--and kill herself." - -"Why not? Helen will take care of Winchie." - -Basil's gaze wandered round, in search of another excuse. He braced -himself, cried defiantly, "I refuse!" - -"Very well." Dick set the jar on the table. "Then go." - -"You think I'm a coward. But it's not that." - -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----" - -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!" - -"Courtney!" he pleaded, not daring to lift his eyes. "I love you. I -cannot give you up." - -"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." - -"Absurd," said Vaughan with an indifferent shrug. His arms were folded -upon his broad chest. - -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?" - -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. - -"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." - -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?" - -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. - -"That's for her to decide," said Richard. - -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. - -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." - -"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. - -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. - -"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." - -"You can respect him after this?" - -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. - -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." - -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." - -He lifted his head eagerly. "I knew you didn't mean them, dear." - -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." - -"Be careful!" he cried angrily. "I'm not the man to stand and beg--even -for you." - -"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?" - -"Thank you," replied he, haughtily. "I'll be obliged if you will." - -She put out her hand. "Good-by, Basil." - -He clinched his fists in vanity's boyish anger. "You can think of that -apartment, and have no feeling?" he exclaimed. - -"None," declared she. - -"I'll not believe it. You couldn't be so unwomanly." - -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." - -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. - -"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. - -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---- - -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." - -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----" - -He wheeled to face Helen. His confusion was equal to hers. "Ah--Miss -Helen--I--I--" he stammered. - -"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. - -"No indeed--no indeed," he protested. - -"Courtney sent me----" - -"Courtney sent you!" he exclaimed in amazement. - -"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." - -One look into those eyes was convincing; Helen believed what she was -saying. - -"She thought perhaps I might be able to help you about the packing. Can -I?" - -"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." - -All the roses fled from Helen's cheeks. "Yes--certainly," she murmured. - -"You'll excuse my being somewhat confused? The truth is I'm very much -upset." - -"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. - -"Quite sure. It's--final. Please, let's not talk about it. It's all -so--so revolting." - -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. - -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." - -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. - -"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." - -These words seemed like heavenly wisdom delivered by a messenger of -light. He sighed. - -"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 _good_ -woman who is worthy of you." - -She looked so sad, so beautiful that before he knew it he, ever -sympathetic with women, had said, "Some woman like you, Helen." - -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." - -"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." - -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." - -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. - -"Helen--do you love me?" he cried. - -Her honest eyes opened wider. "Would I have let you touch me if I -didn't?" - -"Yes--I know that!" he exclaimed. "How pure you are! It's like heaven -after hell." - -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. - -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." - -Her answer was a beautiful shaft of the love light from her now -wonderful eyes. - -"Helen--will you marry me?" - -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. - -"Then you will? Say you will, Helen. I cannot trust myself to go away -without your strength to help me." - -"I will, Basil." - -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. - - - - - *XXX* - - -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. - -"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. - -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." - -"Engaged?" inquired Courtney, the utter impossibility of the thing -down-facing the clear evidence of its actuality. - -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." - -"Splendid!" Helen, she felt, was secure; for, Basil had the highest -respect for his given word. - -"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----" - -"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! - -"Oh--of course you remember. You knew about her." - -"Not much about her," replied Courtney. Pensively, "Really, nothing at -all." - -"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?" - -"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." - -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." - -"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. - -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." - -"Yes?" said Courtney, encouragingly. - -"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." - -Courtney looked laughingly at her over the suspended brush. "Oh, -Helen--Helen!" - -"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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"Certainly," reassured Courtney. "You did the practical, sensible -thing." - -"I know, what I did _seems_ 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?" - -"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." - -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." - -"Thank you," said Courtney with genuine gratitude. "You don't know what -a flattering compliment that is.... So, you're engaged to Will -Arbuthnot?" - -"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----" - -"I understand," interrupted Courtney. "Never mind about her." - -"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. - -"And now," teased Courtney, "you give the naughty man the preference -over the nice one." - -"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-- _Don't_ smile that way. Courtney." - -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." - -"Of course," said Helen, beaming, "a woman who has kept herself pure is -superior to a man who has not been clean and nice." - -"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." - -"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." - -Courtney laughed gayly. "What a dear you are!" she exclaimed, looking -at her friend tenderly. "And so absolutely unconscious of it." - -Helen returned her gaze in unaffected surprise. "I don't know what you -mean. Why do you laugh?" - -"Nothing." Courtney was painting again. "What are you going to do -about Will Arbuthnot?" - -"Why, be perfectly honest with him," cried Helen, injured and -reproachful. "I simply couldn't be deceitful." - -"Tell him you've found you can make a better match? Oh, you mustn't do -that." - -"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." - -"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." - -"But I _am_ natural, dear," remonstrated Helen warmly. - -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." - -"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 _are_ -you laughing at _now_?" asked Helen. - -"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." - -"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." - -Courtney was smiling strangely into her color box. "You'll be married in -Saint X at Mrs. Torrey's, I suppose?" - -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?" - -Courtney reflected. "I don't know what he'll think." she said. "But -you've got to consider yourself first--and Basil." - -"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----" - -"Helen--Helen!" And the small head with its auburn crown shook in mock -disapproval. "Not while he was making his first love to you?" - -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?" - -"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. - -"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." - -"I--unhappy?" - -"I know you conceal it, dear. You're brave and self-reliant. But-- -Isn't there _anything_ I could do to bring you and Dick together again? -You're a woman, dear. You simply have to be taken care of, and----" - -"Don't shadow your romance with worry about me," said Courtney -nervously. She was all confusion and restlessness. - -"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----" - -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 _poseur_; 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. - -"I'm sure," Helen was saying, "with a little management you could get -Richard back." - -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." - -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?" - -"Yes." - -"Tell me, Courtney." - -"It cured my cold," said Courtney. "I'd been feeling queer in the nose -and eyes----" - -"How _can_ 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 _never_ 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. - - -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---- - -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---- - -"I didn't dare interrupt," he said. "It would have been like disturbing -a funeral." - -"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. - -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." - -To break the current of her own thoughts, she interrupted his with a -trivial "You are dressed this evening." - -"Because I've come to call," he replied, rousing himself from his -reverie. - -"I'll tell Helen." - -"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." - -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. - -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." - -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." - -"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." - -His tone was calm and self-controlled. It contained no suggestion of -ominous meaning; nor did his face. - -"I--I don't understand," she ventured, nervously. - -"I want to propose," explained he, in the same deliberate way, "that we -give each other another trial." - -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. - -He turned his chair, leaned toward her, his elbows on his knees. "Is -the idea--is it--distasteful to you?" he asked. - -Carefully, with her tapering fingers she measured chords without -striking them. "Not _distasteful_," said she. - -"You do not dislike me--now?" - -"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. - -"Courtney, I'm a different man from what I was." - -"Yes," she assented, without reserve. "Very different. But----" - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"Yes. Because you care nothing about me." - -"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." - -The deep green eyes glanced gratefully toward him. "That's true." - -"It was simply what you and I went through with when we first met--and -became engaged--and got married." - -"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." - -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 -_taught_ 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." - -"And the things that seem to hinder, often help most--and those that -look like helps are enemies." - -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?" - -"I intend to try," said she. - -"Then it's simply a question of what is the best advantage. Isn't it -for us both to stay on here?" - -"I don't think so," was her slow reply. "Not for either of us." - -"But you'll listen to my reasons? Really listen, I mean. You know, you -caught my bad habit of not listening." - -"Yes," she said with a forced, uneasy smile. "I'll listen." - -"Well--first, there's this place. You like it, don't you? You must, -since you made it. I've found that out, too." - -"I love it," she answered. "But--" She shook her head. - -"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." - -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." - -"Is this Richard Vaughan?" she cried laughingly. - -"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." - -She smiled at what seemed to her the extravagant kindness of this. - -"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?" - -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?" - -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." - -"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. - -"And you," she cried, "are thinking 'How mean and ungrateful she -is--after my generosity to refuse to----'" - -"Not so!" he protested sharply, wheeling round. "I've not been generous. -When I told you the fault was chiefly mine, I meant it." - -"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!" - -"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." - -"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!" - -"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?" - -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. - -"Can't you give 'us' another trial?" he asked, with proud humility. - -"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." - -He left the hearth and faced her with the length of the piano between -them. "Could you love me?" he asked. - -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." - -"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." - -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!" - -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. - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *OTHER BOOKS BY* - - *DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS* - - -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 _five to seven months_ 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - Mr. Phillips's novel just preceding the present work is - - *The Fashionable Adventures of* - - *JOSHUA CRAIG* - - -Concerning this story, the London _Times_ 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." - -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. - - - - Just preceding this book, Mr. Phillips published - - *OLD WIVES FOR NEW* - - -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 _St. Paul Pioneer Press_ -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. - - - - Another of the remarkable novels is - - *THE SECOND GENERATION* - - - -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. - - - - The fourth novel is - - *LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY* - - -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. - - - - A year ago Mr. Phillips published a play called - - *THE WORTH OF A WOMAN* - - -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. - - - - - THE WORKS OF DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS - - -The Hungry Heart -The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig -Old Wives for New -Light-fingered Gentry -The Second Generation -The Worth of a Woman -The Deluge -The Social Secretary -The Plum Tree -The Cost -The Master Rogue -Golden Fleece -A Woman Ventures -The Great God Success - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNGRY HEART *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48699 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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